English translation below.
Moi j'avais la vie de ses après-midis. Et je me demandais si je serais restée avec Pierre. Doux et prévenant, adorable garçon la quarantaine juvénile mais quasi impuissant. Aurais-je préféré continuer ma vie de pute ou m'installer bien casée dans l'appartement? Ça n'aurait pas duré longtemps. Et puis j'en avais déjà eu des appartements et des maris. Il était clair pour moi que je n'étais que Belle De Jour. Soumise à l'Homme mais jamais à un seul. J'y aurais recouru moi, chez Madame Anaïs en prenant mes jambes à mon coup. C'est qu'il m'en fallait à moi des coups de queue et des orgasmes et des vagissements. Et j'y recourais. Chaque après-midi de mon existence.''
''How could one get so low getting screwed by fat pigs or some other loony dressed as a maid and on whom you had to spit and trample to his demand before he stretched your legs for a good fuck or a cunnilingus? In Madame Anais' apartment in the afternoons, she was watching her colleges at work though the peephole next door. She was a novelty at Madame Anais and the most stylish one of all the other working girls. She was watching with bewilderment and disgust. She was learning her job Madame Anais was teaching her before being ready for action. And Anais did find it to be the end of the world to go ahead and proceed. She would obviously have a go at it someday. She needed time. Time to let her mind and her ovaries getting exited. Séverine was dreaming of it. Beautiful, bourgeois and rich, she was married to the perfect classical and romantic husband with a nice loaded bank account but he could not fuck his wife well. She needed more. She wanted to let her phantasms go and explore them as a submissive and humiliated woman that cocks would appease to make her come. She was dying to be spitted on. She was dreaming away to be brutalized before being fornicated. She was dreaming of being attached to a tree and being thrown shit at before getting pushed. In that time of her salacious and lewd dreams she only had in mind to be done by her close circle. By Henri the friend of the family and by Pierre her husband. She knew the tenderness of a married couple but not the sensations of her body taking pleasure from orgasms. It's Henri that had given to her the address of Madame Anais in the middle of a conversation in a chic Courchevel restaurant when telling his afternoon escapades with whores. He hated the working class going in the snow to their factory with no hope or money or pleasures. And Séverine did not have forgotten the address. Other talks did not interest her. She had put her big black sun glasses and an Yves St Laurent suit on to get there. She was about to open her legs. And come. She was about to get wet, tremendously wet. Tired from too much action in bed between two and five in the afternoon as she had to go back home in the evening for her husband, often with a headache as soon as he got closer to her. She was throwing her panties in the fire place to burn them as soon as she arrived and wiped off that way all mental and physical trace of the last passed hours. She could not stop taking a bath and stone wash her skin to clear the ones that had touched her. She loved sex that bitch. She loved being a slut. That was her only condition of a woman to feel being one and gloat. Séverine was Belle De Jour day time and Séverine over night. She had two lives. Teared apart between the pleasures of her pussy that her quenched phantasms freed and between a conventional and traditional life of a sixteenth arrondissement's apartment. She even felt in love with Pallas, a young scarface thug that was fucking her so well. Her phantasms let her also like a life at stake and take risks her settled life did not allow. But she had got scared for Pierre to enter the truth of her inner fantasies and discover the daily occupations of his dame and the young guy that had found her address and started to knock at her door. Her inner fantasies were getting weakened and more and more surreptitious. The bourgeoisie had taken her phantasms over to turn this notion into passing fancy orgasms. Into a woman little caprice. And Séverine forgot about the whole thing as if never had happened. She forgot Madame Anais, her afternoons and her clients, giving a good farewell to all the cocks in a row that had screwed her. She was about to attend to her husband and only him.
I had the life of her afternoons. And I was wondering if I could have staid with Pierre or not. One sweet and caring husband, one adorable boy in his forties with juvenile looks and minds but almost impotent. Would I have preferred living my life of a whore or preferred being settled in his comfortable apartment? It would not have lasted long. Besides, I had had apartments and husbands. It was clear to me that I only was Belle De Jour. Submitted to The Man, but never to one. I would have been back to Madame Anais' running a hundred miles an hour as I never had had more than my share for cocks and orgasms and wails. And I was running back there. Every single afternoon of my existence. ''
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