The Revirginification of Sarah Bernhardt
From Sarah Bernhardt: My Erotic Life (Amazon’s)
The Duc de Morny had arranged for my second deflowering on Wednesday night after an important banquet that his brother the Emperor had organised for some foreign dignitaries. He had warned Maman that he might not be able to extricate himself from the feast until the early hours, but assured her that he would definitely attend the appointment, against tides and torrents. Maman was to “make the little princess ready” for him.
It was late in the afternoon that Tante Rosine took me into the bathroom, undressed me, washed me all over with sponge and soap, and then sat me on a chair. She then asked me to spread my legs, and she began by applying a solution of eau oxygénée on my chatte. I was quite apprehensive as I expected it to sting, but it did not. She wiped it dry and repeated this once more. Satisfied with the result, she produced the white stone and held it up in the light ceremoniously. Translucent and smooth, it was the size and shape of a slightly flattened duck’s egg.
Tante assumed a solemn expression. I was as amused as she was grave. She then gently applied this egg from the top along the length of my vagina. It tickled but was not unpleasant. She repeated this, top to bottom and bottom up, opening the outer labia to ensure proper contact. Then left to right and all sorts of variations, a good dozen times. I did not immediately notice any effect, but a couple of hours later I could feel a tightening, which, I presumed was the effect sought.
I had not entirely given up hope of fleeing to Brittany, but I was impatient for the arrival of my deflowerer. It was not that I was in the throes of libidinous cravings, but I wanted the whole episode over and done with quickly. After twelve hours, Madame Aglaë, had explained, the effect would begin to wear off. If by any chance my suitor could not make it, she did not recommend another attempt for at least three months. ‘It could prove highly dangerous and cause irreparable damage to the vulva.’ So the old lecher had better make it before the night was out.
It was shortly after midnight that we heard the Duc’s coach stop outside our house, and Tante Rosine rushed to open the door even before he had even knocked. He kissed the two sisters on the cheeks and then catching sight of me, took two steps in my direction. Extending both arms, he shook his head and feigned sadness.
‘You poor little darling, you’ve had to wait for your inconsiderate Oncle Charles long past your bedtime. Come give me a kiss.’
I forced a smile on my lips, stood up and walked towards him. He took me by the waist and lifted me up to his level, my feet dangling in the air, for I was so much shorter than him. People have worshipped me so much they did not notice my small height. First he gave me a peck on the cheeks, but he let his mouth linger there. The sisters watched eagerly, as though urging him on. Then, winking at them, he slid his lips towards my mouth. He stank of wine and cigar, and I had to make an effort to contain my nausea although I had rather liked the aroma of his tobacco in the past. Looking at Maman and Tante, he said, ‘The poor p’tite chérie has waited long enough. I’m sure she wishes her ordeal to be over.’
For him, my ordeal was the anticipation. For me, though, the ordeal was just beginning. In some ways, though, I was relieved and I followed him sheepishly into Maman’s room, forcing a smile on my lips as Maman had ordered. The bedroom had been specially fitted for the occasion, scrubbed thoroughly with eau de Javelle, and then sprayed with Cologne. The windows had been cleaned and the taffeta curtains had been attached to them with pins as there was no rods. Once in the room, he seized me and again held me up in the air, looking at me full of admiration.
‘What have I done to deserve what’s waiting for me, eh?’ I shrugged. ‘No, don’t reply,’ he said, but quickly enough he added with a big laugh, ‘but if you must answer, just say, because you are the kindest man in France, or without you Napoleon III would be lost!’ I said nothing but smiled foolishly.
He sat down on a sofa, put me on his knees, introduced his hand in my knickers, and began caressing the area between the two semi-lunes. He then grabbed a very small tuft of my spare pubic hairs and began pulling gently. The sensation was painful, but not unpleasant. He then undressed me entirely and I was so uneasy, a puny little thing in front of this giant of a man, that I started trembling. He noticed this and seized me again. He began to rub me on the pretext of needing to warm me up. He must have thought that my buttocks were the coldest part of my anatomy for he concentrated all his energy on warming them, specially the area surrounding my privates. He then started sucking my no-longer-imaginary tétons, nipples. After that, he fairly tossed me in the bed, neither violently nor elegantly, I thought. He tore away his own clothes and was now completely divested. It was the first of hundreds of times that I noticed how an elegantly dressed man turned into a pathetic stooping toad once he had shed his expensive vestments. His skin was wrinkled and pale, his knees looked grotesque and his posture was that of a tired old man. He came to join me in the bed.
‘To business, since we must,’ he said with a little laugh. I lay down as was expected of me. What can I say? Maman and Tante Rosine had rehearsed me to hoo and hah, to cling to his body like I was drowning, and to thrust my pelvis at him. They had taught me how to lead while letting him think that he was the one in control.
He did not seem too keen to penetrate me. Instead he slid his body down until his mouth was level to my chatte. Spreading my legs apart, he set about à me tailler une pipe — what in English is translated as giving me a tongue job. I had forgotten that, as Tante had told me, he was particularly fond of this part of the act. I closed my eyes and forced myself to think of something entirely different. The act was neither more pleasurable nor more painful than Tante Rosine stroking me with the white egg.
I noticed that he had become strangely silent, but thought nothing of it. When he seemed to have had his fill, he slid up until his body covered all of mine. I offered him a pipe, something which Youle made me promise to do, but he shook his head. Then mumbling something, he indicated that he was ready for the thrust. I guided him inside me with my hand. I have no recollection of how long the act took, but it can’t have been too protracted an affair. When it was over, he made a muffled noise, his whole body juddered, and he fell on me like a deflated balloon. Wordlessly he washed his parts using the bidet, got dressed hurriedly, and rushed out of the room. I heard the two sisters giggling as they greeted him, but I did not hear what he replied. I heard the door close behind him and putting a negligee on, I pushed the door open. My mother and my aunt stared at me, as if they expected to find the answers to their unasked questions there.
‘The poor man could hardly talk,’ said my mother, ‘all he could do was mumble something incoherent to the effect that you had left him speechless. That’s quite impressive, my dear, from a man who prides himself on the excellence of his elocution.’
This made Rosine burst out laughing. Youle was vexed and asked what the joke was, causing another hysterical burst from her sister. It took Rosine a while before she could finally speak.
‘Chère Youle, it was not necessarily my niece’s prowess in bed that made the poor fellow speechless,’ she explained. ‘the alum egg applied to sort out our petite cherie’s little difficulty not only did what was expected of it perfectly, but chose to work a little overtime too. It must have acted on the duke’s lips, and tightened them. That was what made him speechless!’
