So I’m putting together a book request form for a course I’m teaching next semester, when I came across this Amazon review for Georges Bataille’s “Story of the Eye” that made me chuckle. (In case you aren’t familiar with “Story of the Eye”, I offer an excerpt from the opening pages after the jump, to give you an idea of what this reviewer is responding to in this review.)
I found this book looking through my wife’s “recently viewed” list and thought it would be an excellent gift for our 12 year old niece who loves R.L. Stein’s “Goosebumps” and “Fear Street” series. Boy, was I wrong! I thought the spooky cover, title, and foreign name of the author indicated a classic horror novel in the vein of Frankenstein or Dracula. I naturally assumed that my wife had found a book for our niece and I would handle the financial end. Unfortunately I found out I had misjudged the book a few weeks later when my sister-in-law called in hysterics, accusing me of sending their daughter pornography! I told her I did no such thing and suggested maybe there was a mix up in shipping as I had sent her a book and not a movie. She told me that they had indeed received the book and was certain it was porn as they owned the book. I apologized profusely and asked my wife about the book. She explained that her sister had recommended it as an inspirational tool for the bedroom. we eventually got around to reading the book and found that these kids are quite imaginative, insane maybe, but very imaginative! Five Stars.
We did not lack modesty-on the contrary-but something urgently drove us to defy modesty together as immodestly as possible. Thus, no sooner had she asked me never to toss off again by myself than we had met on top of a cliff, then she pulled down my pants and had me stretch out on the ground. She tucked her dress up, mounted my belly with her back towards my face, and let herself go, while I thrust my finger, lubricated with my young sperm, into her cunt. Next, she lay down, with her head under my cock between my legs, and thrusting her cunt in the air, she brought her body down towards me, while I raised my head to the level of that cunt: her knees found support on my shoulders.
“Can’t you pee up to my cunt?” she said.
“Yes,” I answered, “but with you like this, it’ll get on your dress and your face.”
“So what,” she concluded. And I did as she said, but no sooner was I done than I flooded her again, this time with fine white come.