NOW SHE WAS without a lover. The Basque continued to tease her, arousing great desires for revenge. She was only happy when she was deceiving him.

She walked the streets and frequented the cafés with a feeling of hunger and curiosity; she wanted something new, something she had not yet experienced. She sat at cafés and refused invitations.

One evening she walked down the stairway to the quays and the river. This part of the city was lighted only dimly by the street lamps overhead. The noise of the traffic barely reached it.

The moored barges were without lights, their occupants asleep at this time of the night. She came to a very low stone wall and stopped to watch the river. She leaned over, fascinated by the lights reflected on the water. Then she heard the most extraordinary voice speaking in her ear, a voice that immediately enchanted her.

It said, “I beg you not to move. I will not hurt you. But stay where you are.”

The voice was so deep, rich, refined, that she obeyed and merely turned her head. She found a tall, handsome, well-dressed man standing behind her. He was smiling in the dim light, with a friendly, disarming, gallant expression.

Then, he too, leaned over the wall and said, “Finding you here, this way, has been one of the obsessions of my life. You don’t know how beautiful you look, with your breasts crushed against the wall, your dress so short behind you. What beautiful legs you have.”

“But you must have a lot of friends,” said Bijou, smiling.

“None that I have ever wanted as much as I want you. Only I beg you, don’t move.”

Bijou was intrigued. The stranger’s voice fascinated her and kept her in a trance at his side. She felt his hand gently passing over her leg, and under her dress.

As he stroked her, he said, “One day I watched two dogs playing. The one dog was busy eating a bone she had found, and the other took advantage of the situation to approach her from behind. I was fourteen. I felt the wildest excitement from watching them. It was the first sexual scene I witnessed, and I discovered the first sexual excitement in myself. From then on, only a woman leaning over as you are can arouse my desire.”

His hand continued to stroke her. He pressed a little against her and, seeing her pliant, began to move behind her so as to cover her with his body. Bijou was suddenly afraid and sought to escape from his embrace. But the man was powerful. She was already under him, and all he had to do was bend her body over even more. He forced her head and shoulders down on the wall and raised her skirt.

Bijou was again without underclothes. The man gasped. He began to murmur words of desire that soothed her, but at the same time he held her down, entirely at his mercy. She felt him against her back, but he was not taking her. He was merely pressing against her as tightly as he could. She felt the strength of his two legs, and she heard his voice enveloping her, but that was all. Then she felt something soft and warm against her, something that did not penetrate her. In a moment she was covered with warm sperm. The man abandoned her and ran away.

LEILA TOOK Bijou horseback riding in the Bois. Leila looked very beautiful on horseback, slim, masculine and haughty. Bijou looked more luxuriant but less poised.

Riding in the Bois was a lovely experience. They passed elegant people, then rode through long stretches of isolated, wooded paths. Every now and then they came across a café, where one could rest and eat.

It was spring. Bijou had taken several riding lessons and was now on her own for the first time. They rode slowly, talking all the while. Then Leila set off at a gallop and Bijou followed. After they had galloped for a time, they slowed down. Their faces were flushed.

Bijou felt a pleasurable irritation between her legs and a warmth over her buttocks. She wondered if Leila felt the same. After another half an hour of riding, her excitation was growing. Her eyes were brilliant, her lips moist. Leila looked at her with admiration.

“Horseback riding becomes you,” she said.

Her hand held a whip with regal assurance. Her gloves fitted her long fingers tightly. She wore a man’s shirt and cuff links. Her riding habit showed the shapeliness of her waist and breast and buttocks. Bijou filled her clothes more abundantly. Her breasts were high and pointed provocatively upwards. Her hair hung loose in the wind.

But oh, the warmth across her buttocks and between the legs—feeling as if she had been rubbed with alcohol, or with wine, and slightly patted by an experienced masseuse. Each time she rose and fell in the saddle she felt a delicious tingling. Leila liked to ride behind her and watch her figure as it moved on the horse. Not fully trained, Bijou leaned forwards in the saddle and showed her buttocks, round and tight in the jodhpurs, and her shapely legs.

The horses were hot and beginning to lather. A strong odor came from them and seeped into the two women’s clothes. Leila’s body seemed to grow lighter. She held her whip nervously. They galloped again, side by side now, with their mouths half-open and the wind on their faces. As her legs gripped the flanks of her horse, Bijou remembered how she had once ridden on the stomach of the Basque. And then she stood up, her feet on his chest and her genitals directly in the line of his vision, and he had maintained her in this position to feast his eyes. Another time he had been on his hands and knees on the floor, and she had ridden on his back and had tried to hurt him with the pressure of her knees on his flanks. Laughing nervously, he had urged her on. Her knees were as strong as those of a man riding a horse, and the Basque had felt such excitement that he had crawled like this all around the room with his penis stretched out.

Now and then Leila’s horse raised his tail in the speed of the gallop, and then swatted himself vigorously, exposing glossy hairs in the sun. When they reached the deepest part of the forest, the women stopped and dismounted. They walked their horses to a mossy corner and sat down to rest. They smoked; Leila had kept her riding whip in her hand.

Bijou said, “My buttocks are burning hot from the riding.”

“Let me see,” said Leila. “For this first time we should not have ridden so much. Let me see how you look.”

Bijou unfastened her belt slowly, unbuttoned the trousers, and pulled them down a little, turning over for Leila to see.

Leila pulled her over her knees and said, “Let me see.” She finished pulling down the trousers to uncover the buttocks completely. She touched Bijou.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“It does not hurt. It’s just warm, as if it had been toasted.”

Leila’s hand cupped the round buttocks. “Poor little things,” she said. “Does it hurt here?” Her hand went deeper into the trousers, deeper between the legs.

“It’s warm and burning there,” said Bijou.

“Take the trousers off so it will cool,” said Leila, pulling them down a little farther and keeping Bijou over her knees, exposed to the air.

“What beautiful skin you have, Bijou. It catches the light and shines. Let the air cool you off there.”

She continued to stroke Bijou’s skin between the legs as if she were a kitten. Whenever the trousers threatened to cover all this again, she pulled them back out of the way.

“It still burns,” said Bijou, not moving.

“If it continues to burn then we should try something else,” said Leila.

“Do whatever you want to me,” said Bijou.

Leila lifted up her riding whip and let it fall, not too hard at first.

Bijou said: “That makes me warmer still.”

“I want you warmer, Bijou. I want you hot down there, as warm as you can stand it.”

Bijou did not move. Leila used the whip again, leaving a red mark this time.

Bijou said, “It is so warm, Leila.”

“I want you to burn down there,” said Leila, “until you cannot burn any more, cannot bear any more. Then I’ll kiss it.”

She struck again, and Bijou did not move. She struck a little harder.

Bijou said: “It’s so hot there, Leila, kiss it.”

Leila leaned over and gave her one long kiss where the buttocks valleyed into the sexual parts. Then she struck Bijou again. And again. Bijou contracted her buttocks as if they hurt, but she felt a burning pleasure.

“Strike hard,” she said Leila.

Leila obeyed. Then she said, “Do you want to do it to me?”

“Yes,” said Bijou, rising, but she did not pull up her trousers. She sat on the cool moss, took Leila over her knees, unbuttoned her trousers, and began whipping her gently at first, then harder, until Leila contracted and expanded at each blow. Her buttocks were red and burning hot now.

She said, “Let’s take off our clothes and get on the horses together.”

They took off their clothes and both mounted one of the horses. The saddle was warm. They fitted snugly against each other; Leila, behind, put her arms around Bijou’s breasts and kissed her shoulder. They rode a little way in this position, each movement of the horse rubbing the saddle against their genitals. Leila was biting Bijou’s shoulder and Bijou would turn now and then and bite Leila’s nipple. They returned to their moss bed and put on their clothes.

Before Bijou had finished pulling on her trousers, Leila stopped her to kiss her clitoris; but what Bijou felt was her burning buttocks, and she begged Leila to put an end to her irritation.

Leila caressed her buttocks and then used the whip again, used it hard, and Bijou contracted under the blows. Leila spread the buttocks with one hand so that the whip would fall between the buttocks, there in the sensitive opening, and Bijou cried out. Leila struck her there again and again until Bijou was convulsed.

Then Bijou turned and struck Leila hard, angry that she was so aroused and yet unsatisfied, burning and unable to put an end to the sensation. Each time she struck she felt herself palpitating between the legs, as if she were taking Leila, penetrating her. After they were both whipped to redness and fury they fell on each other with hands and tongues until they reached the full effulgence of their pleasure.

IT WAS PLANNED that they would all go together for a picnic: Elena, her lover Pierre, Bijou and the Basque, Leila, and the African.

They set out for a spot outside of Paris. They ate at a restaurant on the Seine. Then, leaving the car in the shade, they set out on foot into the forest. At first they walked in a group, then Elena fell behind with the African. She suddenly decided to climb a tree. The African laughed at her, thinking she could not do it.

But Elena knew how. Very deftly, she put one foot on the first low branch and climbed. The African stood at the foot of the tree and watched her. As he looked up he could see under her skirt. She wore shell-pink underwear, tight-fitting and short, so that most of her legs and thighs showed as she climbed. The African stood there laughing and teasing her, as he began to get an erection.

Elena was sitting quite far up. The African could not reach her, because he was too heavy and big to step on the first branch. All he could do was to sit there and watch her and feel his erection becoming stronger.

He asked, “What gift will you make me today?”

“This,” said Elena, and threw down some chestnuts.

She sat on a branch swinging her legs.

Then Bijou and the Basque returned to look for her. Bijou, a little jealous when she saw the two men looking up at Elena, threw herself on the grass and said, “Something has crawled into my clothes. I’m frightened.”

The two men approached her. She pointed first to her back, and the Basque slipped his hand down her dress. Then she said she felt it along the front, and the African slipped his hand inside of her dress and began to search below the breasts. All at once Bijou felt that something really was crawling along her belly, and this time she began to shake herself and roll herself over the grass.

The two men tried to help her. They lifted her skirt and began to search. She wore satin underclothing that covered her completely. She unhooked one side of her panties for the Basque, who, in everyone’s eyes, had more right to search her secret places. This excited the African. He turned Bijou over rather roughly and began slapping her body, saying “This will kill it, whatever it is.” The Basque was also feeling Bijou all over.

“You’ll have to undress,” he said finally. “There is nothing else to do.”

They both helped her to undress, as she lay on the grass. Elena was watching from the tree and feeling warm and tingling, wishing it were being done to her. When Bijou was undressed she searched between her legs, and through the pubic hair, and finding nothing, began to put on her underwear. But the African did not want to see her completely dressed. He picked up some harmless little insect and laid it on Bijou’s body. It crawled along her legs, and Bijou began to roll and try to shake it off, not wanting to touch it with her fingers.

“Take it off, take it off!” she cried, rolling her beautiful body on the grass, and offering whatever part the insect was traveling over. But neither man wanted to rescue her. The Basque took a branch and began slapping at the insect. The African took another branch. The blows were not painful, merely tickling and stinging a little.

Then the African remembered Elena and returned to the tree.

“Come down,” he said, “I will help you. You can put your foot on my shoulder.”

“I won’t come down,” said Elena.

The African pleaded. She began to climb down, and when she was about to reach the lowest branch the African gripped her leg and placed it over his shoulder. She slipped then, and fell with her legs around his neck, her sex against his face. The African inhaled her odor in ecstasy and held her in the strong grip of his arms.

Through the dress he could smell and feel her sex, and he maintained her there, as he bit into the clothes and held her legs. She struggled to escape, kicking him and hitting his back.

Then her lover appeared, furious, his hair wild, at seeing her caught like this. In vain she tried to explain that the African had caught her because she had slipped on her way down. He remained angry, with desire for revenge. When he saw the pair on the grass he tried to join them. But the Basque would not let anyone touch Bijou. He continued to hit her with the branches.

As she lay there a big dog appeared through the trees and came up to her. He began to sniff at her, with evident pleasure. Bijou screamed and struggled to raise herself. But the enormous dog had planted himself over her and was trying to insert his nose between her legs.

Then the Basque, a cruel expression in his eyes, made a signal to Elena’s lover. Pierre understood. They held Bijou’s arms and legs still and let the dog sniff his way to the place he wanted to smell. He began to lick the satin chemise with delight, in the very place a man would have liked to lick it.

The Basque unfastened her underwear and let the dog continue to lick her carefully and neatly. His tongue was rough, much rougher than a man’s, and long and strong. He licked and licked with much vigor, and the three men were watching now.

Elena and Leila also felt as if they were being licked by the dog. They were restless. They all watched, wondering if Bijou was feeling any pleasure.

At first she was terrified and struggled violently. Then she grew weary of moving uselessly and hurting her wrists and ankles, held so strongly by the men. The dog was beautiful, with a big tousled head, a clean tongue.

The sun fell on Bijou’s pubic hair, which looked like brocade. Her sex was glistening wet, but no one knew whether it was from the dog’s tongue or her pleasure. When her resistance began to die down, the Basque got jealous, kicked off the dog and freed her.

THERE CAME a time when the Basque tired of Bijou and abandoned her. Bijou was so accustomed to his fantasies and cruel games, particularly the way he always managed to have her bound and helpless while all kinds of things were done to her, that for months she could not enjoy her newfound liberty or have a relationship with any other man. She could not enjoy women either.

She tried to pose but did not like exposing her body any longer, or being watched and desired by the students. She wandered off by herself all day, once again walking the streets.

THE BASQUE, on the other hand, returned to the pursuit of his former obsession.

Born into a well-to-do family, he was seventeen when his family took a French governess for his younger sister. This woman was short, plump, and always coquettishly dressed. She wore little patent leather boots and sheer black stockings. Her foot was small and extremely arched and pointed.

The Basque was a handsome boy and the French governess took notice of him. They and the younger sister would go on walks together. Under the eyes of the sister very little could take place between them, except long searching glances. The governess had a small mole at the corner of her mouth. The Basque was fascinated with it. One day he complimented her on it.

She answered: “I have another where you would never imagine one to be, and where you will never see it.”

The boy tried to imagine where the other mole was placed. He tried to picture the French governess naked. Where was the mole? He had seen only pictures of naked women. He had a postcard showing a dancer with a short feathery skirt. When he breathed on it, the skirt raised itself and the woman stood exposed. One of her legs was in the air, like a ballet dancer’s, and the Basque could see how she was made.

As soon as he got home that day he took out this postcard and breathed on it. He imagined he was seeing the body of the governess, her plump, full breast. Then with a pencil he drew a tiny mole between the legs. By then he was thoroughly aroused and wanted to see the governess naked at all cost. But in the midst of the Basque’s large family, they had to be cautious. There was always someone on the stairs, someone in every room.

The next day during their walk she gave him a handkerchief. He went to his room, threw himself on the bed and covered his mouth with the handkerchief. He could smell the odor of her body on it. She had been holding it in her hand on a hot day and it had received some of her perspiration. The odor was so vivid and affected him so much that for the second time he knew what it was to feel a turmoil between his legs. He saw that he had an erection, which until now had happened only in dreams.

The next day she gave him something wrapped up in paper. He slipped it in his pocket and after their walk went straight to his room, where he opened the package. It contained flesh-tinted panties, with lace edging. She had worn them. They, too, smelled of her body. The boy buried his face in them and experienced the wildest pleasure. He imagined himself taking the panties off her body. The feeling was so vivid that he had an erection. He began to touch himself as he continued to kiss the panties. Then he rubbed his penis with them. The touch of the silk entranced him. It seemed to him that he was touching her flesh, perhaps the very place where he imagined she had the little mole. Suddenly he had an ejaculation, his first, in a spasm of joy that sent him rolling over the bed.

The next day she gave him another package. It contained a brassiere. He repeated the ceremony. He wondered what else she could give him that would stir him to such pleasure.

This time it was a big package. His sister’s curiosity was aroused.

“It’s only books,” said the governess, “nothing of any interest to you.”

The Basque hurried to his room. He found that she had given him a small black corset with lace edges, and this carried the imprint of her body. The lace was worn from all the times she had pulled at it. The Basque was stirred again. This time he took his clothes off and slipped the corset on himself. He pulled at the lacing as he had seen his mother do. He felt compressed and it hurt him, but he delighted in the pain. He imagined the governess was holding him and tightening her arms around him to the point of suffocating him. As he loosened the lace he imagined himself freeing her body so he could see her naked. Again he grew feverish, and all kinds of images haunted him—the governess’s waist, her hips, her thighs.

At night he concealed all her clothes in his bed with him, and fell asleep on them, burying his sex in them as if it were into her body. He dreamed of her. The tip of his penis was constantly wet. In the morning there were rings under his eyes.

She gave him a pair of her stockings. Then she gave him a pair of her black patent leather boots. He placed the boots on his bed. He lay naked now among all her belongings, struggling to create her presence, yearning for her. The shoes looked so alive. They made it appear that she had entered the room and was walking on his bed. He stood them up between his legs to look at them. It seemed as if she were going to walk on his body with her dainty pointed feet, crush him. The thought aroused him. He began to tremble. He drew the boots nearer to his body. Then he brought one near enough to touch the tip of his penis. It aroused him so violently he had an ejaculation all over the shiny leather.

But this had become a form of torture. He began to write the governess letters, begging her to come to his room at night. She read them with pleasure, right in his presence, her dark eyes glittering, but she would not risk her position.

Then one day she was called home by the illness of her father. The boy never saw her again. He was left with a devouring hunger for her, and her clothes haunted him.

One day he made a package of all the clothing and went to a house of prostitution. He found a woman who was physically similar to the governess. He made her dress in the governess’s clothes. He watched her lace up the corset, which lifted up her breasts and set off her buttocks; watched her button the brassiere and slip on the panties. Then he asked her to put on the stockings and the boots.

His excitement was tremendous. He rubbed himself against the woman. He stretched himself at her feet and begged her to touch him with the tip of her boot. She touched his chest first of all, then his belly, then the tip of his penis. This caused him to leap with ardor, and he imagined it was the governess who was touching him.

He kissed the underclothing and tried to possess the girl, but as soon as she opened her legs to him, his desire died, for where was the little mole?