Chapter 11: Satan's Breath, Timothy Whyte-Taylor's Story

I stared in wonder at the powder in the bottom of the kettle, and when it had cooled sufficiently transferred it carefully into a glass jar. Now came the moment of truth. Had I discovered the essence of the coca leaf or only another stage of the process? To find out which I used myself as a test subject, and took a pinch of the white powder between my fingers, inhaling the substance as one does with snuff.

For a few seconds nothing happened, then a feeling of immense euphoria overwhelmed me, and I became enveloped in a cocoon of omnipotence, as if I had been elevated to Mount Olympus and stood side by side with the Gods. My senses were enhanced; colours brighter, sense of smell, of hearing, and later, when I ate my dinner, of taste. This ecstatic feeling stayed with me for an hour or so until I lapsed into a mood of apathetic gloom, which lasted several hours before regaining my usual humour.

Over the next two weeks I purchased more coca leaves, and used larger vessels in which to boil them. I experimented with various citrus fruits to find the most effective, but again by chance, or fate, I found a weak solution of sulphuric acid not only acted quicker on the macerated leaves but also produced more powder per leaf than citric acid. In the meantime I carried out further experiments on myself with the remainder of the first extraction.

After sniffing a pinch of the powder I took down a tome from my library, Of Natures Obvious Laws & Processes in Vegetation, and read the chapters with the speed of light. I understood every word, every fact, and every argument Sir Isaac Newton had written, as if I were the great man himself. I finished his treatise in less than ten minutes.

I had not indulged in sexual congress since the death of my wife, and in fact she and I had not enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh for several years previous to her death. I had thought at my age, I am fast approaching my threescore and ten, the pleasurable activity of fornication was now denied me. However, shortly after inhaling the remainder of the powder, and still being in a euphoric state from a previous inhalation, I became glutted with lust. My penis, unemployed for many years, grew as rigid and as large as a pikestaff, and my whole being demanded an immediate gratification of this sudden and unexpected hunger for female flesh.

Pausing only to put on my cloak, and making sure I had the wherewithal, I rushed headlong to the nearest brothel, fortuitously situated less than 100 metres from my house in the Rue des Escaliers.

I panted with exertion, and anticipation, as I banged on the brothel door.

The Madame laughed when she opened the door and saw me puffing and wheezing on her steps. "Go home, grand-père. I don't want your death on my conscience." I showed her the silver coin in my hand, and she stepped aside to allow me in. "Well, on your own head be it, but the management of the Sweating Bodies will not accept responsibility should you expire during ... err ... interaction with any members of the staff."

She called in her girls for my inspection. "Marie is a gentle soul and will not be too energetic for you." The Madame pointed to a fat, dumpy girl, well past her prime, wearing a grimy petticoat and little else. The Sweating Bodies catered for the lower strata of society, and the quality of its whores reflected that.

"I'll take her ... and that one..." I indicated a large, vigorous looking girl, " ... and her." 'Her' being a female whose meaty thighs could have crushed walnuts.

Madame was horrified. "Three girls at once? You will be struggling to keep your verge up more than a minute in any one of them. " I threw her the coin.

"Well, if you want to waste your money." She said, pocketing the coin as I hurried Marie up the stairs, followed by the other two whores. What happened next has passed into Brussels history.

Six hours later I came down to applause; from Madame, her girls, and most of the cliental of the Sweating Bodies. Bernice, the vigorous looking girl, Clara, she of the mighty thighs, and dumpy, grimy Marie, were lying exhausted, well used, and sore, in the bedroom. Their shrieks of pleasure, and howls of ecstasy, had reverberated around the building as I filled each and every one of the three girls' apertures many times during our night of debauchery. I was priapic, insatiable and inexhaustible, throughout those hours, although I now walked wearily down the stairs on rubbery legs.

From that day on I had streams of men at my door, begging for the potion which would give them the vigour, and inclination, to pleasure a woman. At first I fobbed them off with the love philtres concocted for me by a local wise woman, but I realised these appellants could be used to further my investigation into the efficacy of 'Satan's Breath', and the consequences of its use. I refined the method of delivery of the powder into the body, being convinced the most effective method was to inhale through the nasal passage, and thus straight into the brain. I experimented with dissolving the powder in wine, but it seemed alcohol negates the effect of the coca powder. When the powder was taken direct into the mouth it appeared that salvia also diminished the effects, although I found the tongue and gums were numbed by the application of the powder.

In time I perfected a method of preparing and delivering the powder to my customers, or 'guinea pigs' as I viewed them. I would carefully measure out a half gram of powder and then wrap it in a piece of waxed paper. The 'guinea pig' was instructed to lay out short lines of the powder from the 'wrap' onto a flat surface, roll the paper into a tube then inhale a line of powder through the paper tube into a nostril. Using this method no powder would be lost, or be deposited in the beard or moustache of the user.

From my initial observations it became apparent all men were more lustful after taking a sniff – or snort – of the powder. Older men regained their lost vigour, and younger men lasted longer and stronger when delving into the Portal of Venus. However, young men also became more bellicose, more adventurous, and more indiscriminate in their conduct, and although I know this to be the usual behaviour of young men after imbibing alcohol it appeared more pronounced after taking Satan's Breath. One young fellow took a 'snort' in a tavern, then announced he could walk on water, 'just like Jesus'. Fortunately for him he drowned in the River Senne when he attempted the feat. Had he survived he would have been executed for blasphemy, and the punishment meted out to blasphemers was to be burnt at the stake.

Several older men died, either while still being clasped by their partner in lust, or on their way home from a bordello or their mistress. This too was not an unknown event, but most of the men who had perished in that bittersweet way had been 'guinea pigs', as had the misguided river walker.

To replenish my dwindling stock of powder I placed a large order for coca leaves with an Antwerp merchant, who traded in goods from South America. He expressed his astonishment at the unusual produce I required, and the amount, although he assured me he could fulfil the order. Unfortunately he told his fellow traders of my request, which soon became known to other alchemists and apothecaries on the continent. The alchemy and apothecary fraternity keep ears open, and eyes on, their competitors.

My six hour sexual performance at The Sweating Bodies had been broadcast throughout the Netherlands, and beyond, being added to and embellished as the story spread. Fellow alchemists suspected I may have discovered the perfect aphrodisiac; the Holy Grail of alchemists – other than turning base metal into gold, of course. Given the large order I had placed with the Antwerp merchant the more astute of my fraternity would deduce coca leaves had some relevance in my triumph at the Sweating Bodies, and my concern was that other alchemists might conduct experiments on coca leaves and produce a more effective, and cheaper, variant of Satan's Breath.

I had confined my sales of the powder to males, although several ladies had called at the house purporting to purchase a 'wrap' for their husbands, although I suspected they wanted to experiment for themselves.

Nevertheless, to further my knowledge of the effects of the powder I required information on how the female gender re-acted to Satan's Breath. The next time I visited a bordello – with my extra income I disdained the cheap whores at the Sweating Bodies and now frequented Paradise Regained – I took along a 'wrap', and gave my whore of the night, who happened to be the newly arrived Paloma, a snort.

The time I spent with her is an indelible memory. I know not whether the skills she lavished on me during that night had been acquired through her limited experience or dredged from her own dark depths of degeneracy, but I think it more likely to be the latter, as she had been sold and shipped to Europe before receiving any formal training in the art of sexual perversion.

Possibly it was Satan's Breath that unlocked her inner self, which was as debased, debauched, and depraved as the longest serving harlot in the establishment. I became instrumental in making Paloma the most sort after, and expensive, whore in the bordello, and she showed her appreciation by sitting for me while I attempted to capture her elusive character in oil, besides rewarding me in a more tangible, corporeal, way.

To conduct an experiment on a whore is all very well, but a whore is already debased, and I needed to test the powder on a more decorous and demure female. I chose my neighbour's widowed daughter, a respectable girl of twenty three years of age who had been widow for a year. I deceived her into snorting a short line of powder by telling her it was a new remedy for the headaches she suffered. Females are more susceptible to alcohol than males, and I supposed they would react similarly to Satan's Breath, which is why I proscribed a smaller dose for her than for a male. Shortly after sniffing the powder the widow, Gertrude, became amorous and adventurous, and we spent several hours in carnal delight. Although not as depraved as Paloma I was pleasantly surprised by her lack of inhibition, at least until the effect of the powder diminished, and she sobbed in embarrassment and shame when she recalled the extent of her venereal behaviour.

However this sense of shame did not prevent her from taking the remedy for headaches on several occasions a week, followed by vigorous and long lasting bouts of copulation in my bed, which soon reached a level of depravity not far below that of Paloma's. I had to stop supplying her with the headache remedy as I was nearly as exhausted as my stock of powder – this being before my order for coca leaves had been delivered.

It was then I began to appreciate the evil and destructive aspect of Satan's Breath. Gertrude craved the powder more than she valued her reputation or respectability. She would entreat me, on her knees, to give her – sell her – more of the headache remedy, and would go into a hysterical rage when I admitted my stock to be exhausted, which was not absolutely true but I needed what remained to carry out further experiments. Her behaviour became extreme; to ease her craving for the powder she took to drinking Jenever in ever increasing quantities. To ease the hunger between her thighs she sold herself in the taverns where she bought the drink. Her family, stiff necked religious bigots – as all true Flems are – disowned her, and turned her out of doors. She gravitated to the canal side, where women like her, slaves to alcohol and sexual excess, drank and whored.

I should have admitted some responsibility for Gertrude's descent into ill- repute, and finished with my experimentation, but I was obsessed with continuing my observations of the effect of Satan's Breath to the detriment of all else, including the reputation of a young widow and the danger to my soul. I can only believe Satan's Breath had already worked its evil on me, and I had become oblivious to the consequences.

I had experimented with a whore and a widow, both of whom had knowledge of the carnal, but what I required to fully explore the power of the white powder was a virgin. Virginity is not a condition found in many Brussels females, other than young girls, and even I baulked at corrupting a child, but a virgin over the age of fifteen would be difficult to find.

A year had passed since I first extracted the white powder from coca leaves, and six months had passed since placing an order with an Antwerp merchant for a load of coca leaves. I had paid out a great amount of guilders for that order, and was rapidly running out of money, and credit, therefore the notification of my cargo arriving in Antwerp was received with a great sense of relief. The invitation to collect the sacks of coca leaves at my earliest convenience was accepted with alacrity. I hired a wagon and driver and made the 50 mile round trip in a day – a long boring day – as my driver was a monosyllabic Flem, and the terrain between Brussels and Antwerp being flat, uninteresting, and as tedious as was his company.

With a fresh supply of leaves I began producing, and selling, more of the white powder and soon had recouped the money paid out, and a great deal more beside. I still hadn't located a virgin, and was thinking I might never find one, when fortune smiled upon me. I received a summons from the local convent to attend to one of the Sisters.

The Mother Superior of the convent had availed herself of my services – my apothecary services – some years previous, when several nuns had been struck down by something akin to the Sweating Sickness. Over a period of two months I had visited the convent several times a week, taking potions and ointments to alleviate the pain and ease the suffering of the afflicted women, and by the Grace of God and good fortune all bar one survived. I was supervised on these visits by Sister Agnetha, a nun who acted as the Mother Superior's assistant.

I jocularly referred to her as 'The Mother Inferior', and Sister Agnetha showed her un nun-like qualities by laughing heartily at my quip. Over time she and I built up something of a rapport, for we shared an interest in art.

She was a tall stately woman, not unlike my late beloved wife, and judging by her dignified bearing was descended from an aristocratic family. Although we spoke French together I believe she was German, possibly from the North, probably a Prussian. She admitted she had been placed in the convent after refusing to marry the man her family had chosen for her. 'I had been a wilful and spirited girl, and at first convent life was difficult for me, but by God's Grace, and severe discipline, I finally renounced my former ways and embraced life as a Bride of Christ.'

On my arrival at the convent I was met by Sister Agnetha, who greeted me warmly. "Professor, how good to see you again, but how sad we only meet when one of my Sisters is ill." My patient on this visit was Sister Alys, who suffered from dropsy, for which there is no cure, but I could at least release the afflicted woman from some of the pain and discomfort she suffered. I made up a potion which would allow some respite from the torment of the swollen and painful legs she endured, but because my potion was a diuretic Sister Alys would spend many hours squatting over a chamber pot. After handing over the preparation to Sister Agnetha, and informing her when and what quantity to give the patient, I was about to leave when she laid her hand on my arm.

"Can you join me in my cell for a moment, Timothy? We have had no discourse for some time, and I have missed our discussions." Being the deputy of the Mother Superior she had dispensation to meet a male on convent premises without an accompanying nun.

Agnetha's cell was sparsely furnished with a bed, a chair and a table. She poured me a glass of the local white wine, the only alcohol other than the Holy wine of The Sacrament the nuns are allowed. We were talking about the problems of perspective in sketching when a knock came on her cell door, and on Sister Agnetha invitation to enter a young girl came in.

She looked to be about eighteen years of age, and wore the white veil of a Novice, indicating she had not yet taken her final vows, and if she wasn't a virgin then I was the hump on a camel.

The novice whispered something into Sister Agnetha's ear. "Very well, Rosemary. I shall deal with it at once." The girl gave me a shy glance, dipped a curtsey to Agnetha and left the room.

"Novice Rosemary is a sweet child. She was brought here as a child of six, and has only left the convent once since then. A year ago I took her to Notre Dame de Bon Secours, the church dedicated to St Teresa, the founder of our order. Rosemary will become Sister Teresa when she takes her vows in a few months' time."

I had found my virgin; but how to get her take the white powder, and induce her to act sinfully in the sequestered confines of the convent, would be a challenge.

" ... as I'm sure you are aware?"

While I had been working out in my mind how to debauch a virgin in a convent Agnetha had been talking.

"I'm sorry, Sister; I was thinking of what other remedies I could concoct for Sister Alys. What did you say?"

"I said our order uses self- flagellation to combat the onset of sinful thoughts or actions, as I'm sure you are aware?"

I nodded in understanding. Her order belonged to a branch of the Carmelites, who thought sin, in any of its many guises, could be only combated by prayer and self-inflicted pain.

"It appears Sister Marguerite has been rather over enthusiastic, or rather over sinful, and has flayed the skin off her back. Can you supply her with some soothing ointment?"

"Certainly Sister. I shall make up a quantity as soon as I return to my laboratory. Unfortunately, I am busy for the next two days, and will be unable to deliver it until Saturday. I hope Sister Marguerite can bear her pain until then?"

Agnetha frowned. "At times the pain causes her to scream out as if in childbirth, which is upsetting for the other Sisters." I could see indecision chasing across her face, but soon she made up her mind. "If you are available between Terce and Sext tomorrow I shall call on you, and collect the ointment myself,"

I knew in monastic liturgy those were the names of services. Terce being celebrated at nine in the morning and Sext at noon.

"Yes, I shall be at home between those times. Shall you arrive alone?"

She snorted in amusement. "Surely you know, Professor, nuns are not allowed out of the convent alone. I shall be accompanied by the novice Rosemary."

I managed not to show my glee at how my plan had succeeded.

Next morning, as the town clock struck 10, a knock came on the front door, which I went to open. Agnetha looked surprised when I appeared in the opened doorway. "I thought a butler or footman would have the menial task of opening your door?"

I chuckled. "I have employed no servants since the death of my wife ... God rest her soul." All three of us made the Sign of the Cross. "The house servants were her family's retainers, and I sent them back to the Chateau Pompidou."

"Who gets your meals, Professor, and who does your washing and cleaning?" Rosemary asked shyly.

"That is no business of ours, child." Agnetha chided her, but I imagined she too would like to know the answer.

"I dine out several evenings a week..." I didn't add 'at the Paradise Regained' " ... and I have an arrangement that a neighbour's cook brings me in a supper the times when I'm at home. Similarly, I pay housemaids from the same neighbour to take in my washing and clean my house weekly."

With the daily production of white powder now taking place having no prying eyes, or thieving fingers, about the house was added security.

I ushered Agnetha and Rosemary into my laboratory. On my work bench sat a jar of ointment for the flayed back of Sister Marguerite, together with two glasses of a lemon flavoured cordial, one containing an infusion of a mild, slow working, emetic. I handed over the ointment, refusing the money offered by Sister Agnetha, and invited them to a glass of cordial. They had walked somewhere near a mile from their convent to my house on a hot morning, and gratefully accepted. I ensured Rosemary drank from the glass containing the emetic. After ten minutes of pleasant talking with Agnetha I saw them to the door.

"I will call in the convent on Saturday to assess the efficacy of the ointment, and bring another jar should any other nun over indulge with the laying on of the whip." By then the emetic will have worked its way through Rosemary's digestive system and she would have been vomiting for at least a day.

I arrived at the convent on Saturday to be met by an agitated Sister Agnetha. "Thank God you are here, Professor. The novice Rosemary has been nauseous since yesterday, and cannot keep any food down. Could it be the heaving sickness?"

"I doubt it Sister, unless she is with child..." I struggled to keep a straight face at the sight of Agnetha's consternation at that thought " ... although it is more likely due to something she has eaten ... was the fish you dined on yesterday fresh?"

"I will ask Sister Maryberry if she bought it fresh yesterday or if it was taken from the ice house, but so far no other sister has shown any signs of discomfort."

I asked after the health of Sister Marguerite.

"Your ointment has worked its wonder, as usual, Professor." Agnetha said with a grateful smile. "I don't know how the convent would manage if it were not for you, and your God given skill." I bowed my head modestly.

You might think it strange the convent didn't use a physician for the ills which sometimes visited the establishment, but instead utilised an apothecary /alchemist. There were at least two competent doctors of medicine in Brussels: however the Convent was a Roman Catholic nunnery and the two Flemish practitioners were Lutherans, a sect that the Church of Rome regarded as little more than Satanists. As I had been married to a Walloon, a devout Roman Catholic as they all are, and spoke Walloon French the Mother Superior assumed I belonged to the same faith and race.

Actually I was brought up as an Anglican, but the Church of England is a broad church, and within its confines are High Churchmen who are only a transubstitution away from Catholicism, and Low Churchmen who are almost Methodists – perish the thought. After my marriage I attended the local Roman Catholic Church with my wife: sniffed the incense, made the Sign of the Cross, bowed at the sound of the bell and dipped my fingers in the Holy Water, and felt no better, or worse, for it than when attending an incense, bell, and Holy Water free Anglican service in England.

Rosemary, looking pale and wan, lay on the narrow bed in her cell, a room half the size of Agnetha's. As a male I wasn't permitted to examine a nun or novice unless attended by another nun, and three people in Rosemary's cell would be two people too many.

"I cannot treat my patient in these cramped conditions, Sister. May we not use your quarters?" My question was posed in such a tone of voice it became more of an order than a request. I find such a request, delivered sharply by someone in authority, as I was in this situation, is always granted.

Sister Agnetha helped Rosemary along to the larger cell, and we all crowded in. Rosemary sat on the bed while I peered into her mouth, gazed into her eyes, and made what would seem to be a full medical examination. The emetic had finished its work, and Rosemary would soon feel better without any further action on my part, but now was my chance to administer Satan's Breath.

The powder would need to be inhaled, but I had never employed that method of delivery with any of the other potions I had produced for the convent. Sister Agnetha might be surprised at this variation of my method of treatment, but there was no chance of me giving Rosemary the powder in Agnetha's absence – males were never left alone with a female in the convent, other than the Mother Superior or her deputy of course.

"As suspected the poor girl has consumed tainted food, fish or eggs, or possibly milk. Fortunately I have developed a new potion to combat the effects," I said, taking a 'wrap' from my satchel, "which is in powder form, necessitating a novel method of ingestion."

I explained the procedure, laid a line of powder on the table, rolled the paper into a tube and handed it to Rosemary.

"Place the end of the tube in a nostril, my child, and sniff along the line of powder in one steady movement."

She did as requested. A few moments passed, then I saw the look of euphoria creep across her face as the powder worked its magic.

"I feel wonderful, Professor, never better in my life." Rosemary giggled, and transformed from a pale, drab female to a glowing, sparkling eyed, winsome girl.

Sister Agnetha crossed herself. "It is a miracle, Professor. What do you call this extraordinary potion?"

Satan's Breath would not be an acceptable name to use in a Covent so I extemporised. "Err ... White Lady, as it usually the ladies who suffer sickness, especially when with child."

"We had best get a supply delivered to the convent as soon as possible." Rosemary said. "There may be a great need for it." She gave what can only be described as a wicked grin. "Not that I'm insinuating any of our Sisters will soon be with child."

"Novice Rosemary! You will say twenty Hail Marys, and then empty the chamber pots in all the cells after Vespers. You must look to your Immortal Soul, my girl, making such a wicked statement." Agnetha was scandalised at such a worldly comment from her Novice.

Rosemary remained unabashed. "I'm only suggesting, Sister, that if more tainted food is consumed we would need further quantities of medicine."

Agnetha eyed her suspiciously. "You have certainly regained full health ... one might even say rude health ... and in fact you are more bold and brazen than I have ever seen you before." She looked at me. "But Rosemary is correct; we should have a supply of this wonderful White Lady. When would you be able to deliver some more ... err ... wraps?"

Events were beginning to move too fast for me to deal with. Although Rosemary had taken the powder how would I know if it had affected her, and what would happen to the convent if they all started snorting Satan's Breath at the first sign of sickness?

"I have another jar of ointment for you, Sister. We can discuss supplying Sa ... White Lady after you have put the jar in the dispensary." When in doubt play for time.

"Very well, Professor." Agnetha got from her chair. "Come Rosemary, you can accompany me to the dispensary, and then you shall spend the rest of the day on your knees praying in the chapel."

Rosemary glanced at me."I will soon be on my knees, and will enjoy every moment." She then gave what looked suspiciously like a wink before following Agnetha from the cell. I pondered on what she had said. Had she addressed her remark to me or Agnetha, and could what I took as a wink be only a nervous twitch?

The dispensary was in the cellar of the Convent, and I didn't expect Agnetha to return for ten minutes or more. I idly glanced at the papers on the table and noticed they were all sketches. Agnetha had quite a talent, and I looked through her portfolio of work with interest. Most were of the Convent, exterior and interiors, and showed a great skill. I turned over the next sheet of paper and my eyes stood out on stalks; staring up at me was a nude drawing of Sister Marguerite. The woman was a voluptuous beauty – to think her treasures had been hidden, and wasted, under a nun's habit for so many years. The close cropped hair of a nun imbued her with a far more provocative air than if she had been wearing long tresses.

The pose was extremely erotic. Marguerite's legs were slightly parted and her maidenhead could be discerned through a thicket of hair. By the look on the sitter's face there was a bond of sexuality between her and the artist.

I know that look well, for I have often seen it on the faces of my models, and I can vouch as to what sinful behaviour follows such a look. I surmised she and Agnetha were in a Sapphic relationship; which was probably the reason Marguerite had flayed the skin from off her back, as penance and punishment. I quickly put the drawing back among the others and sat down in the chair, shaken by the revelation.

I became even more shaken by what happened next. Rosemary stepped through the cell door and closed it firmly behind her. She dropped to her knees before me and fumbled at the fastenings of my trousers. I was so astounded I sat there, inert, as she withdrew my penis – my flaccid penis – for I had not used Satan's Breath for some time.

She gazed up at me with lust filled eyes. "I said I would soon be on my knees and enjoying it," and then took my limp member into her mouth. She was enthusiastic but not experienced, but even so my penis began to swell mightily – a well-known pipe dream for men is to be fellated by a virgin. The thought in itself was enough to gain rigidity, but to actually have the warm wet mouth of a virgin novice sucking on my tallywacker got me as hard as if I had snorted a whole wrap of Satan's Breath.