Path: utzoo!utgpu!jarvis.csri.toronto.edu!cs.utexas.edu!usc!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!sol.ctr.columbia.edu!srcsip!nic.MR.NET!thor.acc.stolaf.edu!simmons
From: simmons@thor.acc.stolaf.edu (Richard Simmons)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
Subject: "It's a Mystery to Me"
Keywords: Silence=Mime
Message-ID: <10690@thor.acc.stolaf.edu>
Date: 19 Jan 90 06:29:13 GMT
References: <10687@thor.acc.stolaf.edu>
Reply-To: simmons@thor.stolaf.edu ()
Organization: St. Olaf College, Northfield, MN
Lines: 175

What follows is a story.  Is it true? I don't know.  I didn't 
write it, I "borrowed" it.  Where?  At this point, you don't know.
Read it and guess. Enjoy.....


   Very well, our storyteller replied, lend an ear to the item 
with which I am going to close this evening's narrations, I 
am persuaded that it will amuse you more.

   I had been with Madame Guerin for eight years - had just 
reached the age of seventeen - and during this period not a 
day had passed without my seeing a certain farmer-general 
arrive at the house every morning and be receicved with the 
warmest welcome. He had an air of freshness and youth, and 
was also plump; he required a different girl every day, and 
those of the house were never used save in emergencies or 
when someone contracted abroad failed to meet her 
appointment.

  Monsieur Dupont, so was our financier called, was just as 
discriminating in his choice of girls as he was fastidious in 
his tastes, he simply would not have a whore attend to his 
needs except in the rare and extreme cases I mentioned; he 
had to have, on the contrary, working women, shopgirls, 
especially the milliners or seamstresses.  Their age and 
coloring also had to meet specifications: they had to be 
between 15 and 18, neither more nor less, and most important 
of all, they needed to have a sweetly molded ass, an ass so 
absolutely clean that the least blemish, a mere grain of 
matter clinging to the hole was sufficient grounds for 
rejection.  When they were maids, he paid twice as much.

   They had made plans for, and were that day expecting the 
arrival of, a young lacemaker of 16 whose ass was generally 
acclaimed by connoisseurs as a true model of what an ass 
should be; Monsieur Dupont did not know the treasure that was 
to be offered him, and as it turned out the lady had woprd 
sent that on this particular morning she was unable to leave 
her parents' house and that matters would have to proceed 
without her.  Guerin, knowing Dupont had never set eyes on 
me, ordered me to dress in a shopgirl's costume at once, to 
go out, take a cab to the end of the street, and alight again 
at the brothel, all this fifteen minutes after Dupont had 
entered the house; I was to play the role with care and pass 
myself for a milliner's apprentice.  But the most important 
consideration of all was the anise water: I was to fill my 
stomach at once with a half-quart of it, and directly 
afterwards I was to drink the large glass of balsamic liquer 
she gave me; you shall shortly learn for what its affect was 
intended.  Everything went forward very smoothly; fortunately 
we had been given several hours notice, and in this time we 
were able to make thourough preperations.  I arrived at the 
house with a very silly air, I was presented to the financier 
who directly scrutinized me very closely , but as I was 
keeping a sharp eye on my conduct, he could discover nothing 
about my person which might contradict the story that had 
been invented for him.

  "Is she a maid?" Dupont asks.

  "Not in that place," says Guerin, pointing to my belly, 
"but I will answer for the other side."

  "And it was a most impudent lie she told.  Little does it 
matter; our man believed her, and that alone was necessary.

  "Lift your skirts, hurry it up," says Dupont.

  And Guerin raises my skirt from behind, drawing me toward 
her as she does so and thus entirely exposing the temple at 
which the libertine performed his worship.  He stares, for a 
moment he fingers my buttocks, he spreads them with both 
hands, he announces that the ass is suitable for his 
purposes.  Next he asks me several questions about my age, my 
trade, and content with my feigned innocence and the look of 
having been born yesterday that I affect, he has me accompany 
him to his apartment.  Both of us having entered, he 
carefully shuts and secures the door, considers me for a 
moment, then in a rather brutal fashion - brutality 
characterized him throughout the scene - he inquired whether 
it were indeed true that I had never been fucked in the ass.  
As my role called for total ignorance of the meaning of such 
an expression, I had him repeat it, declared I still 
understood nothing, and when by means of the most unambiguous 
gestures he conveyed what he wished to say, I replied with a 
simulated look of fright and modesty, that I should be a very 
unhappy girl indeed if I ever lent myself to such infamies.  
Whereupon he told me to remove my skirts, and once I had 
obeyed him, leaving my blouse down to hide my front, he 
raised it above my buttocks to the height of my bodice; but 
while he was undressing me my neckerchief slipped down, 
revealing my breasts.  He became incensed.

  "Devil take those damned tits of your," he cried; "who asked 
you for tits?  That's what I can't bear about these creatures, 
every single impudent one of them is wild to show you her 
bubs."

  Hastening to cover them over, I was approached by him to 
beg his pardon, but observing that I was going to exhibit my 
cunt thanks to the posture I was about to assume, he lost his 
temper for a second time:
  
  "But sweet Jesus! Can't you stay put?" he demanded, seizing 
my haunches and turning me so that there was no danger that 
he would catch a glimpse of anything but my ass, "stay that 
way, fuck your eyes, I don't care any more for your cunt than 
I do for your chest, your ass is all you need with me."

  So saying, he stood up and guided me to the edge of the bed 
upon which he installed me in such wise the upper half of my 
body rested on the bed, then seating himself on a very low 
stool, he found himself situated between my wide-flung legs 
and his head on a level with my ass.  He peers at me for 
another instant, then, deciding I am not yet adjusted as I 
ought to be, he gets up, fetches a cushion, fits it under my 
belly, thus arching my ass more sharply; he sits down again, 
examines, and goes about everything with the sangfroid and 
confidence of a seasoned and mature libertine.  A moment 
passes, then he grasps my two buttocks, spreads them, poses 
his open mouth upon the whole, fastens his lips hermetically 
to it; and immediately , pursuant to the signal he gives me 
and in obedience to the considerable pressure that has built 
up within me, I unleash a booming fart, possible the most 
explosive one he has ever received in his life; it shoots 
down his gullet and he backs away, furious.

  "What the devil!" he cries, "so you are so bold as to fart 
into my mouth, are you?"
  
  And he straight-away claps his mouth to my ass hole again.

  "Yes, Monsieur," I say as I release a second stifler, 
"that's how I deal with gentlemen who kiss my ass."

  Very well then! fart, if you must, you little rascal, since 
you can't help it, fart I say, fart as hard as you like and 
as often as you can."

  From this moment onward I cast off all restraint, nothing 
can express the urgency of my desire to give vent to the 
boisterous winds produced by the potion I had drunk earlier; 
our man is thrilled by them, he recieves some of them in his 
mouth, the others in his nostrils.  After fifteen minutes of 
this exercise, he lies down upon the couch, draws me to him, 
his nose still wedged between my buttocks, orders me to frig 
him and meanwhile to continue a ceremony which gives rise in 
him to such exquisite pleasures.  I fart, I frig, I 
manipulate a slack little prick neither much longer nor 
thicker than my finger, but by dint of buffets, jerks, and 
farts the instrument finally stiffens. The augmentation of 
our gentleman's pleasure, the critical instant is announce by 
a new iniquity: it is know his tounge that provokes my farts, 
'tis his tongue that, like a flail, darts deep in my anus in 
order to stir up those winds, 'tis against his tounge he wants 
me to blow those zephyrs, he becomes unreasonable, he is no 
longer in posession of his wits, 'tis clear, and his wretched 
little engine sadly sprinkles seven or eight drops of watery, 
brownish sperm upon my fingers; and he is now restored to his 
senses.  But as his native brutality formented his 
distraction, so now it replaces it at once, and he barely 
gives me enough time to readjust myself.  He scolds, he 
mutters and swears, in one word he offers me the abhorent 
image of vice that has slacked in thirst, and I am made the 
butt of that unthinking indelicacy which, once glitter has 
paled, seeks to find revenge in scorn for the worshipped 
object that latterly captivated the senses. 


Ok now, who wrote it?  

|PhilRich Simmons
|simmons@stolaf.edu
|"Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?!?!?
|                                 - Senator John Blutarsky