“You know nothing of the dreadful affair her family was implicated in?”
“In truth, Madame, of her family I know nothing but what was seemly and decent and virtuous; could vice exist whence Faustine came?”
“Bah,” said I, “he prates like a hero out of a novel.”
“I shall always be a loyal friend to virtue.”
“Youthful enthusiasm therefor,” Clairwil advanced, “has proved the undoing of a good many persons like yourself. But we are here concerned with other matters; the object of this interview is to inform you that Faustine is in this house. The Minister is disposed to enjoy her; he trusts you are disposed to cede her favors; in exchange for which concession she will be pardoned and so will you.”
“I seek no pardon since I have done no wrong,” was the young man’s proud reply. “But be it so a thousand lives hang in the balance, I do declare to you that I’ll not purchase one of them at the price of an atrocity whose mere mention is an insult.”
“So be it. Ass, Madame, give me ass,” cried Saint-Fond in a veritable lather, “it’s plain indeed we’ll reach no understanding with this stubborn little scapegrace unless we use violence.”
At which Clairwil and the two hags leaped upon the young man, and had him pinioned and naked in the twinkling of an eye. He was marched up to Saint-Fond, who spent a few minutes poring over a man-ass than which there were few fairer in the world; and, gentlemen, as connoisseurs you know that in this article of the anatomy you may often reveal yourselves our superiors.
“Ah,” said Dormon, gazing about him in distress as he realized what infamies lay in store for him, “ah, I’ve been tricked. I am amongst monsters.”
“Your surmise, Sir,” said Clairwil, “is quite correct, and experience will soon confirm it.”
And after some preliminary abominations I was requested to bring in Faustine. Beauty, shapeliness, sweet candor, all that invites, these she had in rare degree; and when she beheld the scene in the room, oh, how the modesty in her made her other qualities shine! Espying her lover, whom Clairwil and Saint-Fond were caressing industriously, the girl came near to fainting away.
“Be easy, sweet angel,” I said, taking her hand, “be of good cheer, we’re fucking, we’re swimming in dirt and nastiness and joy, my dove; like us, shamelessly, you’re going to bare your wondrous ass; and you’ll see ’tis not unpleasant.”
“But—but what is all this? Oh, merciful heavens, where am I? Who are you?”
“Your host is his Lordship, the Minister, your uncle and friend: your case is in his hands. It is a difficult case, yea, a very grave case; however, be patient, be considerate; and everything will come out well.”
“And you,” she said in a faltering voice, addressing Dormon, “you have been capable—”
“Oh,” he murmured, casting down his eyes, “like you I have had to submit to force. But,” he went on, lifting his head, “while this is the day of our dishonor, there may soon come another that shall see us revenged.”
“Enough of this frightful comic-opera rubbish, young man,” reprimanded Saint-Fond, applying a vigorous thwack to the glib boy’s bare hindquarters, “better employ your fiery eloquence to persuade mademoiselle here to lend herself to my caprices, and they shan’t be mild. She’s going to be sore tried.”
Whereat tears began to flow from Faustine’s glorious eyes, she uttered groans; cruel Saint-Fond, prick in hand, approached and stared at her from close on.
“By fuck!” he exclaimed, “does she weep? It pleases me mightily to see women weep, with me they always do, all of them. Cry away, my pretty little one, cry your eyes out—here, let your tears splash on my member. But save some for later on, you’ll shortly have the most legitimate grounds for shedding them.”
Nay, I shrink from telling how far his outrages went, one would have thought nothing so contented him as wounding innocence and insulting beauty in distress. The faint glow of pleasure we managed to kindle in the girl turned swiftly into chagrin; ’twas with his prick Saint-Fond dried a new spate of tears.
Clairwil’s main passion, as I have said, did not consist in vexing women; it was men upon whom she preferred to expend her greatest cruelty, whereof Nature had given her no small fund. However, though she might now and then refrain from inflicting pain, even upon a person of the opposite sex, she always relished watching others in action; and, standing near Dormon, whom as a matter of fact she was frigging, with wicked curiosity she observed all the outrages poor Faustine was being made to endure; more, she suggested further ones.
“Well now,” said Saint-Fond, “we must unite those who were so soon to have been bound together in marital bliss. Far be it from me,” he added, “to deny this young gentleman one of his pretty mistress’ two maidenheads. Clairwil, dispose the male, I’ll prepare the female.”
I confess that I did not believe the enterprise could possibly succeed. Terror, grief, alarm, tears—in fine, the two lovers were in a shocking state; did it not exclude them from performing the act of love? One would have thought so. But now we were witness to a very prodigy, one of those miracles only Nature can work: her energy triumphed over all obstacles: and we beheld a rampant Dormon fucking his mistress. Of the two, only she needed to be held; only in her was pain predominant, forbidding her access to pleasure; and this despite all our efforts: we tried this, we tried that, we excited her, scolded her, caressed her, it availed not, her soul lay beyond rescue, drowned in sorrow; from her we got moans of despair and sobs only.
“Still, you know, I like her that way,” said Saint-Fond; “I’ve never cared much about seeing pleasure’s lineaments writ over a woman’s countenance. They’re too equivocal, too unsure; I prefer the signs of pain, which are more dependable by far.”
By now blood has begun to flow, the deflowering is completed. Thus posed by Clairwil, Dormon was lying on his back, Faustine was astride him, her knees drawn up, her head bent low, her forehead resting on his shoulder; so that the pretty little girl’s pretty ass was perfectly exposed.
“She is in an admirable position, see to it she doesn’t move out of it,” Saint-Fond told one of the crones; “she might as well lose both pucelages at the same time, I might as well sodomize her while she is being encunted.”
Not only was the operation a stunning success, but, instead of sighs of ecstasy, it drew piercing screams from the girl whom never before had such a dart penetrated, and who seemed as though firmly set against enjoying the experience, generally longed for, that makes a woman of the maid. While fucking, the libertine fondled the hags; I busied myself sucking Clairwil’s cunt. The prudent Saint-Fond, as ever sparing of his fuck, kept the sluices tight closed, and we moved on to other voluptuous activities.
“Hear me, young man,” said Saint-Fond. “I am about to require something most extraordinary of you, and which I venture to suppose you will consider most barbarous. Be that as it may, your mistress is doomed unless you obey instructions. I am going to have your beloved secured to this column here, you will take this bundle of switches, and with them you will flay her ass.”
“Monster! Can you propose—”
“Then you prefer to see her killed?”
“Why must it be that I have no choice between this infamy and the loss of her whom I cherish above all others in the world?”
“A hard alternative surely, and such as the weak have every day to face,” said I. “You are helpless, hence you must yield: do as you are bid, do it at once, or a dagger goes into your mistress’ heart.”
The great art of Saint-Fond consisted in always placing his victims in such a situation that of two evils they had inevitably to elect the one which more nicely suited his perfidious libertinage. Trembling, Dormon neither agrees nor refuses; his silence speaks. ’Tis I who bind Faustine to the column, great is my pleasure in pulling the rough cords painfully over her fair skin; I love thus to bare the throat of innocence to the edge of crime’s blade; the malicious Clairwil kisses her as I get her into readiness. What charm
s were here to expose, what perfections to spoil! Ah, when heaven comes not to the defense of the righteous and the good, it is in order to make us mortals comprehend that unto virtue only contempt is due.
“This is the proper way to take with you,” said the Minister, striking sweeping blows upon the plump white buttocks that fairly beckoned to him. “Yes, it is thus we must proceed,” he continued, rattling off another ten; and the purple marks they left were already standing out in marvelous contrast to that silky smooth skin. “Try your hand.”
“Oh, Sir, for the love of God, I could never….”
“Nonsense, my boy, of course you can.” Threats follow sardonic cajolery; Clairwil loses her temper, swears that if he doesn’t do as he’s been told, which, says she, amounts to very little, he will get a thrashing himself and see the girl murdered into the bargain; whereupon Dormon sets to work. But how reluctantly! And how timidly. Saint-Fond is obliged to guide his arm. At length my lover’s patience runs out, he picks up a knife and raises it to Faustine’s heaving breast; Dormon lays on somewhat more energetically … then collapses in a swoon.
“Ah, fuck my soul,” grumbles Saint-Fond, his prick as stiff as a monk’s, “we’ll get nowhere so long as we rely upon a lover: this undertaking calls for villainy.”
And having furiously at the beauteous behind presented to him, in less than ten minutes he has it in a bloody shambles. In the meantime another horror’s being enacted nearby: instead of succoring him, Clairwil is venting her savagery upon the unconscious Dormon.
“The lout, the cad,” says she, as he comes back to his senses to find himself bound hand and foot and receiving a drubbing quite as merciless as the one Faustine is getting from the Minister.
It was not long before the ill-starred lovers were both in the most deplorable state imaginable. Not yet in a position to judge Clairwil, her cruelty, I must confess, startled me; but when I saw her turn to execrations of a very different kind, when I saw her daubing her cheeks with the victim’s blood, tasting it, drinking it, when I saw her bite into his flesh and tear it away with her teeth; when I saw her rub her clitoris on the bleeding wounds she opened in the wretch, when I heard her cry, “Juliette, come do as I am doing”; then, urged to it by this wild beast, carried away by her hideous example—ah, my friends, must I own that I imitated her? Nay, the truth may well be that I surpassed her; I may even have led the way, stimulated her imagination by means of atrocities which would not have occurred to her otherwise; perhaps, who knows? For I waxed furious too, my every nerve was afire, my very perverse soul revealed itself in its entirety; and I discovered that devouring the flesh of a man could have as powerful an effect upon my senses as lashing a woman to ribbons.
Saint-Fond deemed best to defer major operations until after the other couple had been dealt with. The first two were tied up and stowed in a corner; in came the second. Delnos and Felicity were subjected to the same treatment, except that the procedure was reversed: that is, instead of appealing to the lover to share his mistress, we appealed to the mistress for the use of her lover; arguments were again backed by threats of the worst sort and as before we met with considerable resistance. Felicity was an exceedingly pretty thing of twenty, not quite so fair as her sister but just as agreeably made, and her eyes were remarkably expressive; she gave evidence of more character, more energy than her sister, but Delnos of far less than Dormon. Howbeit, directly after embuggering this second girl, our cannibal, despite himself, lost his seed in Delnos’ handsome ass while he was clawing Felicity’s charming breasts. Now quietly seated between Clairwil, busily socratizing him, and me who was frigging him, and gazing ahead at the two couples, bound hand and foot, he consulted us over what the final fate of the victims ought to be.
“I was appointed to be the scourge of this family,” he said to us, fingering himself while he spoke; “three of its members lost their heads in this house, two others I had slain in theirs, I am responsible for another’s poisoning in the Bastille, and the chances that these four people will escape me look very slim indeed. You have no idea how I enjoy these little exercises in arithmetic. Tiberius, it is said, used to do his sums every evening; what would crime be without its sweet memories? Oh, Clairwil, whither are our passions leading us? Say, my angel, is thy mind clear enough, hast thou perchance discharged enough to give me thy sagely framed opinion in this matter?”
“No, by fuck,” replied she, “no, it’s not talking I’m eager to do, what I want is to act. Vitriol, blazing acid, some hellish thing is flowing in my veins, my brain is sick—oh, give me horrors! I must have horrors—”
“Then let us commit them in abundance, for that sorts nicely with my mood also,” said Saint-Fond; “these two couples arouse me: it passeth all belief, the evil I would do unto them. But as to the form it should take, there I am in some uncertainty.”
The doomed four were able to hear our conversation; were able to see we were plotting against them … and yet they clung to life.
The awful wheel of Delcour’s contriving stood within view. Saint-Fond’s brooding gaze lit upon it, and the thought of putting it to a little use soon lofted his prick skyward. Thereupon, after loudly and unequivocally explaining the properties of the infernal machine, the scoundrel declared that the two women should draw lots, would that not be the fairest way to determine which of the two was to die in this manner? Clairwil opposed the suggestion; she took the line that, since Saint-Fond had already employed the wheel upon a girl, he ought now to procure himself the pleasure of seeing a boy subjected to it; nor did she notice any advantage in allowing chance to decide between Delnos and Dormon, for as much as the latter struck her as by far the more eligible, he stimulated her imagination prodigiously. But Saint-Fond would brook no partiality; he pointed out that the honor of being the first to die, and by such a torture, was preference enough. Lots are prepared; the young men draw; Dormon is the winner.
“It’s quite as though I had heaven by the throat, for it’s been a long time now since a single one of my wishes went unfulfilled,” said Clairwil. “The sole function of that execrable chimera you call the Supreme Being seems to be to facilitate my every crime.”
“Embrace your intended,” said my lover as he untied some of Dormon’s bonds, leaving intact those which secured his hands; “kiss her, my lad, and then show your mettle: she’ll have her eyes upon you throughout your ordeal. And if you care to glance at me during it, you’ll see me fucking her ass, that I promise you.”
Then, as was his custom, he led the powerless young man off, they were encloseted for an hour together; we could only suppose that the libertine took this opportunity to impart some deep secret to his victim, to whom, as it were, he entrusted the mission of carrying it with him into the next world.
“What can be going on in there?” Clairwil demanded, annoyed at having to wait and glancing impatiently at the door to the chamber.
“I have no idea,” said I, “but such is my eagerness to find out, I would be almost willing to sacrifice our relationship….”
Dormon emerged: his flesh showed signs of some cruel mauling, especially about his buttocks and thighs, which were cut and bruised; upon his uplifted brow rage and fear and pain were at war; blood dripped from his penis and his scrotum, and his cheeks, scarlet, revealed traces of several slaps. After him came Saint-Fond, conspicuously erected; the most atrocious savagery glinted in his every feature, in his twisted lips, his dilating nostrils, his wickedly narrowed eyes; clutching one of his victim’s buttocks, he steered him toward us.
“Come along, come along,” said Clairwil, visibly pleased at seeing Dormon in such beggarly condition, “come along, my little clown, let’s waste no more time.” Turning to Saint-Fond, “We are short on men,” the diabolical creature observed; “I am going to need no end of fucking while I watch this rogue perish.”
“His mistress could pollute you,” the Minister suggested, “and I shall of course be embuggering you the whole time….”
“And his bloo
d?”
“Oh, we’re sure to be splashed a bit.”
Clairwil seized Dormon by both ears. “Kiss me, little fool, while there’s still something left of your pretty face.”
And Dormon showing no great alacrity to comply, the hussy wiped her asshole upon his nose; then he was granted permission to kiss his mistress goodbye. She burst into tears. Clairwil frigged the wight, the lass’ clitoris was tickled by Saint-Fond; the matrons finally catch hold of him and fasten him on the dread wheel. Faustine, sprawled atop Clairwil, is obliged to frig her; and at the same time Clairwil excites me. Saint-Fond sheathes his weapon in Faustine’s bowels, and we are all four shortly bathing in blood. The spectacle is hideous, and it has not yet reached its term when the girl proves unable to endure any more; smitten senseless by anguish, she wilts.
“What’s this, what’s this!” cries Saint-Fond, “would the bitch expire? I have no objection to her death provided I am its cause.”
So saying, the villain looses his sperm into a mass whence life has fled already. Clairwil, whose wicked hands are kneading Delnos’ balls while I am stabbing that young man’s buttocks with a long hatpin, is at last overwhelmed by the sight of Dormon on the wheel, and, uttering maniac, hardly human screams, discharges thrice.
Now only Felicity and her young beau are left.
“Ah, by fuck,” mutters Saint-Fond, “that other bitch was a great disappointment, but this one is going to be tortured properly; and since it was the mistress watching the lover die a moment ago, we’ll have the lover watch the mistress now.”
He leads her away for private conference, half an hour later he brings her back; and she is in a shocking state. She is condemned to impalement; Saint-Fond himself inserts the sharpened end of the stake into her ass and after much thrusting and twisting the point emerges from the mouth; the other end of the stake is planted in a socket set in the floor, and Felicity remains on exhibit for the rest of the day.
“My friends,” says Clairwil, “you will be good enough to allow me to choose the torture for our last victim. I haven’t changed my mind since first clapping eyes on him: the bugger resembles Jesus Christ, and I would treat him in the same way.”