Emmanuelle (26 page)

“And finally, on a third occasion, with another distinguished visitor, you won’t undress, but as you’re lifting the teapot, and before asking him about the sugar, you’ll say to him quite simply, ‘Shall we make love after we’ve had our tea?’ If, by any chance, he should decline, on the pretext of an old wound, a vow he made at the bedside of his Carmelite godmother, or an article of the Code of Hammurabi that forbids ejaculation before sundown, you’ll answer in a proper tone, without showing any resentment, ‘You’re right. I can’t imagine what came over me just now. When I married my husband I promised to be faithful to him, and since I’ve never deceived him it wouldn’t be fitting for me to begin today.’ The imbecile will be desolate at having missed his chance to have the rare pearl that you are. If he changes his mind, be intractable. If he tries to abuse your innocence, call the police and see to it that he’s given the maximum sentence. No jury will give credence to the wild assertions he’ll make in his defense—the truth!”

Emmanuelle was delighted by the size to which Mario’s member had grown as the result of her nursing. Nevertheless, she said to him, without trying to attenuate her sarcasm: “If I remember correctly, Professor, I made a similar offer to you less than an hour ago. Since you’ve insultingly rejected me, I’m going to turn you over to the first policeman I see.”

He gave her a kindly smile. “I adore your hand; don’t change your way of using it. My dear, you mustn’t try to make yourself seem more foolish than you are. You know very well that our relations have nothing in common with the situation I’ve described to you.”

She could not see where the difference lay, unless it was in the absence of tea. But she was in no mood or condition to argue: the caresses she was giving him had inflamed her own senses; even the jolting of the springless rickshaw on the rough street added to her pleasure.

“The
sam-lo
doesn’t know the sight he’s missing,” remarked Mario.

He whistled. The
sam-lo
turned around; his eyes went from one of his passengers to the other, and brightened with a broad smile.

“He likes us,” noted Emmanuelle.

“Yes, we’ve found an accomplice. It’s not surprising, because he’s handsome. There’s an international freemasonry of beauty. A certain number of things are permitted only to those who are beautiful. Montherlant once pointed out quite rightly, in a letter to Pierre Brasseur, that ‘licentiousness is not at all vulgarity; it is prudishness that is vulgarity.’”

“Courteline said it before him: ‘True modesty consists in hiding what is not beautiful,’” quoted Emmanuelle, rather proud of her erudition.

“Are you ashamed of your breasts, then?”

“Oh, no!” With the hand that was not caressing Mario, she pulled her sweater out of her skirt and began taking it off. He helped her. For a moment she had to let go of his erect organ, but it was only a brief interlude.

“Now I wish we’d meet someone,” he said.

“Isn’t the
sam-lo
good enough as a witness?” she pleaded, in spite of herself.

“He’s no longer a witness, he’s a participant.”

He whistled again and the Thai looked back from his saddle. He seemed keenly affected by Emmanuelle’s near nakedness and the rickshaw swerved sharply. All three laughed loudly. Emmanuelle felt as if she were a little drunk. It was too late for it to be the effect of the brandy.

Mario’s wish was granted. A car passed them and slowed down abruptly. Emmanuelle thought it was going to stop and her heart skipped a beat. But it went on. It had been impossible to distinguish the faces of the occupants.

“Some of your friends, perhaps?” Mario suggested cruelly.

She made no reply. Her throat was constricted. She preferred to think only of caressing him well. Another rickshaw came toward them, with two American sailors crowded into it. They screeched like peacocks when they discovered the spectacle. Mario and Emmanuelle pretended not to see or hear them. The sailors gesticulated desperately, trying to stop the two vehicles, but neither driver showed any reaction and they both continued pedaling at a steady rate.

“I’m sorry there’s no cup,” Emmanuelle said. “Where would you prefer to ejaculate, in my hand or mouth?”

Mario did not answer immediately. She leaned down and took him first between her lips, then deeply into her mouth. She heard him reciting:

“‘Continue till I say to you,

“Alas, I can’t hold back, my love!

Alas, dear God, I can’t hold back!”

Then withdraw your little mouth

To let me, dying, heave a sigh

Before you bring me to the end.’”

Curiosity made her interrupt her work; she straightened up and asked, “Did you make up that amorous poem?”

“Absolutely not. It’s from
La Première Journée de la Bergerie,
by one of your sixteenth-century compatriots, Rémy Belleau.”

“Good heavens!” she said, laughing.

Before she had time to get back into position, they stopped in front of the gate of Mario’s garden.

He slipped away from her hands, leaped out of the rickshaw, and buttoned his trousers. She also got out, but did not judge it necessary to put on her sweater; she held it in her hand, along with her purse. Her breasts showed an admirable curvature in the moonlight.

He opened the gate. The
sam-lo
was now standing beside his rickshaw with no visible emotion, apparently waiting to be paid. All at once, Mario jumped onto the seat and swiftly pedaled the vehicle into the garden before the Thai could make a move. Emmanuelle and the
sam-lo
looked at each other and burst out laughing at the same time. He was not at all upset by Mario’s prank; for the moment, in fact, he seemed much more concerned with admiring Emmanuelle’s contours than with recovering his property. She was the first to go after the runaway. She found him standing in front of the log steps of his house, exultant, holding the rickshaw by the handlebars.

“What a madman you are!” she reprimanded him tenderly.

“I also love your breasts,” he said, as though announcing a decision that he had reached after long reflection.

“I’m lucky!”

She was more flattered than she was willing to admit. The
sam-lo
rejoined them, smiling, and without haste. Mario spoke to him—a real speech, with intonations, silences, and eloquent effects. She wondered what he could be saying. The
sam-lo
’s face showed nothing that she could use as a basis for conjecture. Suddenly he replied, looking at her at the same time. Mario resumed his discourse. The Thai nodded.

“There, it’s settled, and I’ve found my hero!” said Mario. “Another example of how a man will sometimes go far away in search of what he could easily have found in front of his door!”

“What? Do you mean . . .”

“Of course. Don’t you deem him worthy of my favors?”

This time, Emmanuelle felt almost on the verge of weeping. Mario’s graciousness during their ride had made her forget his previous rebuffs. More or less consciously, she had been expecting him to take her in his arms as soon as they were inside his house. She was ready to spend the rest of the night there if he asked her to, and had given up all thought of going home. He could have done with her whatever he wanted, and now it turned out that he wanted nothing! The only thing he had in mind was to find a young man for his bed! She looked at the
sam-lo;
her eyes were so blurred with tears that she could not see him distinctly. Was he really so handsome? She recalled having thought that he had the face of a boxer . . .

“Don’t begin tormenting yourself in advance again,
cara
!” Mario said gaily, interrupting, as usual, her somber reflections. “I have a marvelous idea, you’ll see. Once again you’ll be grateful to me. Come in, hurry.”

He opened the door and drew her inside, holding her by the waist. She yielded to him without ceasing to sulk. She had had enough of his ideas. Even so, she was glad to return to the drawing room with its areas of light and shadow, the red leather sofa, and the spicy smell of the
khlong
. There did not seem to be many boats passing now. It was so late—or so early! She suddenly felt sleepy. What a night!

Mario brought enormous glasses containing crystals sparkling in a green liquid. “Peppermint on the rocks,” he announced. “That will put new life into my beloved!”

His beloved? The word brought a faint, bitter smile to her lips. The
sam-lo
was standing rather stiffly in the middle of the room. He took, with obvious embarrassment, the glass that Mario handed him. They all three drank in silence. Emmanuelle was so thirsty that she emptied her glass all at once. Mario was right; she felt herself reviving. He abruptly sat down beside her, put his arms around her, and kissed her left breast.

“I’m going to take you,” he said. He waited to judge the effect of this declaration.

She was too stunned to show any reaction. Furthermore, she was not convinced.

“But I’m going to take you through this handsome faun. I’m using the word ‘through’ in its literal sense, that is, I’m going to traverse him to reach you. I’m going to possess you as you’ve never been possessed before, and as I’ve never before possessed a woman. You’ll belong to me more than anyone has ever belonged to anyone else. Do I have your consent?”

She did not understand what he meant, or perhaps she was unwilling to understand. But it did not occur to her for an instant that she should or could refuse. Whatever Mario asked of her was right, and she accepted it. The only thing she had dreaded was that he might ask nothing of her.

“Do whatever you like with me,” she said.

For the second time, he kissed her on the lips. Now she was completely happy. And impatient for him to exercise his power over her.

“Your first lover!” he said elatedly. “You’re going to have your first lover tonight!”

She was ashamed of having deceived him, of not having admitted her adventures in the plane to him. But was it important? In a sense, because for the first time she was giving her entire consent, because with total lucidity, with full awareness, with premeditation, she
wanted
to be an adulteress, he really would be her first lover.

“The first of many?” he asked, as though to be make sure she had assimilated his teachings.

“Yes,” she answered.

How wonderful it was to abandon herself so completely! A woman who gave herself to only one man could know nothing of the step that Emmanuelle was now taking in promising all of herself to many men, an unlimited number of men. No other woman could ever be as adulterous as she was at that moment. Who else could perform the miracle of deceiving her husband, for the first time, with all the men who would want her in the future?”

“You’ll never refuse yourself again?” he insisted.

She shook her head. She thought, “If he orders me to give myself to ten men tonight, I’ll do it.”

He asked her to give herself only to the
sam-lo
. She took off her skirt and remained on the sofa, leaning back against the thick cushions, whose softness delighted her. She held her legs apart, with her heels resting on the rug, and put her arms around the
sam-lo
’s back as he cautiously began penetrating her. When he was completely inside her, Mario, who till now had been sitting next to her, embracing her, stood up and placed himself behind the
sam-lo
. His hands seized him by the sides and she felt them touching hers.

She heard moans of pleasure escaping from Mario. Sometimes they were almost shouts.

“Now I’m in you,” he said. “I’m piercing you with a sword twice as sharp as that of common men. Do you feel it?”

“Yes. I’m happy.”

The
sam-lo
’s hard penis withdrew three-quarters of its length from her, returned inexorably, and resumed its move-ments at a more rapid pace. Without worrying about whether she had Mario’s permission to yield to orgasm, she screamed immediately and her body writhed on the silky leather. The two men joined their wails to hers. Their compound cry slashed through the night, and dogs answered it in the distance with a chorus of endless barking. But they took no notice of it. They existed in another world. Their trio seemed to be regulated by an inner harmony, like the works of a watch. They had succeeded in forming a profound unity, without fissures, more perfect than any couple could have achieved. The
sam-lo’
s hands pressed Emmanuelle’s breasts and she sobbed with pleasure, arching her back to let him enter her more deeply, panting that she was happier than she could stand and begging him to tear her, not to spare her, to come in her.

Mario sensed that the
sam-lo
’s endurance was inexhaustible, but he himself could hold back no longer. He sank his fingernails into his partner’s flesh, as though giving him a signal. The two men ejaculated simultaneously, the
sam-lo
into the depths of Emmanuelle’s body, feeling himself invaded at the same time by another outpouring. Emmanuelle screamed louder than she had ever screamed before, as the acrid taste of the semen that was inundating her rose in her throat. Her voice reverberated from the surface of the black water and no one could have said to whom her cry was addressed: