Chapter 7
I did not understand how this mysterious lift happened to carry us to another flat roof, definitely, where the dinner-table was laid off. Mona pointed a seat for me on her right side and almost at once three women and two men came in and, after bowing to Mona, they sat down.
-I'll introduce you to each other in turn, my dear countess told me, but a name does not even convey the significance a label may do; I mean a man's or woman's name... So each one will tell you a few things about himself. Now, this is Aldine...
Aldine was dark as death itself. Her long tapered legs met under an exceedingly hairy sex, for it had already become so much of a habit that I have forgotten to say that they were all stark naked. She turned face toward me:
-I have been here for six months. Six months of happiness at last! Mona anticipates all our desires. It's wonderful! I am twenty-two. My childhood was chiefly on the quiet side, the childhood of every little French-girl brought up in a provincial town by a family of teachers more or less atheists but nonetheless impregnated with all the Jewish-Christian prejudices, which still ensnare our old Europa. The first time I had my periods, I was arranging my books and copybooks in my case before going to school.. I ran my hands along my wet thighs and I saw that they were smeared with blood. I screamed and Mother came quickly. There was a drop of red blood on my sciences book. My mother, seeing that I was truly frightened, laughed heartily and cried out:
-My Goodness! Now you are a true little woman!... Why, don't be silly, you must understand that it's nature that makes your little warm pussy bleed... It is the lot of all of us.
My mother looked queer. I had never seen her behave like that. She took me to the bathroom and made me sit down on that strange oval thing, where many times I had watched father bathe his feet. She ran the hot water, then the cold water, and washed my belly and my thighs, then, with a somewhat nervous gesture, she opened the lips of my pussy and massaged the inside of them gently. After that she gave me one of those stripes of cloth the use of which I had so often wondered about, and explained to me how to place it. During many years I would go to sleep with my hands on my pussy, whispering to myself:
-Wound... my wound... I am a wound.
I was fearing that something terrible might happen to me because of this fragile thing gaping between my thighs. I felt I was utterly vulnerable and I spent all my free time scrutinizing my panties for the slightest tell-tale moisture. As soon as I could be alone I would hide myself in a remote corner of the school playground, in the toilets or behind the folding-screen in the drawingroom, and there I would tuck up my dress, pull my panties down slowly and scan them for any possible forerunning of my periods. If there was none, I fondled my pubic hairs, and my exploring fingers came little by little to the brim of the little warm hole from which the hot liquid could spring forth.
Very quickly, with the passing of the months I felt my body was somehow inhabitated. This things, between my thighs, was coming into life more and more every day. At first, it could be compared to a very tender bird, now it was growing wings and it fluttered, fluttered and pushed its little fleshy beak forward to meet my fingers deliciously.... but these delights filled me with terror because I could not understand then that I was built so that I enjoyed this wound and on the contrary I inclined to think that the wound was widening and delighted itself in the process of devouring me with its monstruous growth. My menstruations then seemed to me the disguting vomit of some kind of an internal feast with me as the main course, with all my poor belly as a favorite dish.
Now I proceeded like a prey walking to an unutterable calvary and the little fleshy beak worked over me so effectively that often, unable to resist its calling, my hand was ceaselessly drawn to it and allowed it to peck at its fingers, and grasped it vainly, shaked it with a rage which, suddenly, kindled in my whole belly a moaning and death-like pleasure. When I was seventeen I had to go to work, Because the painful struggle 1 was engaged in with my wound had prevented me from getting diplomas, and the rhythm of my whole life was perturbed. Indeed, how could I feed the greedy little beak in front of all those girls and men who shared the office with me. I could always run from time to time to the toilets, in the most extreme cases of hunger, but I could not repeat it too often because my companions would have made fun of me.
On the days when I could not check myself any longer, I would retire to the disgusting hiding-place. There I sat upon the seat of the toilets, I tucked up my dress and my slip and, letting my panties fall down to my knees, I bowed as much as possible in order to be very close to my slit. With my left hand I swiftly grasped my curled mount of Venus and, with fixed eyes, moist lips, I remained for a time tense with excitement, watching the erection of the beak which as last pointed its tip out of my intimate flesh. Then I coated my forefinger with saliva and the tiny tool started a to and fro motion inside my reddened hole... When, writhing with pain' or pleasure I reclined back, I enjoyed in the same time the horror of the punishment and the pleasure I felt for giving shape to it.
The deprivation my working-hours imposed upon me inclined me, I don't know why, to resort to the movie-theaters, and I formed quite a habit, after office hours, to enter one of those large houses, on the boulevards, which at this time of the day are usually almost empty. The immense room communicated to me a queer sensation of being free and comfortable. I would select a remote seat, at the bottom of the orchestra rows, and while giant pictures danced on the screen, evoking for me singular monsters with menacing beaks and claws, I uncovered my own little beak and massaged it ardently. The sparse light dispensed by the projection cabin glinted on my thighs, the whiteness of which was enhanced by black garters, and shot little rays of silver between my fingers which wrestled endlessly with the edges of my wound. One evening, I was on the verge of moaning when a tall redhead walked by me and noticed my unequivocal posture. I pulled my clothes back regretfully, but the stranger came and chose the seat next to mine. I was reclining on the back of my seat, almost fainting, and so much infuriated that I passed out somehow. When I came back to consciousness, I had the atrocious feeling that my little pussy was living and palpitating in spite of my will. It was a dreadful nightmare, as if the apocalyptic monsters which peopled the screen a while ago had deserted it to come and take part in the struggle my little beak led against me. I opened my eyes wide and I caugh the horrid woman's glance, hardly a few inches from my face. I tried to scream but I was fascinated and petrified. The stranger's lips opened, disclosing the whiteness of vampire teeth and this mouth suddenly fastened itself on my belly, nibbled at my thighs, gripped my beak in a sucking kiss. I felt the tongue exploring me, lavishing on my beak caresses a hundred times greedier than the ones my fingers used to excite myself with. The redhead was panting heavily and whispered: r-Darling... Darling... Come... it's so good... come... come, my love...
I was enraptured, carried away from my wound and from my own self. I had just met the other but I was not yet aware of it. And this atrocious ghoul was not frightening me any more, but was sucking me up... sucking me, I don't know how... above... and farther in front of me, like the Virgin Mary in the dreams of my childhood. I grated my teeth, saliva ran from the corners of my mouth though I kept it tightly clenched. I abandonned myself with a hoarse and atrocious moaning...
Truly, my childhood remained for ever in the plush of this movie seat, and from this day on, never again did my hand went forth, ready to be sacrificed to the greedy beak. I realized vaguely that it was no longer worth while, nor even satisfying enough. Now the sacrifice required an intercessor...
Of course I had not yet any notion of what man was; I owe it to the thruth that I did not even imagine what could be exactly the relations between man and woman. Well, then one day when I was marketing, a dark man strolled up to me and, smiling, whispered abruptly:
-Why, my white dove, you and I we could lay nice eggs. What do you say about a trial run?
I ffed blindly, frightened by his insulting words which I vaguely guessed were in connection with my wound. My pursuer chased me quietly, methodically, without attracting attention. My mouth was dry, my cheeks burnt, I crossed squares, streets, risking my life in front of the racing cars. I didn't even dare to look back lest the people in the streets might think that I was conniving with the men. At last, I came in front of a church, and I ran into it, on an age-old instinctive impulse, as if I was entering the supreme shelter.
Never before had I visited a church. A cool shadow welcomed me and closed around, me its solace and its quiet untroubled atmosphere. The wideness of the nave enfolded me, a delicate wideness which wrapped my shoulders and even my wound in a coat of unbelievable softness. Everywhere, on the walls, shadows projected their forms, vestals of this indescribable place. The emotion of old lonelinesses stirred me up and I walked up to the Holy of Holies, almost naked under my light dress, and conscious of it. In the august presence of God all my fears were going to yield ant to be dissipated. A dream of incense permeated me.
I walked with precaution, so that the clacking of my heels did not shatter the silence and the plain-chant of my soul. The bloody limbs dangling from the gallows in the frescoes; the menstrual stigmata which soiled the clothes around the loins of the martyrs; the fixed stare of the exalted virgins and the calvary stations of Christ, whose wounds bleeded like mine, all this threw me in ecstasy, This high spirited field reconciled me with my inner self, with the sublimity of this impossible-to-be-put-into-words thing which I carried deep inside.
In the wan light diffused by a stained-glass window, the Virgin leaned toward me and I hu miliated myself before her. Poor sinner, I was on the verge of revelation and my thin hands, held back to back, slipped between my thighs, with the hissing sound of rustled silk stockings, struggling and playing with my overwhelming desire, they proceeded little by little and my hairs were glued with warm liquor. When my hands, my holy hands, fondled my pussy, I growled pridefully, as if I had just won a kind of a victory. I felt my slit against my hands, wide-open and thick-lipped, hairy and greedy. The narrow strip of my panties moistened and tender drops dripped, rolled down along my thighs.
A muffled voice, seemingly springing out of the darkness and of the coolness which sheltered me, reached my ears:
-Christ be with you, my dear child! In happiness and in sorrow, your Saviour never fails you.
A heavily-built priest, with a blotchy face, was standing in front of me, just out of the choir. His shiningly-starched surplice robed his squareshouldered stature with a pure whiteness, and his blue eyes shone under bushy eyebrows.
-It feels good to be in the house of Charity, I answered.
-He is Love and Solace, my child.
-Yes, father!
-He does assume the weight of all our sins, the priest said, and he grasped my hands.
-I don't belong to the church of Christ.
-In His name, I do welcome you here.
-I'm not worthy of Him.
-Christ is a loving God and He purifies our souls of filth and never ceases loving us.
-I have never loved, I have never been loved!
-He will lead you toward love. He has already elected you.
-Could it be?... Why, perhaps did He wound me, did He, father?
-His grace heals all wounds and all wounds are but the signs of His Divine ways.
-Then, father, I know that love calls for me.
-I am convinced of it, my child.
-But, what I have got to do, father, please tell me, show me the way...
-Come... and your sins will be redeemed.
The priest took me in a remote corner and made me kneel in a dark little booth which he obscured still more by letting a heavy cloth down in front of its open side. Various noises informed me that he had entered the twin booth where he sat or knelt, I could but faintly discern him in the surrounding darkness. Suddenly I felt him closer to me and I noticed that he had just opened the window of the confessional and was looking at me through its grilled frame. I scrutinized his face with a strange feeling of hope and emotional turmoil. His gasping breath in itself made me trust him because it was a human and pitiful ailing.
-My child, before starting a new life, do you feel that you must confess all your sins to the minister of God?
-I do, father, I told him. I am fervently willing. But... father, ...you have got to help me...
-You must answer truly and humbly. I shall ask you questions.
-Yes, father!
-Do the thorns of fleshy desire torment your body?
-They do, father, night and day. Night and day the claws and the beak tear at my body. I live in degradation...
-Did you ever have sexual intercourse with a man?
-Never, father!
-Did you have intercourse in any other fashion?
-I do not understand, father. I have always led a lonely life. I suffered like a woman abandoned to herself, like a wounded woman... oh! father, how badly hurt... The wound... the wound... the flaming beak pecking at my flesh... and the never healed wound !The blood! The blood, father... The burning belly and the beak which craves for my fingers. The hunger of the monsters inside me, and the feast celebrated inside me... My own feasting on myself... Though, once... In a movie theater... a woman... a woman... I shall never be able to recall my shame! A woman and my beak in her mouth... My sweat in her mouth, my fears and my pleasure in her mouth... Father, my belly against her gaping mouth...
-What did she do to you?
-She feeled me!
-How?
-With her hands, with her mouth...
-The poor stray soul!
-She was only doing what I wish I am able to do to myself when my wound opens its edges and is aflame... but it was disgusting anyway!
-I don't understand what you mean, my child. What wound are you talking about?
-My pussy, I whispered. My pussy... Mother... mother called it my little pussy.
In the narrow cubicle, I stood on my feet and tears streamed all over my face while once again my hands were going down to the dreadful beak. I arched my back, bucked up my haunches sending my belly forward, almost at the lattice level, and with feverish hands I bared my wound and exposed it to the shining eyes of the minister of Cod. I wanted to make him witness my distress, to show him the whole seriousness of my deep wound, now that at last I could trust somebody and I could believe, yes, believe with all my soul in his intercession.
-My dear child, the priest whispered.
-My taut body shrilled as if it was on the verge of bursting out and I did not realize in the least what could be the possible issue of my queer exaltation. Then I heard a noise, coming from the other side of the partition. It was the noise of rustled cloth and the hissing sound of nails against the starched garment. With his big red fingers, the priest was fumbling to unbutton his robe. His awkwardness, the beads of sweat which dripped from his scalp, his short and hoarse breath, all these too human troubles made me think of a pain somehow similar to mine.
-Why, father, you too have your wound. I would not be the only one?
-Yes, my child... I do too, but for your redemption...
-How, father?
-Christ assumed all the sins of mankind, His servants, the priests, must follow on His trace and act as he did.
At last the rustling material had given way and the cloth was gaping. The priest put his back against the partition behind him and, when he separated his huge hands, there sprang at me, out of the darkness, a kind of white and red fleshy bow. The extraordinary weapon remained straining exactly under my eyes for curiosity had made me bow my head so as to be closer to it. I looked at the thing across the grilled hole. Its pointed head seemed looking back at me. I felt like if I had been given a role in an exorcizing ceremony, and I thought that it was the magic wand. The priest's hand shot back and communicated quick see-saw motions to the strong and supple stalk which, on the other extremity, took roots amid an arid bushy area.
-My Goodness, I exclaimed... Christ, it's beautiful !
Now, my confessor had grasped the thing tightly. Instinctively, though I was not able to make any kind of comparison between this spectacle and my own vicious practices, I began to pant and to follow the priest's lead in the racing toward annihilation and pleasure. I pawed my crotch, I clawed at my intimate flesh, I shot my hands blindly, my hair, liberated by my own agitation steamed all over my face, I ripped every garment open with fury, and threw myself soul and body in the savage shythm my partner had taken on. In a masterful display of self-control, sometimes he let go of its member which vibrated on the verge of volupty. I tried painfully to do likewise though I was very happy to extend the passionate waiting. In spite of my innocence I felt that the end was coming and, bruising my knees against the unpolished wooden surface, I almost squatted while my thighs and my belly, drenched with my liquor, quivered deliciously. My face was pushed close to the grill-work and I could gaze at the enormous branch, reddening more and more with every passing second with the squezzings of the Swift hand. Two dark fruit dangled amid the thick bush and fascinated me. Suddenly, the minister of God roared loudly and my face was inundated with the creamy sprout of his. Chrism of fire and forgivness, I, the virgin whom grace had hit and put in a swoon.
-God's blood has been shed for you, my child.
-God the Almighty be blessed, I exclaimed.
-Amen.
For a long time did my eyelids, sealed by love, remained shut before my eyes, and I was blind to the faint light dispensed by the church windows, but every pore of my flaming skin was avidly drinking an indescribable sweetness which, from my face, communicated itself to my limbs and my belly and regenerated them while it gave birth, inside me, to new ardors. My soul was praying fervidly:
-0, God! I whispered, how could I ever forget the Goodness with which You have inundated me? You sprinkeld me with Your blood and fed me with Your honey. I aspire to a life where I would remain in Your shadow, like a tender doe, playing freely in the shelter of Your upright thing, reaching to the skies. By the virtue of Your minister who, exercizing his ministry, deigned to lead me on the tumultuous road of the divine voluptuousnesses I opened myself to the perception of Your presence. May you never forsake me, 0 my God, I entreat You very humbly, with all the fervor of my youth and the ardor I'll put in action in order of complying with Your Law. I worship You, I belong to You and I want You. Every atom in my body belongs to You, especially this blessed wound which your blazing nail delineated in the very center of my flesh for my sacrifice and my redemption.
The priest took me out of the cell where I had just been relieved of my sin and I stood with him in the semi-darkness of the church. He walked me up to the altar of the Virgin and forced me to kneel down in front of it:
-Now, my child, some part of the holy mystery has just been revealed to you. The other part wil come in due time. You must pray... you must ask for your soul that forever it exhales only divine perfumes, and pray for the Virgin to assist me in my ministry and to inspire me.
He drew the signe of the cross over my face and, when he thought that my invocation had lasted long enough, be told me:
-You have got to come with me up to the Holy chapel where a new blessing will be granted you.
-I trust you, father, as my Saviour's vicar.
He led me to a small narrow and low door, which I learned later was giving access to the steeple, and we began climbing a stony stairway the coils of which were from time to time flooded with the light which came across narrow loopholes, dissipating for a while the surrounding darkness.
I don't know how long our ascension lasted, rhythmed by the priest's hoarse breath. We reached a landing where we edged to a passageway at the end of which stood another low door, reinforced with rought-iron, in front of which my companion paused. He pulled a huge key out of the depths of his cassock pockets and opened the door.
The room into which I was then led was round and vaultceilinged. High ogival windows diffused but a dim light though we were high enough for, at this time of the day, expecting a brightest light. In a corner of the room stood a folding-screen and, under a huge dark-wood emaciated crucifix, rose a bed, covered with white fur. Curoiusly enough, in the exact center -of this bedspread, there was a large representation of the Holy Face, and it was staring straight at me.
-We are now in the holy of Holies, my confessor told me. Here your Saviour will grant you His revelation.
He came two me and his hands stroke my head lightly before drawing over me the sign of grace.
-Now, my child, I must be a man, I must be as human as possible so as to be in a position where I may reenact with you the Holy mystery of Incarnation.
He said so and, grasping my waist roughly, he clasped me to him, all the while lavishing kisses on my face and tousling my hair. I felt his palpitating belly against mine and the divine thing grew taut under his cassock. Then, I don't know why, I grew panicky.
-Father, I screamed, Father... we must not...
-Why!.... Your Saviour has chosen you and you dare reject Him?
-I know it, I yelled, you want to wound my poor little pussy again.
-Pain is the only redemption, my child.
-Shit to pain, I long for the joy you promised me and not for the pain...
-You blasphemous stubborn heathen! You blasphemed and you will be punished for your sin!
He rushed and grasped a big flully featherduster that happened to be laying in this Holy sanctuary for no particulary evident reason. It was a beautiful one, the clump of many-colored feathers looked like a bunch at the end of the supple wand.
This weapon hissed in the air and crashed against my face. At first I thought that my chastisement was part of a new game for the softness of the feathers pleased me very much, but I was quickly acquainted with the shapness of the wand which was soon lashing my body all over. The room looked like an arena where would have taken place a parrots fight, yellow, red, green and blue feathers flew up to ceiling while red weals appeared after every blow of the wand, on my calves, my thighs, my belly and my tits. My underwear was torn to shreds arid, instead on my belly and ripped open what the blows of the wand had missed. The rubber bands snapped, beads of blood dotted my skin and I was beside myself with feeling every inch of my stigmatized skin.
On my ivory cheeks two furrows traced their way from my temples down to the corners of my skin, branding me with the blueish scars of the slaves. The waist of my skirt was rent, the priest tugged at it and at last bared totally my legs and belly which now quivered with pangs of an indescriblable pleasure. Again the wand flayed with a renewed ardor the whole area defenceless flesh while the last feathers flew about the room.
With my face aflame, moaning, hissing, blubbering, I threw myself at the feet of the minister of God and yelled:
-Yes, Lord, I am Your slave and each one of Your blows prompt me to atone for my sins... Come, You can do anything You please with me
I only want to be again inundated with your divine grace.
The priest pulled roe roughly to my feet, transfigured with inspiration and stripped me of what was still remaining of my clothes. A preciselyaimed blow of the wand ripped a tuft of my public hairs and I bent my legs with the acuteness of the sudden pain. My thighs opened widely and a ball of fire rolled down my throat. I heard a kind of an admirative gasp when my body was cleft apart, and a blow made me fall on the bed.
My pussy was oozing juice on the white fur and the priest remained watching me. His darting eyes spied on all my gestures.
Suddenly his hands ran along the row of buttons which held his cassock shut and the latter opened on the white eminence of his shorts, where the divine bludgeon bulged out. The shorts and the cassocks fell to the ground together and my confessor walked toward me, chalky-white in his terrific nakedness.
-Oh! God, I whispered.
The stature of the priest towered over me. His enormous thing stretched out toward mc and slowly rocked its tip sidewise.
-Take your chalice near the Holy Face and your God wil give you the welcoming kiss, the priest commanded me.
I did like I was ordered, squatting on my heels and supporting my body on my hands. The touch of the silk sent an appeasing coolness across my big lips and mv hairs rustled somewhat on the material. When I raised my body, the face of God was now adorned with a second halo, the trace of my lowest mouth impressed around His divine lips.
Then the priest leapt on the bed and his member slapped against my belly. He stood over me with a foot on each side of my upturned face, wedging my head, tackling it to the fur. Its thing was jutting out immediately over me and I could apparise fully the round magnitude of the heavy lags which dangled under it. I was beside myself with pleasure and terror. Slowly, slowly, he squatted over my face, his opened buttock cheeks came :o stifle me and, like two enormous figs, his balls -later I have learnt that they are thus named -spread on each side of my nose. Te odor acted on me like an insult: I clawed everywhere at the same instant: his loins, his thighs and even his thing.
At what exact second and spurred by what impulse did I began to lick the whole apparatus which dangled over my face, I can't recall it! I know for sure that first, I screamed:
-I am your slave !
I am sure I yelled these words with a real greediness before starting to suck those delicious
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þ figs of which the pungent smell of sweat mixed with an unkown flavor intoxicated me. Then his motions fell into rhythm with mine, or may be was it the reverse process, and I felt a furious passion surge in myself for every pore of his skin, as if they distilled a kind of subtile philter. Besides he was working over me with his entire body and his mouth came to close tightly over my beak like this other mouth, long ago, in a dark movie-theater. At the same instant, his thing whipped my lace and I was panting but I felt an impulse to grab it between my own lips.
The thing penetrated down as far as my throat and I squeezed it in the vice-like grip of my teeth. It began to vibrate, to flutter, swelling still more and all this excited my tongue which began a whirling ruction around the fleshy mast the intoxicating taste of which I was suddenly discovering and was still deepening the essencee of its flavor. In the same time I could feel on my wound the priest's mouth and his tongue probed it, incised it. and he whispered in the intervals between two gulps:
-Go on, my child, suck my good prick! The Lord sent it to you for your atonement... Go on and split your body from top to bottom... Open your feast for me... Fold back the petals of your wound, let me disclose your depths... Your slit is nothing but the instrument of God's will and your skin stretches on your round buttocks so that a new revelation may be sounded on it...
Let your twin lips swell artfully under my tongue, hallucinating fins of the shoals of love... And learn how to use them... Squeeze them when I dart my tongue... tighten them around my nose... flutter... flutter for the kiss nearing them... and suck it... and pour its dew-drops on it... or its pearl... O oviparous oyster of the sea of love... precious spitter... holy sluice from which the very idea of spring and of Youth issues... pure bitch... pure Godly bitch... love me and suck, suck again, and quicker... your tongue must be unlashed and flaming around me like the siroco in the old desert... kindle, o beautiful... and swallow and call aloud and swing and frig and love and resuc and-recall and be mine mine mine from splash to splash... your spittle and my spittle are the Chrism of redemption... before the fow of grace and the divine communion...
Each words made me burn more along with the pumping suction drawing me up in the intervals of silence between his sentences. My belly boiled and his thing was still increasing in size against my palate and my throat. I was hungry, oh so hungry for grace!
The searing sensation burned my belly still more, it was a blazing fire which travelled up in all my nerves. The minister of God had just slipped his forefinger in my ass-hole.
How shall I ever describe this sensation of fall and of redemption. The sensation of a vertical abyss and however the aspiration to the glory of Heaven and to the plenary grace. Suddenly the deluge flooded my mouth, almost while happiness oozed out of my belly. All this thick cream filled my mouth, almost clogged my throat before the slow and delicious swallowing of the liquor. The priest took his thing out and we were now squatting face to race, and I was licking my lips where a few filaments of the divine liquor were still dangling.
-I love you, I said... O God!
I was on the verge of throwing myself to his feet' to render him homage and, through him, to humiliate myself before the Creator of all things, but my bowed head met the holy prick and my greedy lips could not help themselves to taste them some more. However the thing was somewhat flaccid but I did not have time enough to wonder at its transformation for no sooner was it in my mouth that it recovered all its usual stifness.
-God, my child! whispered the holy priest. Good.
And raising my enraptured eyes toward him, I cried fervently:
-Thank you, my Lord, you appeased me...
-It was amounting almost to nothing, my child... A mere offertory to the Mass of Love, but we are now nearing the moment of communion...
My eyes conveyed a mute interrogation:
-My child, the whole of grace has not yet penetrated your body; your wound has still got to meet the lance of God... You must be opened and plugged, emptied and filled, pierced and stuffed...
-Is that so?
-Your innocence answers for you... Your redeeming will be total!
-Could it be sot that there is still a new happiness to be felt?
-An immense one, dear child!
He pushed me on my back and I saw his divine plug jutting out above my belly. With his bent knee he forced my legs apart until my thighs were wide-open.
I was standing on my elbows so as not to loose anything of the spectacle, Now his prick darted toward my wound and I looked with anguish to the rushing motion that his loins were about to assault me with. Suddenly I was nothing else but a scream, while the thing plunged in my flesh, nailed itself in my belly. The battering ram, adorned with the bronze bells, pierced me with furious and terrific blows, but after the first intolerable pain, an extreme and delicious hotness succeeded, and after the hotness there came an indescribable sensation of pleasure. A surge of hope overcame me. My haunches be ll0 gan to wriggle; my heels and the nape of my neck raised me toward Cod.
-My child... my child... the priest mumbled, you must believe in me, the prophet with the red and white weapon... come from toil and rage, come and meet my ritual plug... the swell will support you, the water will solidify under your feet like the one of the lake... we don't need Moses'intervention to cross the Red Sea... our Red Sea belongs to us and my violent thrusts pierce it at will... woman, arched woman, excessive, delicious, ripped open like a broken instrument and endlessly rejuvenated... woman... woman my own for God... I'm making you, myself... I'm creating you, woman... and dance under me, rediscover the divine rhythm which curved universe and originated the eternal rolling course of the stars along the curved roads of the infinite... that your thrusts be the exact answer to mine and let your hairs and mine entangle themselves... our manes intermingled like our sexes... sex, sex, sex, do you hear the scream of the redemption and the purpose of the redemption, the end and the means, the way and the aim... do you hear... damned hole which however will issue the salute and send it toward my flood of grace... do you hear, pure bitch... divine whore with your wide-open legs to bleat your voluptuous cry higher than all the musics of the spheres and of the angels... faster, faster... do yon hear the cry reaching from the remote depths... faster, slut ,gutter bitch, mother of God... faster toward your Creator... and be supple, resting on your heels, rocking on your elbows and on your neck, magnificently hung on my divine pole... faster... again...
The rhythm quickened, ceaselessly rose higher, and swept me over, innocent creature, newly awakened to rhythm and chaos capable of electrifying my pleasure and his,. We panted together until the final spasm which overwhelmed us, amid my modulated moanings and the syncopated raucous groans of the minister of God.
Thus was I introduced to the other... The intercession was fruitful, not only because it threw me into the bosom of grace but because and especially because my dear confessor entertained secret relations with a paradise the existence and road of which I could never have discovered but for him... This well-advised priest is, in fact, our hostess' chaplain... the countess, Mona! I shall pare you the fastidious relation of my coming here and of the difficulties I encountered before my total freedom... before the total freedom. I have spent but six months here, but they it has been a long enough sojourn to give me the revelation of my own self, body and soul...
-And to reveal it to others, Mona, whispered.