After the dinner, which was a very elaborate affair, much different from the simple meals my family and I had had before us of late, the guests exited the greenhouse. Although this space was quite remarkable, with its exotic plants, its deep smells, the small stream and the rocks artfully positioned, with its statues of wild animals and nymphs hidden under large leaves and thick trunks, the heat of the air made one dizzy, and it was impossible to spend more than a few instants without the need for a glass of cold wine.
Some of the guests ventured through the park; others went into a salon where the small orchestra played polkas, mazurkas, and quadrilles; others again went into the library where people sat around small tables for a game of Commerce.
I searched for my mother, trying to leave Juliette behind whose company had become so tedious I couldn't bear it any longer. She spoke in long declarative sentences that didn't require, or admit, an answer. She instructed you. She imparted her knowledge, often of debatable quality, onto the listener, and her conversation was always designed to disparage this or that acquaintance of hers.
I found my mother in a large room on the first floor. Near the back wall, was a pianoforte. Standing beside him, Madame Vasileva was singing an Italian aria, accompanied by a man at the keyboard.
Various listeners were gathered in little clusters.
I sat next to my mother who was listening showing great appreciation for the soprano's voice.
Mr Aumont, a glass of Calvados in hand, was sitting close to the singer. When Madame Vasileva concluded her performance, he began clapping loudly.
The rest of the room joined him.
'The greatest voice of our era,' he declared, standing up to join her.
She looked very pleased.
'You are very generous, my friend,' she said in a thick accent.
'Europe envy our good fortune of having you!' Mr Aumont said.
More clapping.
'She's one of the most celebrated divas of France,' my mother whispered to me. 'In her youth, she was a favourite at the Emperor's court.'
I could see this woman had the most remarkable face, and her gaze was full of her own worth. She commanded the room, and I could tell that it wasn't only her voice, which was indeed superb, that had captivated the audience. Even though she was no longer a young woman, and her bloom was no longer intact, she had the men entranced, and I believe women studied her composure to learn from it.
Mr Aumont, as predicted by his daughter, looked quite tipsy, and in high spirits. He put his hand around her waist, which she allowed freely, and complimented her once more.
'I much admire your voice, madame, but I especially revere that precious casket that contains it.'
Madame Vasileva smiled at these words.
He was now leering at her bosom, which was indeed vast, and much of it was revealed by the generous cleavage of her dress.
'I believe these beautiful cushions keep your voice warm, madame,' he continued.
Now he raised a hand and caressed them.
'I am indeed a lucky man, my friends,' he said towards the room.
Madame Vasileva now regarded him with indulgence:
'My good friend Mr Aumont, your compliments are always welcome, but I can't allow you to go any further.'
He seemed quite cross at these words and exclaimed:
'Madame! Surely! We're among friends!'
She said nothing.
'Because we are among friends, aren't we?' he said towards the room in a louder voice.
'Of course, Monsieur!' someone replied.
'See?' Mr Aumont quipped, now reverting to the singer. 'Every man in this room would do the same, if they were in my shoes, and if they had your confidence.'
I watched this scene for a moment, then, turning towards my mother, I noticed a pleasant smile at this spectacle. In fact, everyone in this room seemed to enjoy this exchange, as if it was a piece of the French Comedy.
'Every man who has watched you on stage has dreamt of you. Isn't it so?' our host continued.
'But yes!' someone in the room said.
'Then, why don't we show them what they have desired.'
Madame Vasileva looked at him, smiling a little forcefully:
'My good friend… How can this be?'
'Oh, madame, you're making me impatient. Do show us what we all desire to see.'
Some clapping came from the room.
'But sir!' the soprano called.
'Let me help you,' Mr Aumont said, beginning to undo her dress.
She resisted at first, but her protestation didn't last long.
'We'll see how much dignity is left in a famous singer once her beauty is gone,' my mother said to me. 'After all, this man pays every one of her expenses.'
Madame Vasileva was now a little alarmed, but Mr Aumont's face, flushed with wine, didn't seem to comprehend her state or care for it.
'Let's go, madame. Don't make me fight for it,' he said, now quite annoyed.
She then smiled at him:
'But of course, if this is what you wish, my friend.'
So, she began to undress.
She was tall, with a strong body. Her thighs were muscular, and her ass was rotund. On the front, she had a bit of fat, which, on account of her height and her large breasts, hung very charmingly on her. The bush between her thighs was thick and unkempt, which I assumed was how her benefactor liked it.
Her breasts were still full and heavy, and now hung low on her stomach. They had large pale areolas with vague edges that blended with the skin of her bosom.
She stood erect, with much dignity, and she looked indeed very beautiful, in a way that a younger woman, devoid of her charisma, couldn't achieve.
I could then see, I think, what Mr Aumont saw in her, and what my mother, although of a similar age, lacked in his eyes: Madame Vasileva had a great dignity still intact, much experience, and great confidence.
Now, our host was preparing himself to charge against all this. He began caressing her buttocks, which were large and made uneven by dents and ripples.
He then moved his hand between her buttocks to caress that most secret part between her thighs.
'Madam, I believe every man in this room would be prepared to part with his fortune or to kill in order to trade place with me.'
She didn't answer, but kept her eyes closed. She now licked her lips, showing she was enjoying these caresses.
Mr Aumont now undid his trousers.
'My friends, you will now see Madame Vasileva's greatest performance!'
And, having said this, he took his erect penis in his hand and thrust it in her pussy.
'Ah, my friend!' she whispered.
Madame Vasileva bent over slightly, pushing her ass towards her partner to prove her desire for what he was doing to her. In this position, her large breasts hung low, swinging back and forth.
'She has the thickest lips, and the most succulent cunt. I wish every man could try this marvel. But,' he then said, panting a little, 'I am not such an ungenerous host. You will not object, I believe, if I ask you to give a little taste of your talent to our friends?'
The woman was moaning loudly, then said, in a whisper:
'Of course, just don't stop what you're doing, darling!'
Mr Aumont turned towards the room with a smile, all the while grabbing that sensational ass and ramming his dick in and out of Madame Vasileva's cunt, and said:
'Permission granted!'
Everybody clapped:
'Bravo!'
Nine or ten men then lined up before the singer, smiling among themselves, then to somebody in the room, and they all produced their member. Some showed a very hard cock already, while the others began masturbating to get it in a satisfactory state.
I looked around and saw that the women in the room had a pleased look on their face. They all smiled as if this exhibition diverted them greatly. Everybody seemed to enjoy the spectacle of this celebrated and much desired singer now turned into a little toy they could enjoy at will.
'I believe she can get them all off before Mr Aumont is finished,' one said.
'Would you make a bet on that?'
'Of course. Would you?'
'No, I believe you're right. That woman is Venus on earth!'
'I wish I could finger her,' another said.
'Why don't you?' someone replied. 'She's open for business.'
'Oh, I don't know… Should I? No, but I can't!'
While these little conversations broke out from the audience, Madame Vasileva was ready to fellate the first man:
'Come closer,' she said towards him invitingly. 'I want to suck your nice big cock!'
The man offered his dick, while feeling her large breasts.
Madame Vasileva was now bent over, so that Mr Aumont could fuck her, while she serviced the other guests. This she did with great ability. Her mouth could hold each member fully, regardless of girth or length. She moved her head expertly back and forth, moaning as she did so.
Har mouth was gifted with thick, voluptuous lips, which were indeed inviting, and, as I could see on the face of each gentleman who had the fortune of being subject to their art that evening, they could produce an intense pleasure. Such was her skill that, indeed, each man ejaculated quickly in her mouth, and she pleased them without pause once after the other.
As she took one in her mouth, she quickly took the dick of the next man in her hand and began to stroke it with assurance. When she finished one, she looked at the man who had just discharged into her mouth, giving him a languid look as if to thank him of having quenched a great thirst with his semen, then she stared into the eyes of the next man in line, showing him too a great desire to have him presently, licking her lips with a sort of hunger that indeed made the man very bold and eager.
Mr Aumont was all the while pushing hard into her:
'Two to go, my dear lady. Let's see who wins this race. Me or them?'
The last man put his dick into the singer's mouth and seemed taken aback by what he felt, for he began to groan loudly:
'Oh, my word! This is quite incredible!'
'What did I tell you?' Mr Aumont asked him, slapping the singer's ass. 'She's a filthy whore! You like being fucked by all my friends, eh?'
Mr Aumont now looked at her butt cheeks, which he held spread open in his hands, and now at how she was servicing her friend, deriving much excitement from both sights.
The other man, ready to climax, put his hands on the back of Madame Vasileva's head, although she didn't need any guidance in this activity.
'Oh, I finish before you!' the man being sucked whined to the man busy with the other end of Madame Vasileva.
Then, the first, having come into her mouth, pressed her head towards him, so that he could hold his cock inside her a bit longer, and so that she couldn't release her grip.
'Oh, what glorious ejaculation this evening! Oh, my good Lord! And into such precious receptacle,' he said.
Now, having concluded the lineup, Madame Vasileva, wiped the side of her mouth with a finger, and resumed a more erect position, pushing visibly against Mr Aumont's cock with her back side.
'That's a good boy! Fuck me like this! Yeah, yeah, yeah!' she incited him.
He big tits bounced, and the noise of her ass slapping against Mr Aumont's thigh was getting louder and its rhythm more frenetic.
He too concluded inside her with a groan.
'Oh, the greatest fucker of France!' he said. 'You're stuffed like a turkey for Christmas.'
She reached with her hand behind his butt to hold him against her a little longer.
'What pleasure you've give me, my friend. And you,' she now said towards the other men she had sucked off, 'thank you for joining us tonight!'
Everyone clapped. People began to leave. The performance was now finished.
Some people stopped by the singer, who was still naked, and thanked her. Some complimented her singing. The woman who had expressed her desire to finger the famous soprano approached Madame Vasileva and told her what a pleasure it was to see her tonight. As she did, she gave her breasts a little caress, which the singer accepted kindly.
It was quite late, and my mother took my arm.
'It's been quite an interesting night, don't you think?'
I said I hoped she had enjoyed herself.
'I was introduced to a few people who we might visit over the next few days. That was my design, and I am glad I could accomplish it. It's also good to be seen at these events to remind people of your existence.'
We then descended the stairs and headed towards the door, ready to look for a cab that could take us home.
Then, we heard:
'My dear Countess!'
We turned.
These words had been spoken by a man of five-and-forty, with dark-blonde hair, and very cold eyes. He was dressed very elegantly, even more than the rest of the guests.
My mother spoke to him in a pleasant tone:
'You, here?'
He smiled at her:
'I didn't know you were in town. I would have called on you, if I did.'
'We arrived but a few days ago,' Mother told him. 'We've been very busy.'
The gentleman asked him where we were staying, and if he could visit us.
My mother informed him of our lodgements and told him he was always welcome, when it suited him.
The gentleman gave Mother his card:
'I will await a word for a convenient time to call on you.'
This man not once looked at me, but he kept his gaze fixed on my mother.
My mother thanked him accepted his card.
As she took it, I saw the name: Auguste LeClair. This was the man who had so disparaged my mother during her auction, the man who refused to make an offer and had vouched to have her for nothing.