Margeurite, Comtesse de Fouet, was coming to my home for a dinner party at which she would be the guest of honor. Recently I had traveled to India to obtain a 5th century lingus from the renowned school of Kama Sutra in Punjab, where it served as a constant inspiration to young women training in the sexual arts. The Comtesse intended to take the enormous phallic statue from me for display in her own private gallery. Indeed, I had traveled abroad at her bidding, interested to discover what these novitiates were learning in school. At the same time I had no intention of simply relinquishing this stone treasure for a few thousand francs. Marquerite would have to earn the prize. I wondered if she would be willing and able.
The bell rang at precisely six. Marguerite was wearing a long dress of finespun gray wool. I could not tell whether it was the irritation of the fabric or the brisk September air that caused her nipples to protrude beneath its solid weave. I unlocked the door of the shop and led her back to the salon. The lingus, prominently displayed on a mahogany table, elicited no reaction whatever. I bade her sit and wait for Coco. Her eyes flashed. Coco was a recent addition to my staff, a serving girl from Martinique. Her silky,chocolate skin, her pert breasts with even darker nipples and oversize aureolae, and her feline, muscular frame were the envy of many a guest to my home. I left to make final preparations.
A hole in the wall of my dressing room allowed me to observe the Comtesse. She sat perfectly still on the plush velvet couch, her eyes focused everywhere but on the object of her desire. When she was certain that no one was about to enter the room, she let her eyes drift to the immodestly proportioned phallus. She cupped both breasts in her hands, her fingertips caressing the still hardened nipples. Then, suddenly shy, she dropped her hands to her lap.
After a deep breath, she rose to her feet, finding herself eye to eye with the imposing phallus. She drew near it with caution. Did she imagine it could harm her? Then, looking round once more to reassure herself she was alone, she reached out and placed her aristocratic palm on the head of the lingus, closing her eyes and letting her sense of touch guide her. Her hand made its way slowly up and down its surface, her fingertips tracing the delicately sculpted veins. She then began stroking it with both hands, encircling the shaft and toying with the head. She gave it a hug.
Lost in an erotic reverie, she failed to notice Coco entering the room. She was about to plant her lips on the massive head when Coco touched her sex, whose shape was hardly concealed beneath the taut wool dress. The startled Comtesse nearly leaped out of her skin.
"It is a very beautiful lingus, Madame. But there is a kind of lingus I am even more fond of. Can you think what that is?" Coco asked.
The Comtesse softened her rigid stance and smiled at my dark beauty.
"No, ma belle Coco. What kind might that be?"
"Cunnilingus. Have you heard of it?"
"Be so good as to explain."And with that the Comtesse lay back on the velvet couch and opened her long legs, lifting her dress by its hem to expose her nether lips. I watched
Coco's long tongue dart at Marguerite's clitoris, sliding again and again over that pink pearl.
From the dressing room I could hear the slurping and sucking. I could also hear the gasps and moans which the Comtesse was unable to stifle. I could even smell the pungent aroma of their mutual desire. The stage had been set. I burst into the salon. Coco arose gracefully, not in the least disturbed by my interruption. She had been expecting me. She wiped the juices from her moistened lips and laughed. I nodded for her to leave us.
Marguerite was still lying on the couch, dazed. She made no effort to conceal her glistening sex. I pulled down the hem of her dress for her and helped her to her feet.
