"Sade, Marquis De - The 120 Days Of Sodom 3" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marquis de Sade)

THE TWENTY-FIRST DAY
Preparations for that ceremony were started early in the morning; they
were of the usual sort but, and I have no idea whether or not it was by a
stroke of chance, the inspection uncovered signs of the young bride's
misbehavior. Durcet declared he had found shit in her chamber pot; she
denied having put it there, asserting that, to cause her to be punished,
the duenna had come and done the thing during the night, and that
governesses often planted such evidence when they wished to embroil the
children in difficulties. Well, she defended herself very eloquently and to
no purpose whatever, for she was not carefully heard, and as her little
husband-to-be was already on the list, the prospect of correcting both of
them was the cause of great amusement.
Nevertheless, the young bride and groom, once the mass had been said,
were conducted with much pomp to the salon where the ceremony was to be
completed before mealtime; they were both of the same age, and the little
girl was delivered naked to her husband, who was permitted to do whatever
he wanted. Is there any voice so compelling as example's? And where if not
in Silling were it possible to receive very bad examples and the most
contagious ones? The young man sped like an arrow to its mark, hopped upon
his little wife, and as his prick was greatly stiff, although not yet
capable of a discharge, he would inevitably have got his spear in her . . .
but mild as would have been the damage done her, the source of all
Messieurs' glory lay in preventing anything from harming the tender flower
they wished alone to pluck. And so it was the Bishop checked the lad's
impetuous career, and profiting from his erection, straightway thrust into
his ass the very pretty and already very well-formed engine wherewith
Zelamir was about to plumb his young spouse. What a disappointment for that
young man, and what a discrepancy between the old Bishop's slack-sprung
vent and the strait and tidy cunt of a little thirteen-year-old virgin! But
Zelamir was having to deal with people who were deaf to common-sense
arguments.
Curval laid hands on Colombe and thigh-fucked her from in front while
licking her eyes, her mouth, her nostrils, in a word, her entire face.
Meanwhile, he must surely have been rendered some kind of service, for he
discharged, and Curval was not a man to lose his fuck over silly trifles.
They dined, the wedded couple appeared at the meal and again in the
salon for coffee, which that day was served by the very cream of the
subjects, by, I wish to say, Augustine, Zelmire, Adonis, and Zephyr. Curval
wished to stiffen afresh, had absolutely to have some shit, and Augustine
shot him as fine an artifact as it were in human power to create. The Duc
had himself sucked by Zelmire, Durcet by Colombe, the Bishop by Adonis. The
last named shitted into Durcet's mouth after having dispatched the Bishop.
But no sign of fuck; it was becoming rare, they had failed to exercise any
restraint at the outset of the holiday, and as they realized the extreme
need of seed they would have toward the end, Messieurs were growing more
frugal. They went next to the auditorium where the majestic Duclos, invited
to display her ass before starting, exposed that matchless ensemble most
libertinely to the eyes of the assembly, and then began to speak:
Here is still another trait of my character, Messieurs, said that
sublime woman; after having made you well enough acquainted with it, you