“I said I pray you-” “Eh?” said my father, at last raising his head, his face flushed with his exertions and stained with those secretions which, while heavenly, are somewhat less than celestial.
“What is it, Louisa?” “I pray you that you desist,” she whispered, “in the extremities. I fear I will lose my pretty little mind.” “Never,” said he, gallantly. “Your pretty little mind is firmly fixed in all its crotchets and obsessions. It is weighted down.
It is, in short, anchored to whatever snags it has encountered,” he said in what I now look back upon as rhetoric in the Churchillian manner. “Nevertheless,” she said, “I am surfeited by your foraging in my tropics.” He smiled tenderly and pulled himself up to lie alongside her. He tweaked her nipples and ran his fingers through her sable hair. “My Lady Marchioness,” he said softly, “you remain unspeakably beautiful.” “My Lord Marquis, you remain unspeakably insatiable.” Here she reached down and lightly ran her fingers up and down the majestic column of his seed. My father at that point seemed taken by surprise-he had evidently been closer to his summit than he had realized. His jaw dropped and he paled and his whole body arched as if drawn by a master bowman, while his column catapulted forth his seed in thick spurts. My mother uttered an unearthly cry and fell upon him as if she had suddenly conceived a great thirst Nor was she content simply to quench her thirst-for, with thumb and index finger, she frantically proceeded to squeeze the base of the Marquis's column while the motions of her lips and throat indicated that she was siphoning him off to the last possible liquid ounce. My father made a feeble effort during her ministrations to caress her buttocks, but his arms soon fell back in exhaustion. Up to that point I had been reminded of Berenice Fawnsworthy and my brother, and I was dizzy with desire. But I became absolutely transfixed with throbbing concupiscence as I observed my mother sustaining her siphoning motions, but apparently there were limitations in that endeavor and she shortly altered her operations. My father lay flat on his back, his eyes shut as her haunches wove above his face. I rubbed myself gently, to sustain the tension of my own sensuality. My mother then applied the tip of her tongue to the Marquis's member, running her tongue from base to summit and back again. The Marquis of Portferrans opened his eyes. He observed her oscillating flanks and struck at their core with both hands. My mother, the Marchioness, made a sudden high-pitched sound, released my father's now mightily straining organ and twisted away from him, drawing up her legs simultaneously. He laughed as he then maneuvered himself to hover over her, his reannealed column quivering and rampant. The bedroom began to sway before my eyes. I ceased to crane my neck and I leaned back against the corridor wall. But I could still hear them quite clearly. One may well wonder as to what compelled me to withdraw my eyes from my conceivers. The answer is that I found quite intolerable the idea that, just as my mother and father were about to proceed as they were, I was thus begat. The idea was too monstrous for me to entertain with any equanimity. I wanted to run far away for my very life, to rebel against the picture of my life whose origin was that of lust acting mechanically. Perhaps all my subsequent bouts with men were mimicries I did of such mechanical origins to deny their very mimicry-as though I must discover elements in the act of begetting of a nonlustful nature. I do not know. I merely offer the idea-to the speculative reader. In any case, while I could not watch-the picture itself being overwhelming-I could nevertheless listen. True, I wished to quit the corridor entirely, but for the moment I seemed rooted, immobile, concupiscently fascinated by what my parents were saying… “Mathew-” “Yes, Louisa?” “Why do you hesitate?” “My Lady Marchioness-to tantalize you, of course.”
“My Lord Marquis, if you persist, I may snap at you with my strong white teeth.” He laughed richly. “You will have then incapacitated the major source of your ecstasies.” “I beseech you, then, do not torment me. There is a paradisiacal haven between my thighs, Mathew.” “Indeed? It seems somewhat prickly on the exterior, Louisa.” “Oh, sir, you dissemble. They are such soft spirals and so fine in texture that they could never deprive a victim of his sword. I may add to that, My Lord, that he who comes brandishing such an instrument as yours is never a victim. Well, perhaps half a victim, transitorily, for if you have transported me a dozen instances by interring your instrument in my substance, the likelihood is that you will finally be feeble, and your member hangdog-thus a victim. But let a number of hours pass, no later than the following day will you be in readiness to tap my sap once more-no longer a victim.” “Then you are ready with your own juices, madame.” “Quite. They bubble.” “Merrily?” “I think so.
But they also betray a kind of kitchen quality- they will make a solidly satisfying sauce for you. Come, sir, let me stand him at my table.” “Stand him?” “Well, My Lord, I will crook him if I sit him. And, though no bones be present, he'll be fractured.
Definitely, sir, we will not sit him. Besides, he is no animal on fours or twos-he is a sublimity. Lift me up with him, Mathew.”
“Petition me, Louisa.” “I beg you.” “Most inadequate.”
“How must I phrase it, sir-or what must I do to have you relent?”
“Ah…” “What does that signify, My Lord?” “You will shortly see, Louisa. You inquired as to what you must do to have me relent.” “Aye.” “Well, you will do this that has been described to me in London this past spring.” “Fie-are we to take London as our love standard?” “My Lady Marchioness, are we not in London eight months of the year?” “I must concede.” “Well, madame, what you must do at the start is to remember the creatures of the field-and emulate them in the manner of how they maintain their very balance in this world.” “Can I not emulate them as they have their balance in the next world?” “That would involve philosophical speculation and rigid religion, and I wish neither at this moment. Unless my libidinous-ness deceives me, I wish the balances of this world. Will you get upon your hands and knees, madame?” “Mathew-I will not.” “Are you adamant?” “Yes.”
“Do you not love me, Louisa?” “Where is love in this instance? It is all unbridled licentiousness.” “I cannot agree, Louisa. On your guard, then!” Here followed a grunt from the Marquis and a sigh from the Marchioness. There were further sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. My head was bowed as I leaned against the corridor wall. My breathing was shallow. I was manipulating my own tiny protuberance. I was shocked at what I thought my father was now doing to my mother. I daresay the reason for my shock may now presently be accounted for by the theories of a Dr. Sigmund Freud, that strange Viennese who has yet to be accorded his due.
Theoretically, I suppose I was shocked because I wanted to take my mother's place with my father-I couldn't stand the idea of my mother being the recipient from my father of what I was coming to think was a basic joy. The picture of my mother and father having intercourse was therefore overwhelmingly repellant. But now, the sound of flesh against flesh had stopped abruptly. My mother groaned. “Mathew,” she said. “Eh?” he grunted. “Why are you hovering again?
Please let me have him back.” “No, I will wave him before you.”
“You, sir, are a villain.” “A very model of villainy-see how I stroke my mustaches. At least I've not turned gray down there.
Come, Louisa, let me demonstrate how superior we are even in the beast's stance to the creatures of the field. Or shall I continue to wave him before you until he spits!” “That would be most wasteful, My Lord Marquis.” “Are you then game for all fours?”
“Gamey might be the better. Somehow, beneath my misgivings that the practice will be agony, there is a low, vulgar hissing of cilia, as if in anticipation of a cockfight of another order.” “Ha!” quoth my father. “I take that to mean, Mathew, you will not spare me this last indignity.” “I will spare your hams no quarter, and that will be no indignity. Come, madame, show me your fours.” “I fear I will blush to my roots.” “Blush where you like, Louisa, but do not stand in my way. You may kneel in my way, of course, providing that your haunches face me.” “In all the years of our marriage you have never asked this of me, Mathew.” “I have been naive, Louisa.” He laughed raucously. “We will now rectify the matter.