A licentious novel
"Good Lord, how splendid!" exclaimed the Countess at the moment when, carefully suspending her fat arse over the ascetic face of the Archbishop, she hawked from the throat of her protruding cunt a huge lump of greasy snot into the gaping mouth of the half-strangled clergyman.
"...and he shall have it, my father!" said the lady and, immediately seizing the rod with the purple knob, began vigorously rubbing it perpendicular to its length, increasing the pace and pressure, and the gentleman grew more and more inflamed. But, despite
all her efforts, he soon ejaculated a small stream of genuine, viscous semen, which the Countess deftly caught in her left nostril and sniffed up through her nose with the same relish with which Regency dandies took snuff.The Archbishop's tongue had not been idle all this time, but thoughts of his diocese constantly distracted the spiritual personage from his more elevated duties, and so he had grown sluggish.
Offended by such neglect, the Countess took it as disrespect for her charms—admittedly, rather eaten away by syphilis—and released a fiery fart in his face as a sign of mild displeasure.
However, this had the opposite effect: the worthy man, on the contrary, felt such a powerful stimulus for his erotic fantasies that his shriveled penis jerked sharply upward and unexpectedly poked the Countess in the chin, completely stunning her.
Noticing that she had lost consciousness, the Archbishop began to act with the determination and agility that had helped an ordinary parish priest achieve his current widespread fame and honor. Quickly turning her onto her back, he opened her mouth and very briskly performed that operation to which he usually resorted only after breakfast.
There are many ways to kill a dog, he thought, but the most economical is to stuff its throat with shit. So to work!
Hastily stuffing the excess into her nostrils (the Archbishop had dined heartily the night before), he plunged a dagger, very convenient in use, into her innards, and then drove his tense and bucking butter knife into the resulting hole. The steaming entrails closed around his frenzied member.
His tool still dangled from his unbuttoned trousers, for reporters wear no drawers and carry no handkerchiefs, and he had just relieved the tension by discharging a juicy, though viscous, load. Casting a glance around the room, he noticed with professional keenness various amusing knick-knacks, and when the good Archbishop rose and adjusted his clothing, the reporter bowed courteously and asked His Grace to deign to grant him an interview. His Grace deemed the occasion insufficient and expressed doubt that a society column would meet all the requirements.
The reporter reminded him of the line-rate payment system.
"I get paid shit wages myself!" retorted the clergyman, retaining his wit even after such a wild night. "But I see what you mean!" he glanced roguishly at the journalist's disheveled attire. "May I order you a closed fly?" he added with a wink. However, the reporter was diligently working, shorthand-ing all these brilliant witticisms.
"One has to make a living somehow," said the daily... man, looking up.
"Finger-licking good!" the venal journalist reluctantly admitted. "Shameless, shitty, filthy!"
"De mortuis nil nisi bonum!" the tempter insinuated.
The reporter hesitated.
"Tuam nasam in meum anum immitte!" laughed the Archbishop, and the journalist was satisfied, like Messrs. Pond and Morrell in the Gilbertian ballad.
"You will not waste your time," added the sly clergyman. "With your skillful stenographic hand, you will record the true story of my life. () Mr. N. k. ls will buy this book and throw money at you: fame and fortune at once! And now tuck away your jack-in-the-box—allow me, please! I see a wonderful long battering ram with a splendid hard chancre on its head—oh yes, surely, after a visit to the water closet.
Look at the ulcer on my leg—I got it right in the cathedral! We shall breakfast with my boys, the goat, and the learned boar. After which we shall go see the camel that is fed cigars, and then I shall run off to my daily business. To pass the time, you will be entertained by a couple of whores, or you can watch my butler add cream to the tea—the poor man's only amusement, for I sucked him dry a hundred years ago! And then we shall settle down to the morning's work on my memoirs..."
They will make up this delightful book, intended for you, dear girl. And now undress and light a candle, recline in the chair before the mirror, and alternately read or wank. If you are grown-up, let a dog or a man lick you, to save your time and labor (including labor pains). But I want you to bathe in an ocean of fucking as you read, and may God grant that we meet someday! For I have a belly full of boiling emotion-emulsion, which I shall shoot into your twopenny tube, your penny pipe, your mouth, or splash over your tits, your lovely fat oily heads, over the pink buds of your nipples, or wherever else you wish. And when I can no longer come, I shall suck you until your back aches and your eyes are blue, until your clitoris becomes inflamed, exactly like my stallion's if you give me the clap, and pissing will hurt as if red-hot needles are being stuck in, and my load cannot pass due to a stricture, so that at the moment of orgasm the cockhead literally explodes... Get to work, bitch!