Pietro Aretino

Don Bougre

 I was put on a bench, completely naked; one sister placed herself aside my throat in such as way that my chin was hidden in her pubic hair, another one put herself on my belly, a third one, who was on my thighs, tried to introduce my prick into her cunt; two others again were placed at my sides so that I could hold a cunt in each hand; and finally another one, who possessed the nicest breasts, was at my head, and bending forward, she pushed my face between her bubbies; all of them were naked, all rubbed themselves, all discharged; my hands, my thighs, my belly, my chest, my prick, everything was wet, I float while fucking.
 

In the end, the sisters on the bed with the two young men, the General and the nun he was riding, together with the chap in his backside and, last but not least, the sister with her Murano prodder, all decided to come together like a choir singing in unison or, more aptly, the blacksmith hammering in time, each attending to their own business until all that was heard was: 'Oh God, oh Christ.' 'Hold me!' 'Ream me!' 'Push your sweet tongue out!' 'Really give it to me!' 'Harder!' 'Hold on, I'm coming!' 'Sweet Christ, shove it to me.' 'Holy Father.' 'Hug me!' and 'Help!' Some were whispering, others were groaning loudly. To listen to them you would have thought they were practising their scales - so, fah, me, ray, doh. Their eyes were popping out of their heads. Their groans and gasps, their twists and turns made the chests, beds, chairs and chamber pots shake and rattle like the house had been hit by an earthquake.