gerembeau
Tribune
Well, that story of a french christian Mission assaulted by Boxer's uprising starts the day where begins the "55 days of Pekin".
Warning, you guess what Boxers did to women...not for fainted hearts.
I got a big push from Eulalia who polished my rough translation to obtain a more idiomatic text.
You'll get a new chapter each day of the next 2 weeks and the complete story with illustrations at the end
Night-time in China (the Mission)
Chap 1: Along the Yang tse Kiang
The river lazily unwound its curls in the quiet torpor of the afternoon. Its peaty waters seemed to digest the slightest rustle of the drought-streaked leaves, as if waiting for the next monsoon to awaken.
A burst of mischievous laughter, fresh as the dew of dawn, ran through the rushes, swayed by the languid current.
Mademoiselle Sentis lifted a cautious head over the fringe of the bulrush-beards. She was very hot in her tight corset, which highlighted more than it concealed her abundant bosom of beautiful « plant of Provence ».
She rested on her elbow, seeming to think for a moment, then she began to undress with a determined air. She giggled as she threw her panties at Keiko's face, who looked at her in amazement. She saw herself two months earlier saying, "Yes, my Reverend Mother, I promise! I swear! I shall be very careful to keep my distance from the natives. Yes, they cannot understand everything. Yes, I know, I shall take care of myself too, that's a promise,” before, balanced on the footboard of the train, she planted a quick kiss on the forehead of Mother Superior Aldeberte, who had practically brought her up in their small community of Jouarre.
There was a smile on her face, fragile at first at this recollection of her youth, then warm, turning to Keiko, the young novice she was in charge of catechising. Her friendship for the young Chinese girl orphan with the opal forehead had turned insidiously into something more sensual, something she that had already been experiencing for two years already - in a platonic way - with her best friend, ever watched as they were in the oppressive enclosed life imposed by the discipline of the sisters.
Today, she felt free from all these taboos, a dizzying disruption provoked by a feeling of power and freedom had seized her.
Keiko's puzzled look at the top of her thighs irritated her for a moment. Without emotion, she her big, thick, dark bush, which only thinned out just her navel, with the barely pubescent fuzz of her new friend.
She crossed her legs and continued reading aloud. From the "infernal cupboard" of the library of the Oratorian Brothers in Juilly, in Seine et Marne, she had helped herself to the Handbook of Behaviour for Little Girls by Pierre Louÿs, before her departure for this Mission in distant China.
She resumed the verse, humming:
“I don't like how Alice when she's on heat lifts up her lingerie,
Showing her dark red, hardened clitoris, ”
Without her realising it, her hand had landed on Keiko's thigh.
The beige linen tunic had been yawning open for a long time, and it seemed to Mademoiselle Sentis that the long tips of the small but very well-formed breasts were protruding ever more under the blouse.
Keiko set her forehead tenderly on the top of Martine Sentis' thigh, chasing away a butterfly that was gorging on her friend's pearls of perspiration.
Mademoiselle Sentis gently stroked the long braid that had curled over her thighs. She resisted the urge to tighten it between her legs as if it were something else, that thing about which the maidservants of the Mission talked with giggles, and of which she had even seen drawings that made her blush and tremble all at once.
She continued her chant:
“Long as a dog’s prick, straight as a monkey’s,
And sighs - Ah my dirty dyke! Give us a lick here! ”
She felt Keiko's hand slip slowly drop down her thigh, and a sharp contraction siezing her. Keiko straightened up, vaguely frightened and ashamed, but Martine reassured her in a soft breath, placing a finger on her own mouth. She took the back of her neck in the palm of her hand and slowly brought their faces closer.
They gazed at each other for a long time, making sure to engrave on their memories this moment of perfect, forbidden happiness, far from the world. Their virgin lips clumsily sought each other for a few moments then swiftly traversed their burning bodies, swept by brief but intense convulsions. Their hands sank into the tips of their young breasts hardened by the caress of their hair.
At the same time, they found their flesh buds erect, but Keiko had to use her fingers to keep the access to the very musky-tasting flower at the tip of her tongue clear. Mademoiselle Sentis, on the other hand, could wander freely around her large, fruit-fresh lips, so delicate that she would have liked to bite them, barely adorned with a few long, smooth hairs, through which her own tongue slipped without difficulty.
They patrolled through their intimate parts with their fingers, their noses, their tongues, with all the frenzy of hungry young bodies before coming together, their sinews harmoniously plucked in an echo of their own pleasure. Then they rested, exhausted, lying side by side, hands trembling, hands that still sought one another. The awakening breeze beneath the leaves of the great mangrove tree did not cool their oozing skins. After a few moments, they straightened up at the same time, and kissed, stroking one another's hair. They fell back again, determined to take their time to soak up their feminine scents, to dart their tongues into each other's narrow slit, and - supreme audacity - to push their fingers into all their orifices at the same time.
Outside the German legation, Minister Plenipotentiary Von Ketteler was waiting with an impatient expression for the rickshaw which was to take him to Princess T'seu-hi's imperial palace. He sponged his rubicund face with a fine Baptist handkerchief and raised an impatient cane to hail his coolie. He demanded that the man practically scrape against what served as a sidewalk before stepping up onto the footboard and barking his marching order, like the former Prussian soldier he was.
The coolie fought his way through the teeming crowd, which showed no willingness to make way into in this very busy trading area where the market stalls spread out into the middle of the roadway. Two naked-chested Chinese, with very long pigtails down their backs that proclaimed their membership in the “Justice and Concorde” society, or "Closed Fist" sect, had imperceptibly drwan near to the rickshaw, which they were now following very closely. Von Ketteler did not see them at first, overwhelmed by the excellent pheasant his cook had prepared for him, the cries of the moving, colourful crowd, and the pestilential pong of the open sewers.
He didn't wake up until he suddenly heard the yells of the crowd being harangued by the Boxers. He felt a small shock when the coolie dropped the shafts of the rickshaw and fled away. There were more than fifty in front of him now. He instantly understood that he was doomed, and curled up in the back of his seat, hiding behind his top hat, in a ridiculous attempt not to see the sabre that was looking for his soft belly.
Mother Superior Marie Arou gazed with almost maternal tenderness at the freshly shaved neck of the young seminarian. Brother Rémi Isore looked up from his scriptures and said, “No, Reverend Mother, don't say anything. Don't tell me yet that I work too hard.”
“But no my son, I'm not going to scold you. But still, look at our Martine, how happy she is, how she found her way among us by edifying these creatures of God. Sometimes it seems like the world scares you a little?”
The young man, with fine features but of a manly beauty very unlike that of most of his classmates, whether sickly or feigned, blushed discreetly. He was very sensitive, without admitting it, to the charms of the mature woman as desirable as was the Reverend Mother Marie. When she got started on lecturing him, inflating her proud maternal bosom, he had to turn away like a child caught in mischief, not because of what she said to him, but because ungodly thoughts risked painfully provoking his member.
To get a little break, after tugging his very thin little blonde goatee, which irresistibly evoked a Christ painted by Caravaggio, he went to the telegraph which linked the little Mission of Tchou-Kia-Ho to the rest of the world.
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Warning, you guess what Boxers did to women...not for fainted hearts.
I got a big push from Eulalia who polished my rough translation to obtain a more idiomatic text.
You'll get a new chapter each day of the next 2 weeks and the complete story with illustrations at the end
Night-time in China (the Mission)
Chap 1: Along the Yang tse Kiang
The river lazily unwound its curls in the quiet torpor of the afternoon. Its peaty waters seemed to digest the slightest rustle of the drought-streaked leaves, as if waiting for the next monsoon to awaken.
A burst of mischievous laughter, fresh as the dew of dawn, ran through the rushes, swayed by the languid current.
Mademoiselle Sentis lifted a cautious head over the fringe of the bulrush-beards. She was very hot in her tight corset, which highlighted more than it concealed her abundant bosom of beautiful « plant of Provence ».
She rested on her elbow, seeming to think for a moment, then she began to undress with a determined air. She giggled as she threw her panties at Keiko's face, who looked at her in amazement. She saw herself two months earlier saying, "Yes, my Reverend Mother, I promise! I swear! I shall be very careful to keep my distance from the natives. Yes, they cannot understand everything. Yes, I know, I shall take care of myself too, that's a promise,” before, balanced on the footboard of the train, she planted a quick kiss on the forehead of Mother Superior Aldeberte, who had practically brought her up in their small community of Jouarre.
There was a smile on her face, fragile at first at this recollection of her youth, then warm, turning to Keiko, the young novice she was in charge of catechising. Her friendship for the young Chinese girl orphan with the opal forehead had turned insidiously into something more sensual, something she that had already been experiencing for two years already - in a platonic way - with her best friend, ever watched as they were in the oppressive enclosed life imposed by the discipline of the sisters.
Today, she felt free from all these taboos, a dizzying disruption provoked by a feeling of power and freedom had seized her.
Keiko's puzzled look at the top of her thighs irritated her for a moment. Without emotion, she her big, thick, dark bush, which only thinned out just her navel, with the barely pubescent fuzz of her new friend.
She crossed her legs and continued reading aloud. From the "infernal cupboard" of the library of the Oratorian Brothers in Juilly, in Seine et Marne, she had helped herself to the Handbook of Behaviour for Little Girls by Pierre Louÿs, before her departure for this Mission in distant China.
She resumed the verse, humming:
“I don't like how Alice when she's on heat lifts up her lingerie,
Showing her dark red, hardened clitoris, ”
Without her realising it, her hand had landed on Keiko's thigh.
The beige linen tunic had been yawning open for a long time, and it seemed to Mademoiselle Sentis that the long tips of the small but very well-formed breasts were protruding ever more under the blouse.
Keiko set her forehead tenderly on the top of Martine Sentis' thigh, chasing away a butterfly that was gorging on her friend's pearls of perspiration.
Mademoiselle Sentis gently stroked the long braid that had curled over her thighs. She resisted the urge to tighten it between her legs as if it were something else, that thing about which the maidservants of the Mission talked with giggles, and of which she had even seen drawings that made her blush and tremble all at once.
She continued her chant:
“Long as a dog’s prick, straight as a monkey’s,
And sighs - Ah my dirty dyke! Give us a lick here! ”
She felt Keiko's hand slip slowly drop down her thigh, and a sharp contraction siezing her. Keiko straightened up, vaguely frightened and ashamed, but Martine reassured her in a soft breath, placing a finger on her own mouth. She took the back of her neck in the palm of her hand and slowly brought their faces closer.
They gazed at each other for a long time, making sure to engrave on their memories this moment of perfect, forbidden happiness, far from the world. Their virgin lips clumsily sought each other for a few moments then swiftly traversed their burning bodies, swept by brief but intense convulsions. Their hands sank into the tips of their young breasts hardened by the caress of their hair.
At the same time, they found their flesh buds erect, but Keiko had to use her fingers to keep the access to the very musky-tasting flower at the tip of her tongue clear. Mademoiselle Sentis, on the other hand, could wander freely around her large, fruit-fresh lips, so delicate that she would have liked to bite them, barely adorned with a few long, smooth hairs, through which her own tongue slipped without difficulty.
They patrolled through their intimate parts with their fingers, their noses, their tongues, with all the frenzy of hungry young bodies before coming together, their sinews harmoniously plucked in an echo of their own pleasure. Then they rested, exhausted, lying side by side, hands trembling, hands that still sought one another. The awakening breeze beneath the leaves of the great mangrove tree did not cool their oozing skins. After a few moments, they straightened up at the same time, and kissed, stroking one another's hair. They fell back again, determined to take their time to soak up their feminine scents, to dart their tongues into each other's narrow slit, and - supreme audacity - to push their fingers into all their orifices at the same time.
Outside the German legation, Minister Plenipotentiary Von Ketteler was waiting with an impatient expression for the rickshaw which was to take him to Princess T'seu-hi's imperial palace. He sponged his rubicund face with a fine Baptist handkerchief and raised an impatient cane to hail his coolie. He demanded that the man practically scrape against what served as a sidewalk before stepping up onto the footboard and barking his marching order, like the former Prussian soldier he was.
The coolie fought his way through the teeming crowd, which showed no willingness to make way into in this very busy trading area where the market stalls spread out into the middle of the roadway. Two naked-chested Chinese, with very long pigtails down their backs that proclaimed their membership in the “Justice and Concorde” society, or "Closed Fist" sect, had imperceptibly drwan near to the rickshaw, which they were now following very closely. Von Ketteler did not see them at first, overwhelmed by the excellent pheasant his cook had prepared for him, the cries of the moving, colourful crowd, and the pestilential pong of the open sewers.
He didn't wake up until he suddenly heard the yells of the crowd being harangued by the Boxers. He felt a small shock when the coolie dropped the shafts of the rickshaw and fled away. There were more than fifty in front of him now. He instantly understood that he was doomed, and curled up in the back of his seat, hiding behind his top hat, in a ridiculous attempt not to see the sabre that was looking for his soft belly.
Mother Superior Marie Arou gazed with almost maternal tenderness at the freshly shaved neck of the young seminarian. Brother Rémi Isore looked up from his scriptures and said, “No, Reverend Mother, don't say anything. Don't tell me yet that I work too hard.”
“But no my son, I'm not going to scold you. But still, look at our Martine, how happy she is, how she found her way among us by edifying these creatures of God. Sometimes it seems like the world scares you a little?”
The young man, with fine features but of a manly beauty very unlike that of most of his classmates, whether sickly or feigned, blushed discreetly. He was very sensitive, without admitting it, to the charms of the mature woman as desirable as was the Reverend Mother Marie. When she got started on lecturing him, inflating her proud maternal bosom, he had to turn away like a child caught in mischief, not because of what she said to him, but because ungodly thoughts risked painfully provoking his member.
To get a little break, after tugging his very thin little blonde goatee, which irresistibly evoked a Christ painted by Caravaggio, he went to the telegraph which linked the little Mission of Tchou-Kia-Ho to the rest of the world.
Top