My goddess my adorable Gilliane has the most perfect anus in my side of the universe. Of course, I am an Englishman, so some would say "what does he know?". Even Englishmen might say that, since I live in the Midlands, near the pottery district.

But you see you must pull open Gillianne's tiny happy globes. And you must then trace down the slight khaki groove until you come upon her treasure. It's a little incropping of tissue, like a Peruvian burial pit, dimpled with soft worm-backs. Diving inward.

Medically, clinically, one calls it an anus. I call it heaven.

Twice each day there is an epiphany. Others call it a bowel movement, her father sneers at me when I observe it and says I am a "mard man". Bugger him.

The one I make sure to observe is the evening one. It occurs one hour after dinner, slightly earlier if she has wine. Many nights I pose her hips over my mouth to lick and slurp her to pleasure, in well planned anticipation of the great event.

My name is Hugo, by the way, and I live with Gillianne as her fiancee, and her father, who is my father's second cousin. I met Gillianne when I was in France as a sub-screwman. She was trying to learn English and I thought her the most entrancing girl, but she was then just six. I had never felt a cunt so tight. On a return visit, when she was eight, her father allowed us to copulate rectally, and for that I must retain some respect for the man.

"Cooozan!" she moans.

I know it is coming. I can see the aperture widen a bit. Puffs of farts herald the product. Little sweet rectal belches. Poof poof poof.

What begins to emerge is slightly green then on the further growth darker, brownish. She ate trout, and we dined to Schubert with candles and incense. Dessert was ices and brandy. Her father let me keep my prick out the whole time, a deference to his soon to be son-in-law.

Her anus lotions and the sweet refuse speeds its course, striated in colors and flecked with bits of the indissoluable. "Now!" I cry, and it drops off, into my mouth. Tonight she has two pieces to give me. I cannot eat fast enough. My lips are smeared, I look like a squeeling gelid baby.

When she is done she doesn't wipe, but turns about to ride me. Praise God for that. I am so hard I think I'll break.

I plead with her and this night she gives me what I need. About once a week she gives it.

She shifts her position, taking her cuntal glove off my pitiful manhood, dexterous shifting, eyes-wide at the self-insertion, and there it is. Cock to ass.

"Oh, Gillianne!" I weep, heartbroken at the fit of her hot slick anus. "Oh, my angel!"

"Oui, fuck it into me, mon cousin," she sighs.

The twin dimples of her spine give ground to the short expanse to her gluteous pleasures. There the gray line begins, to lead down, heavenward, and her girlish globes rise over the cleft. When I claw them my fingers leave imprints. When I bite them they swell up red.

Oh God how I love this child.

Her father fucks beside us, with his 12 year old cutlery maid. He refuses to keep a maid more than 12. She is terribly white, speaks broken French, being Flemish. She reaches to Gillianne's hand because it hurts, he is too big. But she knows she must submit. In slow clear French Gillianne says "Why don't you give Papa your ass?".....(cont)