The Devil s Bull A Halloween Story
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GEORGES BATAILLE • STORY OF THE EYE (Extract) free porn video
Note on the Plot:
Story of the Eye (French: L'histoire de l'oeil) is a 1928 novella by Georges Bataille that details the increasingly bizarre sexual perversions of a pair of teenage lovers. It is narrated by the young man looking back on his exploits.
Story of the Eye consists of several vignettes, centered around the sexual passion existing between the unnamed late adolescent male narrator and Simone, his primary female partner. Within this episodic narrative two secondary figures emerge: Marcelle, a mentally ill sixteen-year-old girl who comes to a sad end, and Lord Edmund, a voyeuristic English émigré aristocrat.
Simone and the narrator first consummate their lust on a beach near their home, and involve Marcelle within their activity. The couple are exhibitionists, copulating within Simone's house in full view of her mother. During this second episode, Simone derives pleasure from inserting hard and soft boiled eggs for her vaginal and anal stimulation; she also experiences considerable enjoyment from the viscosity of various liquids.
The pair undertake an orgy with other adolescents, which involves some broken glass and involuntary bloodletting, and ends with Marcelle's psychological breakdown. The narrator flees his own parents' home, taking a pistol from the office of his bedridden, senile, and violent father. They view Marcelle within a sanatorium, but fail to break her out. Naked, they flee during night back to Simone's home, and more displays of exhibitionist sex ensue before Simone's widowed mother. Later, they finally break Marcelle out of the institution, but unfortunately, Marcelle is totally insane. Deprived of her the****utic environment, she hangs herself. The pair have sex next to her corpse.
After Marcelle's suicide, the two flee to Spain, where they meet Sir Edmund. They witness a Madrid bullfight, which involves the prowess of handsome twenty-year-old matador, El Granero. Initially, El Granero kills the first bull that he encounters and the a****l is consequently castrated. Simone then pleasures herself by vaginally inserting these taurine testicles. Unfortunately, El Granero is killed by the next bull that he fights, and his face is mutilated. As the corpse of El Granero is removed from the stadium, his right eye has worked loose from its socket, and is hanging, bloody and distended.
Simone, Sir Edmund, and the narrator visit the Catholic Church of San Seville after the day's events. Simone aggressively seduces Don Aminado, a handsome, young, Catholic priest, fellating him while Simone and the narrator have sex.
EXTRACT: The Seduction of Don Aminado
"This is a very interesting place," Sir Edmund said one day in regard to a church, "it's the church of Don Juan."
"So what?" replied Simone.
"Stay here with me," Sir Edmund said to me. "And you Simone, you ought to go round this church
all by yourself."
"What an awful idea!"
Nevertheless, however awful the idea, it aroused her curiosity, and she went in by herself while
we waited in the street.
Five minutes later, Simone reappeared at the threshold of the church. We were dumbstruck: not
only was she guffawing her head off, but she couldn't speak or stop laughing, so that, partly by
contagion, partly because of the intense light, I began laughing as hard as she, and so did Sir
Edmund to a certain extent.
"bloody girl," he said. "Can't you explain? By the by, we're laughing right over the tomb of Don
Juan!"
And laughing even harder, he pointed at a large church brass at our feet. It was the tomb of the
church's founder, who, the guides claimed, was Don Juan: after repenting, he had himself buried
under the doorstep so that the faithful would trudge over his corpse when entering or leaving their
haunt.
But now our wild laughter burst out again tenfold. In our mirth, Simone had lightly pissed down
her leg, and a tiny trickle of water had landed on the brass.
We noted a further effect of her accident: the thin dress, being wet, stuck to her body, and since
the cloth was now fully transparent, Simone's attractive belly and thighs were revealed with
particular lewdness, a dark patch between the red ribbons of her gThe priest thus moved in the same direction as the woman, and he would probably have vanished in turn without seeing anything if Simone, to my great surprise, had not brought him up sharply. Something unbelievable had occurred to her: she greeted the visionary courteously and said she wanted to confess.
The priest, still gliding in his ecstasy, indicated the confessional with a distant gesture and
reentered his tabernacle, softly closing the door without a word.
12. Simone's Confession and Sir Edmund's Mass
One can readily imagine my stupor at watching Simone kneel down by the cabinet of the
lugubrious confessor. While she confessed her sins, I waited, extremely anxious to see the
outcome of such an unexpected action. I assumed this sordid creature was going to burst from
his booth, pounce upon the impious girl, and flagellate her. I was even getting ready to knock the
dreadful phantom down and treat him to a few kicks; but nothing of the sort happened: the booth
remained closed, Simone spoke on and on through the tiny grilled window, and that was all.
I was exchanging sharply interrogative looks with Sir Edmund when things began to grow clear:
Simone was slowly scratching her thigh, moving her legs apart; keeping one knee on the prayer
stool, she shifted one foot to the floor, and she was exposing more and more of her legs over her
stockings while still murmuring her confession. At times she even seemed to be tossing off:
I softly drew up at the side to try and see what was happening: Simone really was masturbating,
the left part of her face was pressed against the grille near the priest's head, her limbs tensed,
her thighs splayed, her fingers rummaging deep in the fur; I was able to touch her, I bared her
cunt for an instant.
At that moment, I distinctly heard her say:
"Father, I still have not confessed the worst sin of all."
A few seconds of silence.
"The worst sin of all is very simply that I'm tossing off while talking to you."
More seconds of whispering inside, and finally almost aloud:
"If you don't believe me, I can show you."
And indeed, Simone stood up and spread one thigh before the eye of the window while masturbating with a quick, sure hand.
"All right, priest," cried Simone, banging away at the confessional,
"what are you doing in your shack there? Tossing off, too?"
But the confessional kept its peace.
"Well, then I'll open."
And Simone pulled out the door.
Inside, the visionary, standing there with lowered head, was mopping a sweat-bathed brow. The
girl groped for his cock under the cassock: he didn't turn a hair. She pulled up the filthy black skirt so that the long cock stuck out, pink and hard: all he did was throw back his head with a grimace, and a hiss escaped through his teeth, but he didn't interfere with Simone, who shoved the
b********y into her mouth and took long sucks on it.
Sir Edmund and I were immobile in our stupor. For my part, I was spellbound with admiration, and
I didn't know what else to do, when the enigmatic Englishman resolutely strode to the confessional and, after edging Simone aside as delicately as could be, dragged the larva out of its hole by its wrists, and flung it brutally at our feet: the vile priest lay there like a cadaver, his
teeth to the ground, not uttering a cry. We promptly carried him to the vestry.
His fly was open, his cock dangling, his face livid and drenched with sweat, he didn't resist, but
breathed heavily: we put him in a large wooden armchair with architectural decorations.
"Senores," the wretch sniveled, "you must think I'm a hypocrite."
"No," replied Sir Edmund with a categorical intonation.
Simone asked him: "What's your name?"
"Don Aminado," he answered.
Simone slapped the sacerdotal pig, which gave him another hard-on. We stripped off all his
clothes, and Simone crouched down and pissed on them like a bitch. Then she wanked and
sucked the pig while I urinated in his nostrils. Finally, to top off this cold exaltation, I fucked
Simone in the ass while she violently sucked his cock.
Meanwhile, Sir Edmund, contemplating the scene with his characteristic poker face, carefully
inspected the room where we had found refuge. He glimpsed a tiny key hanging from a nail in the
woodwork.
"What is that key for?' he asked Don Aminado.
From the expression of dread on the priest's face, Sir Edmund realized it was the key to the
tabernacle.
The Englishman returned a few moments later, carrying a ciborium of twisted gold, decorated
with a quantity of angels as naked as cupids. The wretched Don Aminado gaped at this
receptacle of consecrated hosts on the floor, and his handsome moronic face, already contorted
because Simone was flagellating his cock with her teeth and tongue, was now fully gasping and
panting.
After barricading the door, Sir Edmund rummaged through the closets until he finally lit upon a
large chalice, whereupon he asked us to abandon the wretch for an instant.
"Look," he explained to Simone, "the eucharistic hosts in the ciborium, and here the chalice
where they put white wine."
"They smell like cum,” said Simone, sniffing the unleavened wafers.
"Precisely," continued Sir Edmund.
"The hosts, as you see, are nothing other than Christ's sperm
in the form of small white biscuits. And as for the wine they put in the chalice, the ecclesiastics
say it is the blood of Christ, but they are obviously mistaken. If they really thought it was the
blood, they would use red wine, but since they employ only white wine, they are showing that at
the bottom of their hearts they are quite aware that this is urine."
The lucidity of this logic was so convincing that Simone and I required no further explanation.
She, armed with the chalice and I with the ciborium, the two of us marched over to Don Aminado,
who was still inert in his armchair, faintly agitated by a slight quiver through his body.
Simone began by slamming the base of the chalice against his skull, which jolted him and left him
utterly dazed. Then she resumed sucking him, which provoked his ignoble rattles. After bringing
his senses to a height of fury with Sir Edmund's help and mine, she gave him a hard shake.
"That's not all," she said in a voice that brooked no reply.
"It's time to piss."
And she struck his face again with the chalice, but at the same time she stripped naked before
him and I finger-fucked her.
Sir Edmund's gaze, fixed on the stunned eyes of the young cleric, was so imperious that the thing
went off with barely any hitch; Don Aminado noisily poured his urine into the chalice, which
Simone held under this thick cock.
"And now, drink," commanded Sir Edmund.
The paralyzed wretch drank with a well-nigh filthy ecstasy at one long gluttonous draft. Again
Simone sucked and wanked him; he continued gurgling desperately and reveling in it. With a
demented gesture, he bashed the sacred chamber-pot against a wall. Four robust arms lifted him
up and, with open thighs, his body erect, and yelling like a pig being slaughtered, he spurted his
come on the hosts in the ciborium, which Simone held in front of him while masturbating him.
We dropped the swine and he crashed to the floor. Sir Edmund, Simone, and myself were coldly
animated by the same determination, together with an incredible excitement and levity. The priest
lay there with a limp cock, his teeth digging into the floor with rage and shame. Now that his balls were drained, his abomination appeared to him in all its horror.
He audibly sighed:
"Oh miserable sacrileges..."
And muttering other incomprehensible laments.
Sir Edmund nudged him with his foot; the monster leaped up and drew back, bellowing with such
ludicrous fury that we burst out laughing.
"Get on your feet," Sir Edmund ordered him, "you're going to fuck this girl.
Wretches..." Don Aminado threatened in a choking voice .
"Spanish police... prison... the garrote..."
"But you are forgetting that is your sperm," observed Sir Edmund.
A ferocious grimace, a trembling like that of a cornered b**st, and then: "The garrote for me too.
But you three... first."
"Poor fool," smirked Sir Edmund.
"First! Do you think I am going to let you wait that long? First!"
The imbecile gaped dumbstruck at the Englishman: an extremely silly expression darted across
his handsome face. Something like an absurd joy began to open his mouth, he crossed his arms
over his naked chest and finally gazed at us with ecstatic eyes.
"Martyrdom..." he uttered in a voice that was suddenly feeble and yet tore out like a sob.
"Martyrdom..."
A bizarre hope of purification had come to the wretch, illuminating his eyes.
"First I am going to tell you a story," Sir Edmund said to him sedately.
"You know that men who are hanged or garroted have such stiff cocks the instant their respiration is cut off, that they ejaculate. You are going to have the pleasure of being martyred while fucking this girl."
And when the horrified priest rose to defend himself, the Englishman brutally knocked him down,
twisting his arm.
Next, Sir Edmund, slipping under his victim, pinioned his arms behind his back while I gagged
him and bound his legs with a belt. The Englishman, gripping his arms from behind in a
stranglehold, disabled the priest's legs in his own. Kneeling behind, I kept the man's head
immobile between my thighs.
"And now," said Sir Edmund to Simone, "mount this little padre."
Simone removed her dress and squatted on the belly of this singular martyr, her cunt next to his
flabby cock.
"Now," continued Sir Edmund, "squeeze his throat, the pipe just behind the Adam's apple: a
strong, gradual pressure."
Do you see the eye?" she asked me.
"Well?"
"It's an egg," she concluded in all simplicity.
"All right," I urged her, extremely disturbed, "what are you getting at?"
"I want to play with this eye."
"What do you mean?"
"Listen, Sir Edmund," she finally let it out, "you must give me this at once, tear it out at once, I want it!"
Sir Edmund was always poker-faced except when he turned purple. Nor did he bat an eyelash
now; but the blood did shoot to his face. He removed a pair of fine scissors from his wallet, knelt
down, then nimbly inserted the fingers of his left hand into the socket and drew out the eye, while
his right hand snipped the obstinate ligaments. Next, he presented the small whitish eyeball in a
hand reddened with blood.
Simone gazed at the absurdity and finally took it in her hand, completely distraught; yet she had
no qualms, and instantly amused herself by fondling the depth of her thighs and inserting this
apparently fluid object. The caress of the eye over the skin is so utterly, so extraordinarily gentle, and the sensation is so bizarre that it has something of a rooster's horrible crowing.
Simone meanwhile amused herself by slipping the eye into the profound crevice of her ass, and
after lying down on her back and raising her legs and bottom, she tried to keep the eye there
simply by squeezing her buttocks together. But all at once, it spat out like a stone squeezed from
a cherry, and dropped on the thin belly of the corpse, an inch or so from the cock.
In the meantime, I had let Sir Edmund undress me, so that I could pounce stark naked on the
crouching body of the girl; my entire cock vanished at one lunge into the hairy crevice, and I
fucked her hard while Sir Edmund played with the eye, rolling it, in between the contortions of our
bodies, on the skin of our bellies and breasts. For an instant, the eye was trapped between our
navels.
"Put it up my ass, Sir Edmund," Simone shouted. And Sir Edmund delicately glided the eye
between her buttocks.
But finally, Simone left me, grabbed the beautiful eyeball from the hands of the tall Englishman,
and with a staid and regular pressure from her hands, she slid it into her slobbery flesh, in the
midst of the fur. And then she promptly drew me over, clutching my neck between her arms and
smashing her lips on mine so forcefully that I came without touching her and my come shot all
over her fur.
Now I stood up and, while Simone lay on her side, I drew her thighs apart, and found myself
facing something I imagine I had been waiting for in the same way that a guillotine waits for a
neck to slice. I even felt as if my eyes were bulging from my head, erectile with horror; in
Simone's hairy vagina, I saw the wan blue eye of Marcelle, gazing at me through tears of urine.
Streaks of come in the steaming hair helped give that dreamy vision a disastrous sadness. I held
the thighs open while Simone was convulsed by the urinary spasm, and the burning urine
streamed out from under the eye down to the thighs below...
Two hours later, Sir Edmund and I were sporting false black beards, and Simone was bedizened
in a huge, ridiculous black hat with yellow flowers and a long cloth dress like a noble girl from the provinces. In this getup, we rented a car and left Seville. Huge valises allowed us to change our personalities at every leg of the journey in order to outwit the police investigation. Sir Edmund evinced a humorous ingenuity in these circumstances: thus we marched down the main street of
the small town of Ronda, he and I dressed as Spanish priests, wearing the small hairy felt hats
and priestly cloaks, and manfully puffing on big cigars; as for Simone, who was walking between
us in the costume of a Seville seminarist, she looked more angelic than ever. In this way, we kept
disappearing all through Andalusia, a country of yellow earth and yellow sky, to my eyes an
immense chamber pot flooded with sunlight, where each day, as a new character, I ****d a
likewise transformed Simone, especially towards noon, on the ground and in the blazing sun,
under the reddish eyes of Sir Edmund.
On the fourth day, at Gibraltar, the Englishman purchased a yacht, and we set sail towards new
adventures with a crew of Negroe
Story of the Eye (French: L'histoire de l'oeil) is a 1928 novella by Georges Bataille that details the increasingly bizarre sexual perversions of a pair of teenage lovers. It is narrated by the young man looking back on his exploits.
Story of the Eye consists of several vignettes, centered around the sexual passion existing between the unnamed late adolescent male narrator and Simone, his primary female partner. Within this episodic narrative two secondary figures emerge: Marcelle, a mentally ill sixteen-year-old girl who comes to a sad end, and Lord Edmund, a voyeuristic English émigré aristocrat.
Simone and the narrator first consummate their lust on a beach near their home, and involve Marcelle within their activity. The couple are exhibitionists, copulating within Simone's house in full view of her mother. During this second episode, Simone derives pleasure from inserting hard and soft boiled eggs for her vaginal and anal stimulation; she also experiences considerable enjoyment from the viscosity of various liquids.
The pair undertake an orgy with other adolescents, which involves some broken glass and involuntary bloodletting, and ends with Marcelle's psychological breakdown. The narrator flees his own parents' home, taking a pistol from the office of his bedridden, senile, and violent father. They view Marcelle within a sanatorium, but fail to break her out. Naked, they flee during night back to Simone's home, and more displays of exhibitionist sex ensue before Simone's widowed mother. Later, they finally break Marcelle out of the institution, but unfortunately, Marcelle is totally insane. Deprived of her the****utic environment, she hangs herself. The pair have sex next to her corpse.
After Marcelle's suicide, the two flee to Spain, where they meet Sir Edmund. They witness a Madrid bullfight, which involves the prowess of handsome twenty-year-old matador, El Granero. Initially, El Granero kills the first bull that he encounters and the a****l is consequently castrated. Simone then pleasures herself by vaginally inserting these taurine testicles. Unfortunately, El Granero is killed by the next bull that he fights, and his face is mutilated. As the corpse of El Granero is removed from the stadium, his right eye has worked loose from its socket, and is hanging, bloody and distended.
Simone, Sir Edmund, and the narrator visit the Catholic Church of San Seville after the day's events. Simone aggressively seduces Don Aminado, a handsome, young, Catholic priest, fellating him while Simone and the narrator have sex.
EXTRACT: The Seduction of Don Aminado
"This is a very interesting place," Sir Edmund said one day in regard to a church, "it's the church of Don Juan."
"So what?" replied Simone.
"Stay here with me," Sir Edmund said to me. "And you Simone, you ought to go round this church
all by yourself."
"What an awful idea!"
Nevertheless, however awful the idea, it aroused her curiosity, and she went in by herself while
we waited in the street.
Five minutes later, Simone reappeared at the threshold of the church. We were dumbstruck: not
only was she guffawing her head off, but she couldn't speak or stop laughing, so that, partly by
contagion, partly because of the intense light, I began laughing as hard as she, and so did Sir
Edmund to a certain extent.
"bloody girl," he said. "Can't you explain? By the by, we're laughing right over the tomb of Don
Juan!"
And laughing even harder, he pointed at a large church brass at our feet. It was the tomb of the
church's founder, who, the guides claimed, was Don Juan: after repenting, he had himself buried
under the doorstep so that the faithful would trudge over his corpse when entering or leaving their
haunt.
But now our wild laughter burst out again tenfold. In our mirth, Simone had lightly pissed down
her leg, and a tiny trickle of water had landed on the brass.
We noted a further effect of her accident: the thin dress, being wet, stuck to her body, and since
the cloth was now fully transparent, Simone's attractive belly and thighs were revealed with
particular lewdness, a dark patch between the red ribbons of her gThe priest thus moved in the same direction as the woman, and he would probably have vanished in turn without seeing anything if Simone, to my great surprise, had not brought him up sharply. Something unbelievable had occurred to her: she greeted the visionary courteously and said she wanted to confess.
The priest, still gliding in his ecstasy, indicated the confessional with a distant gesture and
reentered his tabernacle, softly closing the door without a word.
12. Simone's Confession and Sir Edmund's Mass
One can readily imagine my stupor at watching Simone kneel down by the cabinet of the
lugubrious confessor. While she confessed her sins, I waited, extremely anxious to see the
outcome of such an unexpected action. I assumed this sordid creature was going to burst from
his booth, pounce upon the impious girl, and flagellate her. I was even getting ready to knock the
dreadful phantom down and treat him to a few kicks; but nothing of the sort happened: the booth
remained closed, Simone spoke on and on through the tiny grilled window, and that was all.
I was exchanging sharply interrogative looks with Sir Edmund when things began to grow clear:
Simone was slowly scratching her thigh, moving her legs apart; keeping one knee on the prayer
stool, she shifted one foot to the floor, and she was exposing more and more of her legs over her
stockings while still murmuring her confession. At times she even seemed to be tossing off:
I softly drew up at the side to try and see what was happening: Simone really was masturbating,
the left part of her face was pressed against the grille near the priest's head, her limbs tensed,
her thighs splayed, her fingers rummaging deep in the fur; I was able to touch her, I bared her
cunt for an instant.
At that moment, I distinctly heard her say:
"Father, I still have not confessed the worst sin of all."
A few seconds of silence.
"The worst sin of all is very simply that I'm tossing off while talking to you."
More seconds of whispering inside, and finally almost aloud:
"If you don't believe me, I can show you."
And indeed, Simone stood up and spread one thigh before the eye of the window while masturbating with a quick, sure hand.
"All right, priest," cried Simone, banging away at the confessional,
"what are you doing in your shack there? Tossing off, too?"
But the confessional kept its peace.
"Well, then I'll open."
And Simone pulled out the door.
Inside, the visionary, standing there with lowered head, was mopping a sweat-bathed brow. The
girl groped for his cock under the cassock: he didn't turn a hair. She pulled up the filthy black skirt so that the long cock stuck out, pink and hard: all he did was throw back his head with a grimace, and a hiss escaped through his teeth, but he didn't interfere with Simone, who shoved the
b********y into her mouth and took long sucks on it.
Sir Edmund and I were immobile in our stupor. For my part, I was spellbound with admiration, and
I didn't know what else to do, when the enigmatic Englishman resolutely strode to the confessional and, after edging Simone aside as delicately as could be, dragged the larva out of its hole by its wrists, and flung it brutally at our feet: the vile priest lay there like a cadaver, his
teeth to the ground, not uttering a cry. We promptly carried him to the vestry.
His fly was open, his cock dangling, his face livid and drenched with sweat, he didn't resist, but
breathed heavily: we put him in a large wooden armchair with architectural decorations.
"Senores," the wretch sniveled, "you must think I'm a hypocrite."
"No," replied Sir Edmund with a categorical intonation.
Simone asked him: "What's your name?"
"Don Aminado," he answered.
Simone slapped the sacerdotal pig, which gave him another hard-on. We stripped off all his
clothes, and Simone crouched down and pissed on them like a bitch. Then she wanked and
sucked the pig while I urinated in his nostrils. Finally, to top off this cold exaltation, I fucked
Simone in the ass while she violently sucked his cock.
Meanwhile, Sir Edmund, contemplating the scene with his characteristic poker face, carefully
inspected the room where we had found refuge. He glimpsed a tiny key hanging from a nail in the
woodwork.
"What is that key for?' he asked Don Aminado.
From the expression of dread on the priest's face, Sir Edmund realized it was the key to the
tabernacle.
The Englishman returned a few moments later, carrying a ciborium of twisted gold, decorated
with a quantity of angels as naked as cupids. The wretched Don Aminado gaped at this
receptacle of consecrated hosts on the floor, and his handsome moronic face, already contorted
because Simone was flagellating his cock with her teeth and tongue, was now fully gasping and
panting.
After barricading the door, Sir Edmund rummaged through the closets until he finally lit upon a
large chalice, whereupon he asked us to abandon the wretch for an instant.
"Look," he explained to Simone, "the eucharistic hosts in the ciborium, and here the chalice
where they put white wine."
"They smell like cum,” said Simone, sniffing the unleavened wafers.
"Precisely," continued Sir Edmund.
"The hosts, as you see, are nothing other than Christ's sperm
in the form of small white biscuits. And as for the wine they put in the chalice, the ecclesiastics
say it is the blood of Christ, but they are obviously mistaken. If they really thought it was the
blood, they would use red wine, but since they employ only white wine, they are showing that at
the bottom of their hearts they are quite aware that this is urine."
The lucidity of this logic was so convincing that Simone and I required no further explanation.
She, armed with the chalice and I with the ciborium, the two of us marched over to Don Aminado,
who was still inert in his armchair, faintly agitated by a slight quiver through his body.
Simone began by slamming the base of the chalice against his skull, which jolted him and left him
utterly dazed. Then she resumed sucking him, which provoked his ignoble rattles. After bringing
his senses to a height of fury with Sir Edmund's help and mine, she gave him a hard shake.
"That's not all," she said in a voice that brooked no reply.
"It's time to piss."
And she struck his face again with the chalice, but at the same time she stripped naked before
him and I finger-fucked her.
Sir Edmund's gaze, fixed on the stunned eyes of the young cleric, was so imperious that the thing
went off with barely any hitch; Don Aminado noisily poured his urine into the chalice, which
Simone held under this thick cock.
"And now, drink," commanded Sir Edmund.
The paralyzed wretch drank with a well-nigh filthy ecstasy at one long gluttonous draft. Again
Simone sucked and wanked him; he continued gurgling desperately and reveling in it. With a
demented gesture, he bashed the sacred chamber-pot against a wall. Four robust arms lifted him
up and, with open thighs, his body erect, and yelling like a pig being slaughtered, he spurted his
come on the hosts in the ciborium, which Simone held in front of him while masturbating him.
We dropped the swine and he crashed to the floor. Sir Edmund, Simone, and myself were coldly
animated by the same determination, together with an incredible excitement and levity. The priest
lay there with a limp cock, his teeth digging into the floor with rage and shame. Now that his balls were drained, his abomination appeared to him in all its horror.
He audibly sighed:
"Oh miserable sacrileges..."
And muttering other incomprehensible laments.
Sir Edmund nudged him with his foot; the monster leaped up and drew back, bellowing with such
ludicrous fury that we burst out laughing.
"Get on your feet," Sir Edmund ordered him, "you're going to fuck this girl.
Wretches..." Don Aminado threatened in a choking voice .
"Spanish police... prison... the garrote..."
"But you are forgetting that is your sperm," observed Sir Edmund.
A ferocious grimace, a trembling like that of a cornered b**st, and then: "The garrote for me too.
But you three... first."
"Poor fool," smirked Sir Edmund.
"First! Do you think I am going to let you wait that long? First!"
The imbecile gaped dumbstruck at the Englishman: an extremely silly expression darted across
his handsome face. Something like an absurd joy began to open his mouth, he crossed his arms
over his naked chest and finally gazed at us with ecstatic eyes.
"Martyrdom..." he uttered in a voice that was suddenly feeble and yet tore out like a sob.
"Martyrdom..."
A bizarre hope of purification had come to the wretch, illuminating his eyes.
"First I am going to tell you a story," Sir Edmund said to him sedately.
"You know that men who are hanged or garroted have such stiff cocks the instant their respiration is cut off, that they ejaculate. You are going to have the pleasure of being martyred while fucking this girl."
And when the horrified priest rose to defend himself, the Englishman brutally knocked him down,
twisting his arm.
Next, Sir Edmund, slipping under his victim, pinioned his arms behind his back while I gagged
him and bound his legs with a belt. The Englishman, gripping his arms from behind in a
stranglehold, disabled the priest's legs in his own. Kneeling behind, I kept the man's head
immobile between my thighs.
"And now," said Sir Edmund to Simone, "mount this little padre."
Simone removed her dress and squatted on the belly of this singular martyr, her cunt next to his
flabby cock.
"Now," continued Sir Edmund, "squeeze his throat, the pipe just behind the Adam's apple: a
strong, gradual pressure."
Do you see the eye?" she asked me.
"Well?"
"It's an egg," she concluded in all simplicity.
"All right," I urged her, extremely disturbed, "what are you getting at?"
"I want to play with this eye."
"What do you mean?"
"Listen, Sir Edmund," she finally let it out, "you must give me this at once, tear it out at once, I want it!"
Sir Edmund was always poker-faced except when he turned purple. Nor did he bat an eyelash
now; but the blood did shoot to his face. He removed a pair of fine scissors from his wallet, knelt
down, then nimbly inserted the fingers of his left hand into the socket and drew out the eye, while
his right hand snipped the obstinate ligaments. Next, he presented the small whitish eyeball in a
hand reddened with blood.
Simone gazed at the absurdity and finally took it in her hand, completely distraught; yet she had
no qualms, and instantly amused herself by fondling the depth of her thighs and inserting this
apparently fluid object. The caress of the eye over the skin is so utterly, so extraordinarily gentle, and the sensation is so bizarre that it has something of a rooster's horrible crowing.
Simone meanwhile amused herself by slipping the eye into the profound crevice of her ass, and
after lying down on her back and raising her legs and bottom, she tried to keep the eye there
simply by squeezing her buttocks together. But all at once, it spat out like a stone squeezed from
a cherry, and dropped on the thin belly of the corpse, an inch or so from the cock.
In the meantime, I had let Sir Edmund undress me, so that I could pounce stark naked on the
crouching body of the girl; my entire cock vanished at one lunge into the hairy crevice, and I
fucked her hard while Sir Edmund played with the eye, rolling it, in between the contortions of our
bodies, on the skin of our bellies and breasts. For an instant, the eye was trapped between our
navels.
"Put it up my ass, Sir Edmund," Simone shouted. And Sir Edmund delicately glided the eye
between her buttocks.
But finally, Simone left me, grabbed the beautiful eyeball from the hands of the tall Englishman,
and with a staid and regular pressure from her hands, she slid it into her slobbery flesh, in the
midst of the fur. And then she promptly drew me over, clutching my neck between her arms and
smashing her lips on mine so forcefully that I came without touching her and my come shot all
over her fur.
Now I stood up and, while Simone lay on her side, I drew her thighs apart, and found myself
facing something I imagine I had been waiting for in the same way that a guillotine waits for a
neck to slice. I even felt as if my eyes were bulging from my head, erectile with horror; in
Simone's hairy vagina, I saw the wan blue eye of Marcelle, gazing at me through tears of urine.
Streaks of come in the steaming hair helped give that dreamy vision a disastrous sadness. I held
the thighs open while Simone was convulsed by the urinary spasm, and the burning urine
streamed out from under the eye down to the thighs below...
Two hours later, Sir Edmund and I were sporting false black beards, and Simone was bedizened
in a huge, ridiculous black hat with yellow flowers and a long cloth dress like a noble girl from the provinces. In this getup, we rented a car and left Seville. Huge valises allowed us to change our personalities at every leg of the journey in order to outwit the police investigation. Sir Edmund evinced a humorous ingenuity in these circumstances: thus we marched down the main street of
the small town of Ronda, he and I dressed as Spanish priests, wearing the small hairy felt hats
and priestly cloaks, and manfully puffing on big cigars; as for Simone, who was walking between
us in the costume of a Seville seminarist, she looked more angelic than ever. In this way, we kept
disappearing all through Andalusia, a country of yellow earth and yellow sky, to my eyes an
immense chamber pot flooded with sunlight, where each day, as a new character, I ****d a
likewise transformed Simone, especially towards noon, on the ground and in the blazing sun,
under the reddish eyes of Sir Edmund.
On the fourth day, at Gibraltar, the Englishman purchased a yacht, and we set sail towards new
adventures with a crew of Negroe
Libbie
- 28.05.2020
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