"Voluptuous Experiment" is an unusual story, so astonishingly frank in its detailed expose of a European society woman's love life that it was banned in Paris and London upon its publication. As several eminent psychologists have remarked after reading this remarkable document, if it would have been published in a clinical journal of psychology, it would have been acclaimed as a noteworthy piece of work. There is no doubt that it represents a valuable addition to the archives of abnormal sexual studies.
It should be borne in mind that except for the obvious changes in name to protect the identity of certain prominent persons, this story recounts the psycho-sexual adventures of the heroine which actually occurred. Since identities have been concealed, the most intimate sex secrets of some of those fascinating people composing the "international set" are frankly recounted.
Basically, these are the intimate memoirs of a most attractive, voluptuous woman whose sex life was frustrating and unsatisfactory, due to no outwardly discernible cause. Frantic at being denied the one joy of supreme sensuality which is every woman's birthright, she strives zealously to release herself from the bondage of her neurosis. Oddly enough, a famous psychiatrist she visits advises her to indulge in every extreme type of lustful perversion as an attempt at curing herself.
She follows his advice to the extent that a fabulous reputation as a nymphomaniac and even worse begins to build up around her as she seeks her "Cure" in foreign lands, she indulges in so many perverse sex experiences, that although she knows she is following a psychiatrist's advice, she begins to lose what remains of her self-respect.
At this point, several dramatic events occur in the sex-life of our heroine which have a most unexpected and unforeseen physical effect in her relationships with all males. Many interesting psychological questions are raised here; not the least being just how literally should a patient follow a psychiatrist's counsel. The reader himself will have to be the judge as to whether more damage was wrought by the sex advice given to our neurotic society woman, or whether it resulted in a real psychological cure.
Continental Classics is proud to present this edition of an outstanding case history of a modern nymphomaniac as told by herself for the first time in the United States. It is recommended only for professional people and the mature general reader.
Allen Saunders, M.A. New York City, October 1967
CHAPTER ONE
I must state emphatically that all of the fantastic sex adventures and far out sex practices which are described in the following pages are all true. Shocking as it may seem it all actually occurred. These are true events and for obvious reasons I have changed the names of the actors in this fabulous panorama of insatiable love. Or would you call it lust?
If I had put real names instead of invented ones, all would-be civilized persons would have been shocked at the behavior of the heroine of this little drama and would have judged her a depraved person. In reality she was and still is a very smart woman, so smart that most of the people she came into contact with were too inferior to her to be able to understand her.
It all started when, coming from England, I arrived in France onboard a channel steamer.
The crossing had been rather rough and I felt my stomach in revolt, so that I took time to sip a cup of coffee at the station buffet.
There was a girl there serving and she was quite a dish. She had such a gorgeous set of up-thrust knockers, curving with just the tilt I go for, and such a lush ass that I soon forgot all about my digestion. It was now my hard-on which was giving me trouble . . .
But, alas, I could not linger, for I had to catch the Zurich Express which was scheduled to leave at ll.ll (yes, that's the right time, funny though it may seem you can check if you like).
I looked at my watch and my heart missed a beat when I realized it was five past eleven.
"Cor, love a duck " I ejaculated aloud. I took one last look at the jutting nipples, the cleavage and big ass of my waitress and trying to control my hard-on, sprinted for the train.
I arrived there with only a minute to spare. The train left on time. Too bad I had to hurry, my rigid cock kept reminding me of the blonde waitress.
I had chosen an empty compartment and sat in it with a sigh, stretching my weary legs.
Of course, the compartment did not stay empty for a long while (they never do, do they?).
The door opened and a porter entered. He looked rather funny, with his walrus moustache. I imagined he must snore like a grampus. But, not being his wife, I didn't give a damn. He placed two suitcases in the rack and went cut and a dame came in. She had her back to me, for she was giving the inevitable tip.
By the way, are you for or against the abolition of tips ?
But it's neither here nor there, That piece of ass, now. I thought there was something familiar about her. But when she presented her front to me instead of her behind, I knew who she was.
That's right Rochelle Delac. She was the wife of a famous doctor whose reputation was world-wide, and she had been introduced to me (or rather I had been introduced to her but does it matter?) the year before at a Press
Gala. At once, we had felt attracted and we knew we could easily become good friends.
She had appeared to me to be a young, elegant and distinguished woman, very pretty, but not unduly aware of it. From her conversation I had judged her to be witty, pleasant and well-informed and, besides, very intelligent.
But, since that gala, I had not seen her, so I could not blame her when she sat down and did not at once recognize me. But then, she was very busy making herself comfortable for the long trip.
I did not hurry her and waited till she was comfortable and as snug as a bug in a rug before talking to her.
I got up and bowed politely, saying:
"How d'you do, Mrs. Delac?"
"Sir?"
She could not place me at first. Then, after one and half second's scrutiny, she beamed:
"Oh, Mr. Pierre Romer I'm sorry I was so engrossed in my installation that I sort of looked at you without actually seeing you, if you see what I mean."
I saw what she meant.
I ain't that dumb.
"I recognized you at once," I assured her.
Which is a subtle way of paying a compliment of a king. And you know how partial women are to them. Even with the intelligent ones, it's the first approach to a lay . . .
I helped her out of her coat and she appeared sexily before my popping eyes, dressed in a simple but clinging dress that covered her like skin.
She had finely chiseled features, crowned by fair curls. Her remarkable tits were full enough to be eloquent to any connoisseur of feminine beauty. Her body was tallish and voluptuous and her legs, as far as I could see, were the haven of a most delectable cunt.
I envied her husband, Delac. He did not need glasses to see that his wife had universal hard-on appeal.
I reflected it was quite a lucky coincidence to have such an attractive woman as a traveling companion and silently prayed that the compartment would remain as it is. I had a horrible fleeting vision of twenty over-excited, screaming and gesticulating tourists invading our privacy, and shuddered. Or perhaps a provincial family, who would have packed their victuals, including the inevitable strong smelling cheese.
But no, so far, we were still alone and undisturbed.
"I'm delighted to travel with such a charming person as you," I said.
She smiled and you could have knocked me down with a pussy-hair when she answered:
"Thank you, but it's perfectly mutual. You know, I was just thinking of you some time ago."
"Were you, really?"
I felt as proud as a cockerel ruling the roost.
"Yes," she said, "I've often recalled our pleasant conversation at the press gala, do you remember?"
"I do "
"Good. Where are you traveling to."
"Zurich."
"For a newspaper article?"
"Yes, and from there I shall eco to Berne, where I hope to be able to do a feature article on the International Red Cross."
"Yours is a very interesting profession, isn't it?"
"It has its moments," I conceded.
"And, on top of it, you are a well-known writer. I thoroughly enjoyed your last book, 'Naughty Nymphos.' "
"Have you read it?" I asked, blushing.
"But, my dear sir, I read all your books," she assured me, smiling.
"Do you, really? I'm very glad to hear it."
I thought that if everybody did like her I would be a very rich man indeed.
"I read your books," she went on, "because you are one of those very rare writers who sound true to themselves. One sees that you know life and sex thoroughly and you don't embellish it with happy endings and the punishment of the guilty, and all that sort of trash good enough for Hollywood and its moral leagues. But your best quality is perhaps your true knowledge of women and the way they really act and feel in bed. I like your point of view which is that man has qualities that woman has not and vice versa. Also, you put both sexes on an equal footing, sexually speaking, and that's what makes your strength.
"In your novels, there is none of that Victorian outlook which gives women a secondary role, none of the hypocrisy (both profane and religious) which approves of men having love-affairs, but not women.
"On the other hand, you rightly point out that women have nothing to be specially proud about when they go to bed with a man. Some women think that because they have sex with a man they do him a great honor and bestow a priceless gift. That's silly. They need the love act as much as men do. And when they give pleasure, they also receive their share of it. So there should be no feeling of superiority one way or the other."
She may have gone on in that vein for quite a while, if the loud-speaker had not put an abrupt end to her speech.
"Passengers to Brussels, Liege, Frankfort, Bonn, will be leaving in two minutes on platform four," the impersonal voice was saying.
"So we have twenty hours during which we shall be sitting opposite each other," I said, "I shall enjoy that very much."
"The pleasure will be mine, particularly.. . "
She left her sentence unfinished.
"Particularly?" I prompted.
"I'll be frank with you," she blurted out, wriggling her snatch nervously. "As I've just told you, I've read your books, and my belief is that the personality of the writer is bound to be reflected In his writings, so that I'm sure you are one of the rare persons capable of understanding me."
I sensed that I would soon hear a confession.
And a confession from a sexy female is always interesting, particularly when she is intelligent as well.
"Understanding you?" I asked, all agog with curiosity.
"Yes, for I am a very odd woman to most people."
"I don't know about odd," I said, "but anyway you're certainly intelligent, and very pretty into the bargain."
"Thanks. But, apart from that, supposing it were true, I am one of those rare women who have dared to do what most women only secretly think."
"And what is that, may I ask?"
"Well, since we have many hours to kill, would you be interested in hearing the truth about my intimate sex life?"
Would I? What do you think, readers?
Brother . . .
"My life is quite interesting I assure you," she went on. I like you as a man and as a novelist, so that, I'm giving you the benefit of firsthand material for a story which you could very well write from what I'm going to tell you, and, as I guess you'll use fictitious names I doubt if I shall be recognized. People are so silly."
She paused and I settled back, the better to listen.
"You see, I've had many lovers, I'm going to call a spade a spade, I like the act of sex or fucking very much. So far, nothing special, except that usually married women deceive their husbands not because they need it, or out of love, but from a sort of lewd curiosity they want to know if there is any difference between men. And some of them deceive their husbands for the sheer satisfaction of an inner thrill, to be able to say that they have screwed on their husbands and gotten away with it. Others do it to amuse themselves or to see if Andre makes love better than their husband or if it's true that Maurice has the knack of "sending" women with his special screw.
"But I haven't deceived my husband for any of those reasons.
"The reason why I've had many men fuck me is because I love my husband very much. I have great tenderness and affection for him.
"You look surprised. Now, I can't blame you.
"Yes, thank you, I'll have a cigarette.
"Now let me tell you . . . . "
And for the rest of that eventful train trip Rochelle, the sexy society belle, wife of a famous surgeon, neatly laid bare her sex-life. Her frank, almost crude words she used like her husband might wield a scalpel in dissecting her hump adventures right down to the "bone". .
CHAPTER TWO
I first saw the light of day in the lovely lakeside town of Lausanne in southwestern Switzerland, the only daughter of a husband and wife team of doctors. With that type of rearing you will understand why I express myself with anatomical bluntness. I learned early about sex and all the sexual aberrations from the medical books around the house.
I had a carefree childhood.
They took good care of me and I was always provided with a lot of clothes from which I could choose.
There's really no story until I reached the age of eleven or twelve. Since that's the subject we're interested in now, you know that a girl usually begins her sex-awakening around that age. And I really awoke with a bang.
I was a day pupil in a religious school (it wouldn't have made any difference had it been a non-clerical school, anyway), and I wouldn't teach you anything if I told you that during pauses and during any free time such as outings, etc., the talk was all about the opposite sex. Or, at least, what they think it's like. And I can tell you they have some strange ideas, some of them.
You know how it is, I suppose: there are always some girls who pose as know-alls and they concoct the weirdest stories and the other girls listen to them with rapt attention, like disciples listening to a prophet.
I remember one of those young girls she was around twelve years old who used to tell us very seriously that men made their wives pregnant by taking them in their arms and kissing her behind the ears. Another said solemnly that the baby came after the man put his forefinger up the wife's asshole. I often wonder what else her father did to her mother. . .
So you see, subjects of conversation did not vary much in girl-schools, and I guess it hasn't changed much now, for, even when they talk a-bout pop music, there's bound to be a man in the subject somewhere usually the latest heartthrob exponent of the "noble" art of rock n' roll, calypso or jazz music.
Naturally, I was as deeply interested in the subject of men as my school-mates were and I listened intently to all their theories. But I had some of my own, which, were much more scientific than theirs, for as I told you, my father was a doctor, and he had a lot of books on anatomy.
As often as my parents' backs were turned I went to my father's library and lost myself in these taboo books, naturally preferring the ones with many drawings and sketches of nude men and women with their sex organs showing. To tell the truth, I didn't understand much of what I read, mainly because I proceeded without method, reading passages now from one book, now from another, and I couldn't really concentrate for there was the permanent fear at the back of my mind, of being found out.
Nevertheless, I didn't fail to boast about my newly acquired knowledge to my school-mates. I took on an important tone of voice and said:
"I know how a baby is made."
You could have heard a pin drop when I said that.
Then there was the inevitable saucy brat who was short and plump with very large titties for her age, who said she didn't believe me.
So, of course, I said I'd seen it in my father's books the day before and I proceeded to reproduce it as faithfully as my memory allowed.
As soon as I had done that, all sorts of questions were fired at me:
"What's that?" (pointing at the prick).
"What's the use of it?"
"What do you call it?"
About the "it" in question, I was really ignorant. But I embroidered on the little I knew, not wanting to show my lack of knowledge.
"Well," I told them, "it's used to pee with."
"Ooh " four or five of them exclaimed, and another added:
"It isn't pretty "
That was my opinion but I wouldn't have expressed it for all the gold in the world.
In short, we exchanged childish conversation taut already one could see the awakening of puberty. The big-titted girl also asked me what the balls were for, but at that time I had no idea what a man's balls did.
But, apart from all the talk about the male prick and balls, I was perfectly pure.
I had a lot of girl pals at that school, which is not surprising, my father being a doctor, and you know how many acquaintances a doctor can have.
With my pals, we used to go for walks or invite each other to tea, and our games were quite innocent and natural, except once.
One of my school pals introduced me to her elder sister Susan, who was about fifteen years old. I was twelve at that time.
I was struck by her beauty. Although still a young girl, she was already a woman with quite a big pair of jutting knockers. She had the knack of those coquettish ways that attract men. You know her look could be pure one minute and provocating the next; and she knew how to make the best of her already important titties by wearing tight sweaters and by walking erect, with the middle drawn in; she also knew the trick of sitting like an apprentice pin-up, that is with her legs crossed and lifting up her skirt just enough to excite men with a peek at her thighs.
Of course, at the time I was too young to notice all that, or rather, to draw conclusions, but I was already subjugated by her charm and the femininity that oozed out of every pore of her youth.
I wouldn't have called myself a sportswoman, but I did like skating, tennis and swimming. Particularly the latter.
One day, one of my school-mates proposed that we should go to lakeshore beach as it was a really fine sunny day.
I accepted with enthusiasm and obtained my mother's consent.
So, off we girls went to the sunny beach.
When we arrived, we each took a cabin.
I got undressed and put on my swim-suit.
As I came out, I saw Susan, who was already dressed (if you can call it dressed).
How beautiful she was. Her breasts would have driven any men wild.
The sun was playing in her golden hair. She looked as if she had been molded into her bikini and had known exactly the moment to say "when." I looked with admiration and envy at her breasts which stood out like two ripe fruits, round and. firm. Her stomach was flat and muscular and adorned in its center by a tiny navel that stood out between her bikini top and bottom.
I stood there for a moment admiring her body.
Then, she smiled, wrapped one arm around me and we ran together to the lake.
We were both good swimmers and we enjoyed ourselves with the classical games of pursuits on or under water, diving, etc.
Susan kept teasing me, placing an arm round me from behind, cupping my small breasts in her hands or caressing my thighs. In spite of my innocence, I didn't fail to notice that whenever she touched me there was a strange light shining in her eyes. She enjoyed holding and cupping my just budding tits, taking the nipples between two fingers and pinching lightly, or she would slide her hand between my thighs and rub my buttock crack or my hairless cunt. Sometimes her fingers would open my cunny lips and poke up my hole.
I remember at one time, while swimming, she put an arm around me, pushed me on my back and slipped her free hand between my thighs, opening them wide and pulling my suit aside, she bent over and put her mouth to my pussy lips, opening them and slipping her tongue up my hole, tickling my clitoris with her darting tongue-tip.
Then, I distinctly saw the fixity of her look. I also noticed that her nostrils were slightly pinched and her mouth half open, revealing small regular teeth like mother-of-pearl when she pulled away from sucking my pussy.
She let me go after a short while, but, a while later, I noticed the same expression on her face when I involuntarily brushed against her and touched her breasts.
We swam a little more, then she told me:
"How about going in now, Rochelle?"
And I was struck by the new accent in her voice when she said that. Its intonation was hoarse, with a mixture of embarrassment and erotic passion.
I would have preferred remaining in the water some more, but my "idol" wanted to go, so let's go.
We ran to our respective cabins you know, at that age, one very rarely walks, one runs most of the time.
As soon as I had come into my cabin, I heard a rap on the door.
"Who is it?" I asked. "It's me, Marie."
I obeyed. She came in, still in her bikini, but with a towel in her hand.
"My dear Rochelle, would you mind helping me dry my hair?" she asked, handing me the towel.
"But of course, Marie. Sit down there."
I started rubbing her hair conscientiously.
From time to time she giggled nervously.
I took pleasure in my task, running my hands in her shoulder-length hair which seemed to illuminate and almost warm up the small cabin with its golden rays.
"You're very good at it, darling," she told me. "You should become a beauty-salon girl."
I noticed it was funny she was calling me darling for the first time. That was very nice of her.
I went on massaging her hair diligently for a while, then she stopped me.
She threw back her hair with a coquettish movement of her pretty head and said:
"You're quite good at rubbing. Could you rub my back too, please?"
"Yes, Marie," I said, as a matter of course. She was my idol and there was precious little I would have refused her.
I noticed a strange glint in her moist eyes.
She slipped off the upper half of her bikini and I gasped, for never before had I beheld the nude breasts of a woman, and, although still only in her teens, she had the body of a woman. I remained a moment staring at her two white breasts with symmetrical red nipples in the centers.
She briskly took me out of my reverie.
"What's the matter with you? Is the sight of my titties troubling you? Aren't they beautiful?"
And so saying, she caressed their nipples with the tips of her red-nailed fingers.
I blushed at that gesture of hers, without being able to explain to myself shy, especially after she had tongued my pussy, although I still just looked at her act as "just among us girls," with no sex meaning.
Then I started rubbing her white back with zeal and concentration, and soon the towel was dripping wet.
"The towel is wet," she said, "do rub with your hands now, darling."
That word "darling" again that was the second time she said it, in the space of a few minutes.
I complied and started rubbing her back with the palms of my hands.
Suddenly she turned over on her back, and she was so quick about it that my fingers naturally came into contact with her naked, yielding breasts.
"Oh" I exclaimed.
"Well, go on," she ordered, "my tits should be dry too."
I reflected that it was a funny way to dry up skin with bare hands.
But I complied, and, without realizing it, I became softer in my touch and gently massaged her two milky globes.
Then I felt that under the palms of my hands her two nipples were becoming harder and harder, and I wondered why.
But I wondered still more at the expression on Marie's flushed face: her eyes were half-shut; her nostrils had a pinching movement, like a twitch, and she left her mouth half-open.
Then, suddenly, she told me, in a far-away hoarse voice:
"More, darling."
Then, nearly in the same breath, she exclaimed:
"Stop, you're driving me nuts."
And she pushed my hands away from the stiffened, jutting nipples.
I was completely nonplussed.
Then she said:
"Come, I'll dry you up now."
"But -"I started protesting feebly.
"Come on, I tell you," she said impatiently, and deftly removed the upper part of my bikini.
My bust was bare. Of course, compared to hers, I was a non-starter: a mere double swelling with two red circles in the middles, more nipple than breast.
But Marie seemed to find them to her taste, for she placed feverish hands on them and caressed them softly.
It was quite a pleasant sensation. It did tickle a bit, but it was very soft and sweet.
But her caresses were far from bringing about the same reactions as Marie's awhile before.
I didn't oppose any resistance as I was affected by curiosity and a pleasant sensation. The contact of two bare feminine hands on my bare titties was quite a new experience for me. Especially when she began to kiss and suck the excited tips, tonguing the hardening nipples.
Young as I was, I could not analyze or even realize Marie's feelings. Suddenly she stopped caressing me and briskly pulled down the lower part of my bikini.
I was now completely naked and Marie's hand was between my thighs. She parted them, completely exposing my delicate, hairless pussy. Her fingers played with the labia and I got excited, my juice making her hand wet. She poked her fingers deep up my vagina, making me squirm.
Subconsciously I felt that what she was doing was bad, but I remained passive, for I was feeling a thrill sweeter still than what I'd felt before. She kept on finger-fucking my cunny.
She went on for a while, then in the same hoarse voice, she begged:
"Do it to me, please."
And she lowered her own bikini, baring her own cunt which was surrounded by a mass of soft, silky bush curls. I could see her own cunt lips slightly parted when she opened her thighs wide for me. Her petal pink labia were moist with excitement.
As I hesitated, she insisted:
"Please, darling."
I obeyed.
Not for long, for suddenly I got a fright. I had hardly touched her wet cunt when she threw herself backwards. There was a flush in her features and I could see the whites of her eyes. She screamed and twitched as she came, frightening me, because I didn't know what was happening.
But she quickly pulled herself together and, kissing me softly, she told me:
"You're an angel, my little Rochelle. Did you like it?"
I just gave a kind of embarrassed smile.
She was now quite calm.
"Of course," she said, "the first time you can't be expected to enjoy it; and then, you're so young. But you'll see. . . soon."
Having uttered those puzzling words she kissed my lips again and went into her own cabin.
Later, I realized that, without knowing it at the time, I had been seeing for the first time a human being experiencing the ultimate in voluptuousness. Although she had finger-fucked my box, it was all so new to me that I was too excited to come.
For all my young age, I had the true reputation of being very intelligent and curious to learn. So, what had taken place in the cabin could not but incite me to explore still further this unknown world of sexuality.
To begin with, I listened attentively to my school-mates' conversation on the subject.
All of them played with their own pussies and the great majority fingered one another off. They would also get down on each other and "blow" each other or they would switch to '69' and suck each other's cunts until they came.
I was rather troubled by their confidences. They were all telling about their sexual affairs with boys.
"It's so terribly good."
"What a wonderful feeling."
"Three times, yes, three times with Roger last night."
Hearing all that, I wondered why they found those caresses so wonderful. What I had felt with Marie was sweet and pleasant, but I honestly preferred a dream bun or a chocolate ice cream. I guess all their mutual masturbating was only to keep from walking the walls between screws by their dates.
When I saw Marie again, she naturally seized the first opportunity to do as we had done at the shore. Again, she caressed my budding titties, my belly and my box. She kissed me for long periods of time on the lips and on my body and, of course, she asked me to do the same to her, and, again, I saw her body twitch in ecstasy, her eyes look up as if to Heaven, and her mouth taking on unnatural shapes and uttering a kind of hoarse moan, when I slid my fingers or tongue on her delicious pussy-lips.
As for me, it had been the same feeling as last time something sweet and pleasant but which was far from unhinging me as it did Marie. I did let her suck my snatch because I enjoyed it, but I still didn't "come."
One day, after such a scene, when she was calm again, she asked me:
"How old are you now, darling?"
"I'll be fourteen next month," I answered.
"Really? That's odd."
"Why odd?"
"Because, you see, when I was fourteen, I wasn't like you."
"How d'you mean?"
"Let me explain when I was being caressed like I did to you, or even when I did it by myself, I can assure you I didn't remain calm as you do I came."
"But I find it pleasing and amusing," I protested.
"Pleasant and amusing. But it's much better than that."
"Is it, really?"
"It definitely is. When you come it's out of this world. But perhaps you're a little late in your sexual development."
She seemed disappointed.
What did she mean by "late in my sexual development?"
I felt slightly uneasy and did my best to try to understand.
I delved into my father's books. A doctor's case histories being complete, I eventually found what I was looking for, or, at least, it seemed to fit my case.
Frigidity: Partial or total absence of sensation during the sexual act.
"During the sexual act," the big book said. Well, then, I had still never practiced the sexual act; no man had ever laid me. All the sexual caresses I had received had been from my school-mates who were of my own sex. No doubt, I thought, with a male partner I would feel these famous ecstasies so much praised by the other girls I knew.
So I decided there and then to find the handsome male who would, I hoped, give me that supreme pussy pleasure.
It had to be a mate to make me thrill, because my girl friends couldn't turn me on. Although they had masturbated me and tongued my twat, I hadn't climaxed. So, I guessed that the only thing that would make me come would be a man's cock in me. I felt that I was one of those girls who couldn't get any sexual kicks from lesbian games and I had been blown by my girl friends and now and then I had gotten down and sucked them too.
CHAPTER THREE
Until that heavenly time when I would feel the full length of a solid male penis up my cunny, I decided to pick up all the knowledge I could about this fascinating subject called "sex." And I made up my mind I wouldn't be too particular where or how I got my facts about this forbidden thing . . .
I was now fifteen and, thanks to conversations between my school-mates or people in the streets or in cinemas, and thanks particularly to the lewd pictures that circulate in schools more rapidly than school-books, I was, at least in theory, quite well versed in sexual matters.
Then, my father one day completed my education still in theory, of course for he was not only a doctor, and a good one at that, but he had a modern outlook on sex.
I adored him and had always listened to him with great attention.
One day, with his usual sweet manners, he had made me sit on the arm of his armchair, and, while caressing my shoulder and arms, he had told me this:
"My little Rochelle, you know I must have a serious conversation with you. As you know, your daddy has a modern outlook, so I'm not going to preach or lecture to you as daddies in the nineteenth century used to do. Nowadays, fifteen-year-old daughters don't need their parents' explanations to know about men and sexual relations."
"But, daddy."
"Hush, listen, dear. I've known for some time that you seem to find a special attraction for reading my medical books, particularly those dealing with sexual problems."
"Oh, daddy."
"Don't deny it. But I'm not blaming you in the least. On the contrary, I'm glad of your healthy curiosity. Indeed, a girl of your age and with your intelligence should know about such things as well as about other matters.
But you're still too young to have any real discernment, for, speaking as a doctor, I can tell you that these books deal with generalities and not with particular cases.
I don't think I have to tell you about the possible results of physical intercourse between a man and a woman. You're too intelligent to be unaware of them. As you know, I'm a very indulgent daddy, but I would hate to see you come home pregnant without being married, Modern conventions are often ridiculous but we can't ignore them altogether . . .
You may try to tell me that there are ways and means of making children disappear before they're born.
True, but and I'm still speaking to you as a doctor one mustn't overdo it. To be perfectly frank: there's much more danger for the life of a woman in an abortion than in the normal way of giving birth.
There is also another peril that threatens teenagers of both sexes. You could meet a young man who will seem perfect to you: he will have instruction, education, intelligence, he will seem well-off and distinguished . . . in short, he will have "everything." If you only flirt with him, even if you go a little far and let him have your virginity, it doesn't matter. But if your "affaire" prolongs itself unduly, be careful, for, sometimes, Prince Charming is in reality a cad whose ultimate goal is to use the girl he seduced for financial gain. You see what I mean, don't you?
Well, my little daughter, I've told you all I had to. You know how I love you and my duty as a father was not to play the part of a police officer or hypocritical moralist but rather to enlighten you so that you should be happy, yet avoid danger."
I think I never kissed my father with such tenderness than on that day.
So, now, my aim was to have a sexual experiment with a person of opposite sex, a male, or, as my 16 year old school-mate said, a real man (she had already three or four lovers, or so she said).
But I had no intention of having intercourse at once with the first man that would come my way.
Rather, I wanted to see, first, if intimate caresses given by men would make me react differently from those given by girls.
Nor did I intend trying with a lad of my age, one of those noisy, conceited teenagers.
I knew that very young men are poor lovers, They all ejaculate too quickly and don't linger on preliminaries.
And the preliminaries were the very things
I wanted to taste.
That's why I chose Georges Leroux.
He was about 35 years old, so, for me, he was like a very mature man. Everything in life is a matter of comparison.
Besides, he had a reputation for being an expert seduction artist.
My reasoning seemed right: if he had screwed many women, it showed that he knew the art of making them come. He must even be very skillful in his caresses since so many women were running after him. So he was the man for me. My reasoning was simple but perfectly logical.
Georges was a friend of my father's, by profession a business man. He sold everything: cars, furniture, metals, commodities, etc.
My father had made his acquaintance when he purchased our "Lincoln" through him. Since that time, he used to call at our house from time to time and he also sent several of his girl friends to my father's office, for he knew that my father was a good doctor.
He was not exactly handsome, but his elegant appearance, his gift of the gab, the warm caressing tone of his voice, created around him an atmosphere of exciting charm and seduction.
At first, I resented his attitude towards me: he was charming, but seemed to consider me as a kid and not as a sex possibility.
I learned later that this kind of man instinctively shies away from young girls. These men are accustomed to easy successes and they're afraid of wasting their times with young virgins and they don't imagine the tears and general mess when they thrust their pricks through a cherry.
Fortunately, all women, even the coyest and the youngest, have an innate sense of coquettishness. That's right, you know, we all have inside ourselves great potentialities of seduction and we all know how to provoke a man until he flirts with us or even goes further.
I knew that Georges went nearly every day to a certain pub on the boulevard.
So I roamed in the vicinity two or three days in succession, at the time he went to that pub, and I eventually saw him come out of his little convertible.
He hadn't noticed me. I called him:
"Hello, Mr. Georges."
"Oh," he said, "how're you, Miss Rochelle, what a fortunate coincidence."
(Coincidence indeed.)
"I saw you come out of your car," I said, "and. . . "
"Well, how about having a drink with me? Just five minutes or so, OK."
"Fine."
We went into the pub.
"What'll you have?" he asked.
"Some port wine, I think."
"You think? You must be sure, you know, ha-ha. Waiter. Got any port?"
"Certainly, sir. Two?"
"Right," Georges said to the waiter, and, to me:
"How are things at home? Everybody well."
"Yes, thanks. And at your place."
"I'm the most diseased of all, haha."
"Funny your being alone, today."
"Of course I'm alone, why shouldn't I be."
"Because you're usually seen in the company of a blonde or a brunette, sometimes a redhead anyway never the same girl."
"Why are you telling me that?"
"For nothing in particular, just talking."
He hesitated before answering, then he softly took my bare arm (his hand was soft and warm, rather pleasant to the touch) and said:
"You're a strange girl."
"Maybe, and perhaps even stranger than you think."
"Really?"
"Yes. You'll be able to judge for yourself in a moment. I've got something to ask you."
"Go ahead."
"Well, I'd like to lay for you." I did not know the reactions of professional seducers to such a frank declaration before asking my question, but now I knew, and it was very funny. It was a good thing he was sitting down-After staring at me for a while, he ventured feebly:
"You said?"
"I said I would like to lay for you. Do you dig me?"
He looked me squarely in the face and said, after a pause:
"But do you realize what you're saying, little girl?"
Little girl indeed, I'd show him if I was a little girl.
My spite at being called a little girl made me do something which, I realize it now, was worthy of an aristocratic woman in heat or a common whore:
Glancing around me and realizing nobody was watching, I drew wide apart the neckline of the thin dress I was wearing (I had nothing underneath but panties), and, bending towards him, I offered him the sight of my bare tits, small but firm.
"And do you think this is the pair of a little girl?" I asked heatedly.
An odd glint lit his eyes the same glint which I was to find later every time a man was sexually excited by my tits or pussy, a glint of desire mixed with some bestiality.
Unhesitatingly, I seized his hand and placed it over one of my bare bosoms.
"They're not very big yet, but you can see how firm they are," I said.
His hand closed over my breast warmly.
Then he bent over and stuck his mouth almost brutally against my own.
He kissed quite well. It wasn't unpleasant at all, even when he stuck his tongue down my throat.
His kiss lasted quite some time, then he let go his lips and hand (which had been holding my titty during the kiss).
He gave an awkward cough and said:
"It's first time that . . "
"Me too," I interrupted.
"What d'you mean?"
"I mean that for you it's the first time you've come across such a cynical girl and for me it's the first time I've let a man play with my breasts. I also want to make it clear that if I fuck you, it will be for the first time. See?"
"Well, you're a real menace, aren't you?"
"Well, they say you're a man-about-town, a Casanova humping away in the twentieth century, so . . "
"So . . " he said, and, after another pause, and drawing back his chair a little, he added:
"Maybe I'm the man you described, but just because I'm that kind of man I hesitate before your very flattering offer."
"I don't understand. Don't you like me?"
"Oh, yes, I do, very much," he answered, and I saw again the glint of lust in his eyes, "but, you see, I classify you and all the semi-virgins of your kind as a category of dangerous women, to be avoided."
"Well, you don't mince your words."
"You don't understand. You're delightful and it would be a real pleasure to have you, but it's what would happen afterwards that I'm worried about."
"But," I said, "I suppose you're decent enough to use a rubber to avoid making me pregnant."
"Of course, but that's not what I mean. I'm talking about other kinds of consequences. Nearly all young girls, when they sleep with a man, particularly when he's the first, become clinging, jealous, a real pain in the ass and that's what I'm afraid of."
"If it's only that, it's all right. I assure you that, after I've screwed with you two or three times, in other words, after you've finished your work as a lover, I'll vanish if you want me to. You'll have done me a favor by breaking me in, that's all."
"I never saw a girl like you before."
"You see," I explained, "it must happen sooner or later. We're no longer in those times when being a virgin was a necessity. So I've chosen you as the one to rid me of that perfectly useless membrane called the hymen. I'm relying on you to relieve me of my cherry with deftness and little pain. Do you still refuse?"
"No, it will be quite a pleasure to accept, now that you've given me your word that you won't become the clinging type," he said, smiling.
"That's a bargain. Now for a date."
"You're a menace."
"You've said that already. So, when will it be?"
He took me in his arms and his hand lifted my skirt a little, slid over my bare thigh, stroked it nervously, and he crushed my mouth with his feverish lips, murmuring in a hoarse voice:
"At once, if you like."
As his lips burned on mine, his hand curled over my bush through my thin nylon panties. I felt his fingers between the panty hem as he caressed my cunny lips. They became drenched with woman-secretion. I could feel his penis, stiff as an iron bar, right through his pants. It was all very exciting.
CHAPTER FOUR
I could scarcely wait for that big tool to take my wet little cherry. The "operation" took place about an hour later. We left the bar and he took me to his elegant bachelor flat in an exclusive section of town.
When he undressed first himself and then me, I must confess I was anxious. Not because I was going to fuck for the first time (although I was a little apprehensive of that too), but to know whether a man could make me feel that famous voluptuousness everybody was talking about and which I had personally never felt. I looked at his body, especially at his naked exposed genitals. His cock and balls seemed huge. Was he going to shove all that up in me?
The first contacts were as pleasant as could be expected. Georges was quite an artist. He kissed me softly on the neck, on my shoulders and slowly undressed me with the delicacy of a man who seems to have done nothing else in all his life.
When I was mother naked, he took me on his knees and started working at once on my smooth ass spread warmly on his thighs. My parted buttock-cheeks gave him a big hard-on. His hands and mouth caressed my tits skillfully. Then his fingers slid down to my thighs, my tummy and loins and in between.
Eventually, he lifted me up in his sinewy arms onto the nearby bed which must have received a good deal of other naked girls.
He stood over me with his huge cock. He was quite handsome thin and lithesome, without being lean, and he had hair just where he should have it. The full extension of his stiff penis scared me.
I was a novice, and I must confess I was a little frightened, for Mother Nature had provided him with a generously proportioned instrument. The very idea that he was going to use that hot rod on me made me shudder a little. He got started placing the throbbing head between my virginal cunny lips and pushing it in deftly.
Well, it wasn't bad. He had been very gentle and, apart from a slight burning sensation and a rather painful, but short, moment, the operation was over without mishap. His hot prick was past the membrane now.
My lover -for I could call him so seemed to feel an intense pleasure, whereas I had remained quite calm and lucid, and I was astonished to see his features contracted by voluptuousness and to hear a moan of pleasure issuing from his lips as he pistoned his shaft up as far as it could go.
As for me, it had still been the same as before: I had felt a pleasant sensation while being caressed, but none of the passionate transports which my partner seemed to have experienced. His dick plowed into my tight vaginal sheath until I felt his balls slapping my bush.
Suddenly he stiffened, I felt him shudder and gasp and he came. I felt the hot wet spurts gush against the walls of my vagina. But I still had one hope, to which I clung like a drowning man to a straw: some of my girl-friends had told me that the first time they had slept with a man they had felt more pain than pleasure. Maybe that was my case.
Georges was really pleased and asked for nothing better than to fuck me again. So he did it again. He shoved his prick all the way up me. And the result was the same, minus the internal burning sensation. Once again, he ejaculated but I didn't.
He was really a good lover. After having fucked me deftly three or four times, we lay on the bed resting and smoking a cigarette. He told me, while caressing my bare breasts mechanically with his well-cared hand:
"Darling, something surprises me."
"Well, it's difficult to say, but, you see, it seems to me that while we are making love, you don't react as the other women do. You give me great pleasure but you seem to be getting only shudders out of it."
He saw that I was embarrassed.
So, he tactfully amended a little what he had said, smoothing out the rough corners:
"You mustn't be angry, darling. Your case is quite common. It's only the beginning for you. You'll be having your 'comes' later, I'm sure."
He smiled and stroked me amicably on my ass.
Well, to cut along story short, voluptuousness didn't come. At least not through his dong.
Being the stubborn type, I decided to try another male fuck partner.
My choice fell on Hans Gandora. Younger than Georges, he was only 25. And he was as hasty as Georges was gentle and slow in his preparations.
With Hans, it was a quick stripping, then a short kiss and the, without further ado, he bestrode me and he shoved his stiff pecker up my cunny. He came very quickly, I could feel his hot spurts, and then he got dressed again rapidly and, after another quick kiss he was off to a soccer match or a boxing bout. He was nuts on sports.
I heard later that women who really cared about satisfying comes should avoid keen sportsmen.
On the ring or on a football ground they no doubt achieve accomplishments of long durations, but in a twat they were quick shooters. They hardly make their presence felt and they're off and coming.
Coming back to my own experiences, I had had several lesbian affairs with girls and sex with two men and still I was unchanged. I had never felt the divine voluptuousness which, everybody said, I should have felt long ago.
I wondered if there was something radically wrong with me. Could I have a sensationless twat, or was it psychological? Was it possible that I had deep hidden guilt feelings, such as being jealous of my father's fucking my mother and wanting him to shove it into my box instead of mother's?
CHAPTER FIVE
My father, a famous doctor, as is natural with doctors, had a great deal of acquaintances in the medical world, both in Switzerland and abroad.
As I've told you before, he was extremely fond of me, maybe too fond . . . He was always delighted when I accompanied him on his frequent trips abroad.
I had been at his side when he had been received at the Medical Academy of Berne. And, in Venice, I had been with him when he had pronounced a famous speech before other doctors on the subject of nervous diseases and their consequences.
So, one evening, he gently took my shoulders in his hands and told me:
"I think my little girl doesn't know London, do you?"
"No, I don't, daddy."
"Well, if you wish to come with me, I have to go to a medical congress which is taking place in London next week. What do you say?"
My answer was to embrace and kiss him warmly.
A few days later we were in a jet bound for Croydon.
Several times during the trip I heard my name being mentioned by other passengers:
"She's the daughter of the famous Swiss surgeon, Doctor Delac" I heard them say.
It was quite pleasant to be the daughter of a famous man for, apart from the congress, it meant nothing but receptions, evening parties, etc.
Proud as an eighteen-year-old girl can be, I was delightfully flattered when I heard people whisper in various tongues as I passed by:
"She's really pretty."
"Comme elle est jolie."
"Wie hubsch."
"Una bella ragazza."
"Guapa la mujercita." And so on in several languages.
One week-end, we were invited by a famous Scottish surgeon, Bruce Mackay, to his sumptuous shore residence.
The society was brilliant and a dance crowned off a very successful day. The orchestra was excellent and the atmosphere very gay.
They were all deluging me with compliments.
I had already danced with several partners: Italian surgeons, German psychiatrists, Austrian doctors, etc. As each of my partners, after a few dances, had accompanied me courteously to the buffet, the result was that I had absorbed a real mixture of spirits, and I was very near to being drunk, but not quite I was feeling as if walking on pink clouds.
The band struck up a famous Strauss waltz.
I'm no musician, but the old time waltzes all have the effect of making me sweetly attuned and romantically minded, even when I'm sober.
And as I wasn't particularly sober, I don't have to tell you that the effect was doubled.
Suddenly, a grave voice asked me:
"Can I have the pleasure of this dance?"
There stood before me a man who could be 35 or 40, impeccably dressed in tails, and bowing ceremoniously.
"Of course," I answered.
He was quite a good dancer. He held my body without undue force and led me with a soft pressure of his left hand.
The whole orchestra was vibrating under the bows of the string section.
The peculiar rhythm of the waltz made us all whirl softly as in a dream world; skirts and gowns were swirling and the whole scene would have looked wonderful in Cinemascope and Technicolor.
Then, suddenly I feel a strange sensation.
It seemed as if an indefinable fluid were emanating from the body of my partner, something that made me cling close to him and feel like nestling against his chest.
I rarely resist impulses of that kind.
So I unhesitatingly held myself close against him and we went on waltzing.
When he had invited me to dance, he had spoken in French, but in a somewhat halting French, that of an educated Britisher.
He showed a perfect example of self-control when I clung to him: his face remained perfectly impassive, but he did have a reflex which he couldn't help, that reflex usually brought about in the stronger sex by a feminine body held close against one. Namely, my partner developed a tremendous hard-on.
But then, the music stopped.
We came out of our embrace.
I noticed that he was red in the face and that his eyes were shining with a light I knew well.
But he pulled himself together quickly and bowed formally.
"I've just danced an unforgettable waltz," he said to me, after having bowed and kissed my hand, "with Miss Rochelle Delac, the daughter of a great doctor. May I introduce myself Dr. Rodney Peters."
"You were decorated in the war, I see," I said, putting my finger on a medal on his lapel, small but distinctive.
"You're quite observant, young lady. Indeed I was a pilot in the Air Force during the last war.
"A glorious pilot, I see."
"Spare my blushes and grant me a favor, will you? Please present me to your father. I have great admiration for him and his talent and it would be an honor for me to meet him."
"So you don't know daddy? He's really somebody, you know," I said proudly.
"I know. Unfortunately I haven't yet been introduced to him. I know him well from reading his remarkable works and especially his Treatise on cerebral surgery several times."
"Father loves flirting," I said mischievously.
"And, do you?" came the unexpected question.
I wasn't in the least put off, and, looking him straight in the eye, I answered:
"A lot, when the partner is worthwhile."
I could see that his hard-on had become bigger than ever. He took me to the shadowy part of the park, silent and fragrant.
The next day, I asked my father:
"Daddy, did you know Rodney Peters?"
"No, I didn't, and I'm very glad you introduced him to me."
"Had you ever heard of him?"
"Oh yes, he's remarkable. He's relatively young, and yet he has already performed brilliant operations in the domain of skin grafting. He teaches at the Royal Academy and his courses are deeply interesting.
"Good. Thanks."
My dear father was modern in his outlook, but not at all blind. He was often affectionately ironical in some of his remarks which I accepted readily from him but which I wouldn't have tolerated coming from anybody else.
It was one of those moods that he spoke to me then:
"I would add, to complete your documentation, that he is one of the heroes of the Second World War and that his behavior in 1940 has been admirable; that he's rich (which is far from spoiling his record), that he belongs to the London gentry and that, besides all those qualities, he also dances divinely. Just imagine: after a few fiery waltzes he succeeded in drawing my daughter to the park for a couple of hours. What they said and did during those two hours, only the lawns and the shrubs can tell." I burst out laughing.
"But I thought you were too busy flirting outrageously with . . "
"That is perfectly correct. Your mother is very indulgent on this subject, and it's precisely because I myself was in the park with . . . (but never mind who), that I saw you and Rodney Peters in the semi-darkness, tenderly setting with each other."
"Oh, I see."
"Anyway, my dear child, congratulations.
You could hardly have chosen better your new lover belongs to the elite."
Thus ran the conversation between me and daddy about Rodney Peters, distinguished surgeon and impeccable waltzer. He might even have thought that Rodney screwed his daughter, but he was 'modern.'
The congress came to an end a few days later.
Daddy and I returned to Switzerland.
That brief evening had left in me an unforgettable romantic trace. Never before, with my two lovers, had I experienced the same sensations as on that evening.
When Rodney had taken me to the dark park he had at first contented himself with holding me softly but firmly by my arm.
Then he offered me a cigarette and, pointing to an isolated bench surrounded with small trees, he had suggested with a handsome smile:
"How about a little rest after all those dances?"
I agreed.
It was one of those rare nights in England, although very frequent on the Riviera, for instance. It was quiet and warm and there wafted up to us the fragrance of roses, carnations and hydrangeas which, added to the far-away strains of romantic music, created a sweet and dreamlike atmosphere.
As we were seated, I had felt Rodney slip an arm round my waist. As you know, I am rather slim, so that he had no difficulty in cupping one of my titties in his hand while holding his arm round my middle.
I enjoyed feeling those male fingers separated from my bare tit by only a gossamer dress.
Then, he had become bolder and his other hand had slipped into my wide neckline, imprisoning my other breast in his nervous, yet soft, fingers.
I remember it had made me sigh and that I had eagerly given him my lips which his own had been seeking as he played with my knockers.
The English have a reputation for coldness.
If that is so then, Rodney was the exception that confirmed the rule. He kissed so well that a spinster from a Moral League would gladly have sucked him off.
Later, as the orchestra had packed up, there had reigned a supreme silence a silence perfumed with roses and lilac.
I had lost the notion of time and stopped realizing where I was.
I would have loved him to toss me on to the moonlit grass and shove his huge hard-on up my willing, wet cunt. Perhaps then would I have felt that famous voluptuousness I was so ardently seeking and which had so far eluded me. I was sure that his superb shaft was the one that would make me come.
Of course, that would have been bare-assed folly, for there were other couples walking in the park.
And what a scandal it would have been if Rodney Peters, the famous medico, had been found laying the daughter of the famous Swiss surgeon.
Finally, we had left the park with a lingering soul kiss, tonguing like mad.
I recall that evening with an intense passion.
No man had ever given me so much moral satisfaction, that of finding by my side a man to whom I was so much attracted.
Of course, he had not made me feel the much-vaunted physical thrills, but then we had not performed the final act. The only thing he put between the lips of my cunt were his fingers.
I had the impression that Rodney's cock would give me that eluding feeling, that voluptuous spasm, that divine thrill which the girls were raving about.
I kept thinking of him in my room in Lausanne. Let him come as he had promised me, and I would offer myself wholly to him. I would put myself naked before him, with my nipples stiff and my pussy available to his dear cock, and I would offer him everything so that he should hump me into divine ecstasy and climax.
Well, he came as he had promised he would.
I was out on that afternoon. I had gone to Vevay with friends, I came home at eight p.m. and, as usual, went to kiss my mother, who was in the parlor with a girl-friend.
"Is daddy there?" I asked her.
"Yes, he's in his office, with somebody you know."
"Who is it?"
"Go and see that will be your surprise." So I knocked on my father's door. "Come in." he said.
My father was sitting at his desk and, beside him, stood Rodney.
"Good evening, Mr. Peters. Good evening, papa."
"Good evening, my child."
"Good evening, Miss Delac."
How solemn my Peter sounded.
My father, with his usual gentle smile that lit his face, told me:
"Sit down dear. The three of us are going to have a conversation."
I obeyed.
"Now, Rochelle," my father said, "you're going to be surprised, just as I have been. I'll go straight to the point: Mr. Peters has come specially from England to speak to me about an important thing."
"Ah," I said, "which important thing is that?"
"He came here to ask for your hand." I was dumbstruck with surprise. I had not been expecting that. I did not know yet how different from ours British mentality is.
So he had liked me; my family was very honorable and my father was an eminent surgeon. He had only seen me a few hours but the hard-on I had given him must have been unforgettable.
As far as I was concerned, he aroused me a lot, more than any other man, but it's quite different thing getting married to a man one has seen only a few hours.
That's why I answered with sincerity:
"But the idea of marrying never entered my mind. Besides I'm not yet 19."
"That's what I told Rodney," my father said, "but he replied with his British phlegm: "Young and distinguished as your daughter is, she's bound to get married some day, and even soon. So, since I love her, why not with me rather than with another?"
Well, that was certainly one way of looking at it.
I was a free-minded girl, even very free, especially about sex. So I was not relishing the prospect of getting married to a man who, under the pretext that I was his wife, would hold me more or less in bondage.
That's why, on that evening, I said neither yes nor no to the proposal. I decided to have a frank talk with Rodney on this point.
As soon as I saw him again, I told him:
"My dear Rodney, as you know, my father told me about your asking for my hand. It's very flattering. You're a handsome man and an eminent doctor. Briefly, you're 'somebody.' Besides, I like you, and I could add that you're the first man to whom I feel attracted both physically and morally.
Only, there's a 'but.'
And that 'but' is that I hardly know you. I don't even know you at all.
You see, Rodney, you belong to English society and I to the Swiss elite. Herein Switzerland, usually, married women are free. Our husbands, or at least the great majority of them don't waste their times being jealous.
I wonder is it so in England too? I don't know.
I'm a free-minded girl and I don't want to wear a chastity belt.
I want to be a devoted companion to my husband. I want to help him in everything. I'll try to be pleasant to him, but I must have freedom.
I've been frank and outspoken with you. Please answer me candidly.
You see, I want to have your assent to live with you as Hike, and that means trying fucking with other men if I want as long as I avoid scandal.
So that's it. I've given you a blunt account of my wishes. Now, what do you say?"
He looked me straight in the eye, and he smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. With ironical calm, he answered:
"My darling, I understand your apprehension and it can be justified. But don't make the mistake of generalizing. Apart from some toothless spinsters and impotent old men, both aristocratic and middle-class people are far from being puritans, believe me.
As for me, personally, as a doctor, you can imagine that my profession, which I've been practicing for nearly twenty years, has instructed me sufficiently on life and it's taught me that life is short and full of perils and that we must make our best of it before it's too late.
So you see, we share the same point of view.
On the other hand, you can be sure that I knew already that you were a modern girl, even very modern sexually.
I'll add that if you had been a narrow-minded, naive girl I would not have asked for your hand. That's my answer."
This conversation was taking place in a fashionable tea-salon. There were table neighbors who could easily hear what we were saying, but I didn't care, and I didn't give them a thought when doing the next spontaneous thing, which was to throw myself into Rodney's arms and kiss him passionately on the mouth.
"That'll be perfect, darling." I said.
Two months later we were married.
I had had everything as a girl. My mother had spoiled me, My father adored me and he was a great personality in the medical world. We were well off and I had led a golden childhood.
But I knew that there was something missing. And that was a companion. I can't give the name of companion to the two lovers I had screwed. They were just passing fads.
The companion I missed was simply my husband.
Except on the matter of "coming" you know what I mean, don't you? the beginning of my marriage was what I could call perfect happiness.
London's high society welcomed me with open arms and my husband's renown was a key to all doors.
CHAPTER SIX
I took part in many fashionable receptions as belle of the ball. There were week-end parties, garden parties, all sorts of parties and all society spoiled me and sort of fought over me, the pretty young wife of the famous doctor Rodney Peters.
And I did admire my husband very much.
This affectionate man, gentle, amiable, considerate, was to me like a genius, a really great man.
He was really one in his profession.
I've seen poor creatures, plunged in darkness for years, come out of his hands cured, and seeing at last the sun, flowers, light and life.
I've seen my husband succeed where other doctors had failed.
I've seen him carry out successfully the hazards of a delicate operation.
I've heard exclamations of joy and gratefulness from patients. I've seen mothers try to kiss his hands to thank him for giving back to their offspring the most precious gift their lives.
I've seen but it would be too long to tell.
So, at the age of twenty, I, the young wife of a rich and famous man, had for my husband a boundless admiration and a really great affection for all the happiness he was giving me.
But there was another side.
Alone, very often, I've cried, yes, I, the woman envied for her luck and happiness, I've wept.
Why? Because I felt that I wasn't giving this man I adored all the physical joys I would have liked to give him during the sex act.
He was too much of a gentleman to tell me a-bout it or let me guess it.
But I saw in his eyes his expression of surprise, the same I had seen in the eyes of Marie and those of my two male lovers. All had been astonished to see me react so little to hot prick penetration and to see that I, a young and very pretty woman, endowed with indisputable sex appeal, remained cold under the most daring caresses. My husband was enslaved by my young body. He even went down on my cunny in an attempt to make me come . . .
Yet, I assure you, it was a joy for me to fuck with my doting husband.
Never had a man attracted me more, even physically speaking, and I wanted to please him sexually.
When, even the first time, I found myself alone with him, I had got undressed with passionate haste.
In a trice I was naked.
And he had been just as quick getting undressed.
He was a handsome man when naked. Even very handsome, I must say. He was well proportioned and his genitals were big. His chest was broad without excess, his stomach flat and his thighs muscled. Nobody could have guessed that he was nearly twice my age.
I admired that masculine nudity that only his shorts interrupted with a white spot hardly whiter than his skin.
He did not keep them on long, and soon appeared to me in his stark nudity, his large penis a credit to his manhood. I clung against him.
The contact of his chest on my bare breasts and of his stomach against mine made me shudder with a nervous twitch. I felt his balls, lovingly cupping and rubbing them together which excited his cock to surging, stiff erection.
At last, I said to myself, I was going to feel with him that thrill I was longing for so much. He carried me on to the large bed and, with his mouth stuck on mine, he took me with slow care, gentle and deft. His hot, throbbing prick scorched up my box to the balls. His desire for me was violent and he could not hold back for long. He stiffened with an ecstatic groan and his burning sperm jetted against my wet vaginal walls.
But, with terror, I realized that nothing in me had vibrated. It had been a pleasant moment, nothing more. He filled my vagina with his creamy load, but that was all. When he pulled out his dripping, glistening rod dripping milky sperm, I had not 'come.'
My satisfaction had been nearly only cerebral. And yet, that man, I really loved him.
After a few unsuccessful attempts I made a decision. I could not go on like that. I felt I had as much right to the famous pleasure of the fuck as the flower seller at Piccadilly or the next-door laundress or any other woman.
It goes without saying that the majority of our friends and acquaintances were doctors, surgeons or specialists, in other words, members of the medical world.
I received them often at my table, together with their wives legal or not.
Among them I noticed particularly a certain Philip Seabury, who was the doctor at Buckingham Palace. I went to consult him one day about my sex problem.
There was a queue of people waiting their turn in the waiting-room, but, of course, he saw me before all the others.
He welcomed me with warmth.
"Dear Mrs. Peters, how are you? I'm very pleased to see you. How's Rodney?"
"Very well, thank you. By the way, he doesn't know about my coming here."
He looked surprised.
"I take it, my dear Phillip," I went on, "that you're under the seal of professional secrecy even towards my husband, even though he is for you a fellow-doctor and a friend."
"But of course, Rochelle, towards him as well as anybody else, even Her Majesty."
"Good. Well, I'll tell you what my trouble is."
I told him everything in one breath, as it were. I recounted to him all my fruitless attempts to capture that voluptuousness which kept eluding me for all my efforts to pin it down.
"I'm afraid I must be frigid, I finished. He had listened with patience, not interrupting me once.
He was no longer the warm and friendly guest whom I received frequently at our home. He was now only a doctor, desirous of finding the remedy to my physical misery, or deficiency.
"Will you please undress," he asked.
A short while later, I stood naked and exposed completely before him.
"Lie down here and draw your legs wide apart for me, please."
He took a speculum and shoved it between my pussy lips.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, looking at my face.
"No," I said.
He widened the two branches of the speculum and asked again, as he probed deeper into my vagina.
"And now?"
"Just a little, but it's all right."
"Good. Now, relax a little."
I lay at ease and breathed deeply.
He took out an intra-vaginal probe with a small electrical bulb at the end. He sterilized the instrument and asked me again to draw my legs apart.
He pushed in the probe and I hardly felt it as it entered my hole. He examined the inner passage attentively, for a long time.
Then he said:
"Thank you, you can get dressed now."
This man, when he was my guest or I was his, had given me to understand that laying with me would be very much to his liking.
While dancing with me, he had felt me up and I had noticed that I had a great power of seduction over him -he had gotten the usual terrific hard-on.
Well, now I was alone with him and entirely naked, but he did not even have a flattering glance at my body, except for the inside of my cunt in a medical manner.
Such was the professional deformation and conscientiousness of some doctors.
He sat down at his desk and, when I had got dressed again, he told me, still speaking in a calm, unruffled tone:
"Your vagina is beautifully normal. Your other genital organs are perfectly normal and in good state. I'm only a doctor, unfortunately, and so, Rochelle, I can do nothing for you."
I looked at him with sadness in my eyes.
He saw it and became at once more friendly and less professional in his attitude.
"Oh, you shouldn't give up and despair, you know. I can do nothing for you, but I can give you the name of a good psychiatrist who might help you."
"Be frank with me. Am I frigid?"
"Not physically so. But you're not without knowing that in sexual relationship, the brain plays as important a part as the body. I'm not qualified for mental trouble; that's why I advise you to see a psycho-analyst."
"So you're giving me up."
"Not one bit."
He became more friendly and intimate.
"My dear Rochelle, you oughtn't to dramatize, you know. There are thousands of women who feel nothing when they are fucked.
Frigidity is unfortunately as frequent in men as in women.
It can have a physical cause, such as a displaced urethra or diseased clitoris, etc.
In that case, I can cure it. But if frigidity is due to a mental block I am completely incompetent and only a psycho-analyst can diagnose for certain and cure."
"You're saying the whole truth, are you?" I asked anxiously.
"Yes, Rochelle. I've seen women in your case, after a special treatment, obtain a total cure, I assure you."
"I believe you Phillip. So, please give me the name and address of the psycho-analyst you recommend."
"He's an Austrian. His name is Dr. Luftmann and he lives in Innsbruck."
"I've heard his name mentioned several times, " I said.
"He's famous a real ace," he said, "I'm going to write an introductory note for him, for he doesn't receive anybody, you know."
He wrote down a few words on his visiting card and gave it to me.
"There you are, Rochelle."
He then became his normal self, that is, a charming and audacious guest, and kissed my hand longer than necessary, saying:
"I do wish that your beautiful body will soon come and experience the voluptuous thrill you deserve."
I smiled, thinking:
"Oh, you hypocrite. You examined my naked twat a while ago and yet you remained quite impassive. You really deserve a good mark for your magnificent cock control. I know you would have like to have shoved it up my twat as I lay with my legs spread on the examining table."
I wondered how I could tell Rodney of my "mental cunt-coldness."
That was a delicate question.
On the very evening I had consulted the doctor, we fucked.
I couldn't help thinking it was really sad that with this man I loved and valued so much I was obliged to play the part of a whore.
I mean that, in order to please him, I had to pretend my pussy was feeling a voluptuousness I was not actually feeling.
Just like a strumpet who, having been handsomely paid in advance, wants to make her customer believe that she's feeling a great thrill and coming when in reality she's as cool as a marble slab at the morgue.
Yes, I was reduced to that.
And I wondered whether my husband did not see through me.
Remember that he was a specialist, a great one at that. So, he probably was no dupe, but, out of kindness and politeness, he pretended to believe in my voluptuousness. Did he realize that I moved my buttocks, not because of a loving reflex, but because my will-power had willed it so? That I never had an orgasm.
The next morning, for all those reasons, I had made up my mind to keep mom.
A few days later, having mapped out a plan, I told Rodney:
"Darling, I feel like going to see my father."
"Well, do, darling," he answered. "Yes, I would like to go and kiss my parents and stay a few days with them."
He kissed me gently and said, as charmingly as ever:
"Go, my love. Enjoy yourself and come back soon to your old hubby."
He acted like my father but I adored him, "old man."
I left for Switzerland.
It felt good to see again my parents, my friends, and all the familiar places of my childhood.
For one week I steeped myself in the warm, intimate atmosphere.
To my parents I said I was going on a trip with a girl-friend.
At 7:17, at the station I took the train for Innsbruck and Dr. Luftmann.
I took a room at a hotel and, at 5 p.m. I rang at the door of a superb modern building the residence of the famous Doctor Luftmann.
A maid, who looked as if she had stepped right out of a Rembrandt picture opened the door.
Half in French and half in German I managed to explain that I wanted to see the doctor and I showed her the introductory card that had been given to me by Dr. Seaburg.
She said, "Yes, madam," and told me to wait in the waiting-room.
Soon afterwards a nurse entered, and she looked like a Greuze picture thin, blonde and very delicate of feature.
In a halting, but correct French, she told me:
"Very honored Mrs. Peters, I shall transmit the card from Dr. Seaburg to the Herr Doktor and he will soon receive you."
In fact, she soon came back and, opening for me a heavy padded door, ushered me into the psychoanalyst's office.
He came to greet me and I thought I had a hallucination for he looked strikingly like someone I knew.
I thought it was him at first, but, looking at him more attentively, I noticed he was taller and thinner. Anyway, the resemblance was astounding same face, same military manner.
When he spoke, I noticed similarity in the voice also hard and guttural.
He bowed very stiffly and introduced himself and I could nearly hear his heels click.
"Professor Doktor Luftmann. Delighted, Madam, to make the acquaintance of the wife of the famous specialist Peters and the daughter of the likewise famous Doctor Delac."
Please be seated."
I sat down, and, without wasting any time, outlined the purpose of my visit.
He listened to me attentively and not one muscle of his face moved.
When I had finished, he said:
"Have you told me everything, Madam?"
"I believe I have."
"Good. Now I shall ask you a few questions. How old are you."
"Twenty two."
"How long have you been married."
"About two years."
"How old were you when, for the first time, your friend Marie touched your breasts and fondled your vagina?"
"Twelve or thirteen."
"And you were sixteen or seventeen, I believe you told me, when you had sex with a male for the first time, is that so?"
"That's right."
"So, to sum up, you feel only a slight pleasant sensation when a man or a woman caresses your sexual genitals. You have never reached a total sensation a complete orgasmic spasm?"
"Never."
"When do you feel a stronger sensation when a woman caresses your vagina or when a man makes love with his sex organ?"
"There's no difference, although, with my two lovers and my husband, the sensation lasts longer."
"Good. So you're not a Lesbian."
Then he motioned me to a couch and told me to undress completely.
I complied.
When I was naked he rang a bell, and the pretty nurse came in.
In a polite but curt tone he ordered: "Please take notes, Miss."
"Stethoscope: normal.
Sphygmomanometer: 10.6 normal but slightly weak.
Opeculum, please.
Thanks. Now madam, please draw your legs apart. Good.
Vaginal probe, Miss. Thanks."
His examination of my pussy was very thorough. I practically felt his eyeballs on my clitoris.
At last, he told me:
"Now, madam, relax completely and forget you are in a consultation office with a psychoanalyst and try to have erotic thoughts.
For instance, suppose your husband is going to sexually take you, or that a woman is caressing your breasts and vagina, anything you like, provided you put yourself in a voluptuous, carnal atmosphere."
Well, really, I ask you. As if what he asked me was easy to do.
But, well, I would try.
I started recalling the naked body of my husband when he was about to shove his erected cock into me.
I thought of my two lovers and the erotic and complicated positions they made me take.
I also thought of Marie in the cabin and of how she had bared to me her two milky-white breasts and her exciting buttocks and how we had played with each others cunts, how we had sucked and tongued each other.
I heard the professor say rapidly a few words in a low voice to the nurse. I could not catch what he said, for my knowledge of Austrian is not too bright.
But I saw the nurse smile and then she started slowly and gently to knead my naked teats and to caress my thighs where the skin is at its softest, then my stomach, my hips and she ended up with a precise and prolonged caress of my bush.
I must say it was far from unpleasant, her fingers opening the lips of my pussy and stroking the moist, inner folds.
I sighed a little, as her fingers stiffened my clitoris.
"That will do, miss," the professor ordered.
Then to me:
"You can get dressed, now, madam." He sat himself at his desk. I got dressed and sat opposite him in an armchair.
He offered me a cigarette, lit it for me and, in a friendly tone, although still in his guttural accent, he told me:
"Madame, you're a doctor's wife and a doctor's daughter and you've come here to know the truth, I suppose?"
"The whole truth however hard it may be," I answered firmly.
"I thought so. So I shall be brief and blunt."
I felt my heart beat faster when he said that. He went on:
"You're normally constituted ovaries, womb, vagina, etc., everything is in a perfect state. Physically you are in excellent health. Unfortunately."
"Why unfortunately?"
"Yes, I insist, unfortunately. If it were only a disease or a physical deformation, it could be put right with a simple surgical operation. But that is not your case.
Your case is purely psychological, and, alas, frequent.
You're normal in everything, but your subconscious does not react as it should in sexual matters.
You respond to an intimate feminine caress of your privates. I realized it from the experiment made by my nurse but orgasm, the total feeling, does not come off."
"Is it incurable?"
"Cerebrally speaking, no. A nervous shock can trigger off that voluptuousness to which you rightly aspire."
"What sort of a shock?"
"I can't tell you precisely. But perhaps anew sex partner, or the atmosphere in which the love-making will take place, the climate, the place, any of those things might induce there-flex in your brain that will trigger off orgasm.
And once you have achieved the first orgasm, your nervous system will once for all remain normal and you will be cured."
"In other words, you're advising me to experiment with lovers?"
"Madam, I'm not afraid of words. You've come to consult me and I've indicated to you a way that might lead to a cure. It's up to you to follow it or not. That is your responsibility. I must say that it won't be sufficient just to have lovers. You will have to travel, to change your habits, climate and way of life.
In short, you must try new variations of places, penises and, well.. . .lovers."
"And you think I'll be successful?"
"I sincerely believe so. I've been blunt, madam, but I've told you the truth. You can and you must get well."
He rose from his seat, as a signal that the consultation was over.
I gave him an envelope, saying:
"For you, Professor."
He gently put out a refusing hand and said: "Madam, I can accept no fees from the wife of a distinguished, Dr. Peters."
"Then perhaps you will accept the contents of this envelope for one of your deserving cases or for charity, Herr Doktor."
He hesitated a moment, then took the envelope.
Then he transformed himself.
He was now no longer the psychoanalyst. He became again the officer, soldier of the last war.
Stiffer than ever, he stared at me and whispered:
"Madam, I accept your gift for the unfortunate who were blinded in the last war. Some people say I am a brute, madam, and it's true, but you see, my elder brother was a lieutenant. In an advance he charged at the head of his regiment. He was hit by a bullet and became blind. He lived for ten years in total darkness. So.. . . , you understand?"
"Certainly, Herr Doktor, certainly."
He took my hand and kissed it, bowing very low and with his heels together.
"Good bye, madam, and good luck in your shock for "orgasmus."
The heavy padded door closed behind me.
I returned to my folks first, then to England.
There, I found my husband, nicer and more affectionate than ever.
In spite of my youth, I was an energetic woman. I did not hesitate to talk to him without waiting:
On the very evening of my arrival, when I was fucking in bed with him, I said:
"My darling, I had a wonderful stay in Switzerland but, unfortunately, I have bad news for you."
He looked fixedly at me with anxious eyes.
"Don't get frightened, darling, it's not so bad. It's like this.
I didn't want to trouble you, so I didn't tell you, but the fact is that, for the last few weeks in London, I wasn't feeling very well. So I went to consult a doctor, a friend of my father's."
"And?"
"And he told me that the state of my health is not excellent. The climate of Britain, is no good to me. What I need is a trip in warmer climates, and particularly in drier countries. I must go away from the London fog for some time.
He advised me to take a cruise to one of the countries where there is a lot of sunlight, where the sky is blue and bright, in short, far away from these gray northern lands."
My husband squeezed my tits, in his hands and with his tender voice, which was one of his most charming assets, he told me:
"My darling, you can imagine how sad it will be for me to see you go away for a length of time. But there's no question about it. Your health is at stake, so you should go as soon as possible and remain away as long as it is necessary."
Brave Rodney. I thought he would answer just as he did, and I'd been right.
Some people might tell me I was deliberately deceiving him.
It's always easy to criticize.
My aim was laudable and would result in eventual greater hump-pleasure for him.
Thank God, I have a sufficiently enlightened mind not to worry about the ways and means long as I reach my goal.
So, I was deliberately planning to have extramarital fuckings, and all the while I was swearing I loved my husband.
That's right.
My future humpers were going to be for me only subjects for experiments like guinea-pigs, they would serve me to get a cure. I would look upon their stiff cocks like medicine to help me find a cure.
I felt, that I would be deceiving my husband less than the overwhelming majority of certain women who claim to be perfectly honest, and yet who cast suggestive looks towards handsome fellows on beaches. Who, when they fuck with their husbands, close their eyes, and imagine it is the handsome fellows in place of their husbands.
Those women have no lovers and despise women who have one, but they practically come when they hear the latest heartthrob crooner sing on the radio, and they have erotic dreams during which some handsome screen actors shove it up their deprived twats with very daring caresses.
I left England a fortnight later.
When my husband accompanied me to the airport I felt uneasy and sad. I had a kind of emotion that hurt me a little inside my chest.
He held me for a moment in his arms and told me in his beautiful grave voice which I loved so much:
"Darling, I hadn't told you about it, but I had noticed that lately you seemed to have a few melancholy moments which are contrary to your normal gay character.
That's why I'm sure your trip will be good for you and that my darling wife will come back to me gay and full of joie de vivre, and more beautiful than ever."
I squeezed him against me and said tenderly and with perfect sincerity:
"Darling, I adore you," and every thought and action I do will be for us. I meant that. In spite of my plans to offer my pussy to every variety of strange prick, I was doing it for Rodney.
Before I started my search for the big magic prick that would unlock the joys of my orgasm, I decided to see my family first. After a visit of a few days, I left for the south of France.
CHAPTER SEVEN FIRST ATTEMPT
I was dreaming of Oriental countries, with their perpetually blue skies, bright sun, heady voluptuous perfumes and exotic atmosphere.
When a young and pretty woman travels by herself, she is generally besieged with propositions from men of all ages and sizes.
It's funny to see that the majority of men who, in other circumstances, are intelligent, and even often cunning in business, become naive and act like fools whenever they are alone with an attractive woman in the compartment of a train or the cabin of a liner.
And when she reveals a little bit of leg, or a plunging valley between her titties, then they practically drool at the mouth.
Not all, of course, but I must say that those who pretend not to care in the least are often the most dangerous. But, dear me, how many silly sentences have I heard, and how often have I seen their silly languid looks or on the contrary their conquering airs.
I held those "make-out" artists in contempt.
I was quite willing to experiment according to the methods of Doctor Luftmann, but I really had no intention to fuck with the first man who would look at me with a wolf-look or a leer.
In Marseilles, I took a luxury liner because I certainly couldn't find a lover and get laid in a plane.
I was attracted by that region, with its eternally blue sky, its bright sunshine, and the romanticism that was linked to that dreamlike land where some minarets cast their shadows on the golden sand of the Middle East.
I wanted to spend a few days in that home of virile men and voluptuous women.
As soon as we lost sight of the French shores I felt a new sensation.
I had already traveled a lot with my father. I had been to Belgium, France, the Baltic, the Scandinavian countries, England, besides my native Switzerland, but I had never before set foot in a southern clime.
Suddenly I was finding myself far from the fog and mists and all the general greyness of the northern countries, far from the dreary and agitated seas of the north.
The elegant white hulk of the luxury liner sailed smoothly on the blue sea. The sky was also blue, but paler the sea was darker, nearly greenish.
Above us shone the sun, casting its rays regally upon us, unhindered by any cloud.
From all that we derived a sensation of joy and exhilaration.
I felt like a new woman, as if I'd been born again.
Then, after I had beheld the scene outside, I cast my looks inside the ship.
On board a luxury liner one has no time to feel bored.
We had hardly left shore when already there were some pleasures organized for us. On the first evening there was a ball. I went to it with a little apprehension. I was afraid, being an unaccompanied woman, to be a wall-flower.
But I shouldn't have worried.
Nearly as soon as I came into the ballroom, a man bowed and asked me politely for a dance.
He could have been thirty-five or forty and his hair was very fair. He wore a white tuxedo and looked like a "live penis" for my purposes.
I smiled my best screen star-like smile. The orchestra had started playing the "Blue Tango."
After a while, I realized that my partner was trying to speak to me but could not find his words. So I helped him.
"Are you by any chance English?" I asked him.
He beamed with pleasure.
"Yes, that's right," he answered. "I'm so glad you speak English, for I'm afraid my French isn't very good."
After a while, he amended his statement slightly.
"That is," he said, "to tell you the truth, I'm not English, but Dutch, but I speak English well enough.
He paused for a moment, then said:
"You're wonderful."
It was so candidly said that I'm sure he spoke sincerely, and I liked the sound of his voice.
He was a very good dancer. I wished the dance would never end. I wondered if he guessed I enjoyed dancing with him.
The pressure of his hand on my bare back intensified itself a little and, gradually, he held me closer and closer to him.
He had a nice odor of tobacco and shaving soap and I could feel the half hard-on of a good-sized prick between his legs.
I wondered if he would be my first fuck experiment, according to the new plan.
Why not? Since I had to do it, he would be quite a good choice. He was handsome and looked correct and distinguished. But I could make him understand it later. For the moment, I concentrated on my dancing, and, sooner than I expected, the tango came to an end but his hard-on didn't.
He accompanied me politely to my table, bowed low and said:
"Thank you."
I, too, thanked him, and smiled at him in a way that a Hollywood producer would have applauded in a leading actress.
I had hardly had time to sit down when the orchestra struck up the famous tune "April in Portugal," and a man bowed before me.
He was young and swarthy and his hair was very dark.
Rolling his "r" he said:
"I rrreally would be charrrmed if you danced this rrrumba with me."
And he flashed white teeth at me.
Without thinking, I got up, and, at once, he seized me and held his body close to mine.
He was not a bad dancer, although he had a funny hopping style, and, anyway, one should not dance the rumba with bodies in contact with each other, he got a hard-on and my pussy got wet.
He started talking without losing any time.
"Signorina, I'm verry, verry happy."
I looked interrogatingly at him.
"Si, signorina. I'm holding you in my arms and you're so bella, bella."
And he wiggled his hard-on and rolled his eyes (which were good looking and very dark) with enthusiasm.
He was beginning to get very fresh.
It would have been all right if he had only spoken with his mouth, but he did it with his hands too.
His right hand was riding up and down my bare back, practically down to my ass-cheeks.
But I knew the southern character and so I let him, at first, act according to his warm temperament.
But I had to draw the line somewhere.
For, suddenly I felt something pressing against me distinctly, through his trousers and my dress, and you can guess what I mean. His hard-on was right between my legs.
A little more, and he'd be fucking me on the dance floor.
So, with a brisk movement, I drew apart from him and said rather angrily:
"Sir, I'm used to dancing with gentlemen, not with cads."
He answered, in a shocked tone:
"But, signorina, I'm not a cad. I'm Signor Guido owner of the Guido Factories."
"I don't care who you are," I answered, "but please control yourself while dancing, or else I'll slap your face in front of everybody."
"Slap my face?" he repeated in a tone that meant it would be an outrage.
"Certainly, I wouldn't hesitate," I assured him.
My preceding partner, the Netherlander, had also used his hands to good advantage, but at least he had put some discretion in it and hadn't tried to shove his cock in me while dancing.
He had been delicate about it. He just let me feel it.
But this guy, ugh. He really got on my nerves. His high-pitched voice and his perpetual "feeling up" annoyed me.
Anyhow, my irate words had made him angry and I saw his eyes flash.
He did not answer at once, probably weighing the pros and cons.
At last, he decided he would try to soothe me.
"I'm sorry, signorina, but you're so bella, so . . . " I am near you and burrrning with desirrre."
"Hey. Don't burn too much or your pants will catch fire."
"Yes, signorina, I'm burrning, burrrning, you're so prrretty."
I shouldn't have laughed, but he was so funny in his exaggerated ways that I'm afraid I did.
From my laugh, he understood that I had forgiven him.
"Oh, I'm so happy that you're no longer angry with me," he said, adding after a short pause:
"You're adorrrable."
And, so saying, he drew me close to him again, and I felt his stiff shaft.
"O, no," I cried, "Don't do it again, or else you'll get slapped for sure."
"No, but r" he protested feebly.
"Yes, I know, you adore me."
But, thank God, the dance was now over and he accompanied me to my table. I was embarrassed because he was walking with an obvious hard-on.
The lady announcer of the orchestra spoke into the microphone:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the orchestra will now have the pleasure to play for you the famous waltz "Gold and Silver" which has been requested by many of you."
She smiled and went away with a swirl of her ass while the audience clapped.
The violins began softly and were soon joined by the whole orchestra.
I knew the romantic words of that song very well, and started humming them.
I was pulled out of my sweet reverie by the Netherlander with whom I had danced at first, and who was coming to invite me again.
I didn't hesitate and welcomed him with open arms even literally speaking.
Some frown on the tango, calling it a lascivious dance in which the partners rub bodies and squeeze each other chest against breasts, legs against legs.
But the Reverend Fathers have probably never seen a waltz being danced.
Whereas the tango is almost brutally lascivious, the waltz is just as lascivious, but in a more subtle manner, insidiously. Of course, it has to be executed by a real waltzer who can give you what I call a "dry-fuck."
Latin races excel in tangos, but, for waltzes, give me the Anglo-Saxon.
My present partner was in his element in the slow waltz.
Intoxicated by the rhythm, I held myself close to him, and he understood that gesture without my having to speak, for he, too, pressed me closer to him and we were now one body, as it were.
I can assure you that he was feeling my taut breasts against his chest, as well as I was feeling something of him, well.. .his hard-on was completely stiff and I could feel the head of his cock practically between my pussy-lips.
The moment was delicious. I let myself go and abandoned myself to him and his hard-on.
A girl singer on the stage was singing the romantic chorus, and her voice was very pleasant.
The wonderful thing about my partner was his apparent calmness. He remained absolutely unruffled and his beautiful smile uncovered his very white teeth. His jaw was set and his eyes shining, but he didn't say a word.
Yet, the waltz and I had a real effect upon him, I can assure you.
I had the proof of that, an undeniable proof, as his eager cock-head strove to get through the thin material of my dress.
In spite of that, he never made a false step. It would have been a catastrophe if he had, for, at the rate we were whirling, it would have meant his prick jumping right out of his fly. This man was a perfect waltzer and, besides, he possessed exceptional self-control.
I liked those qualities of his and felt so comfortable in his arms.
I decided there and then that I would choose him as my first experimental fucker, and thought that perhaps he would be the first to trigger off in me the so desired orgasm. Judging from the feel of his huge cock-head, the rest of his dong would fill my pussy to capacity.
When the dance was over, he bowed like the real gentleman he was and said politely:
"Since you're alone, would you honor me with your presence at my table and have a drink with me?"
I put on my most bewitching smile, looked him straight in the eye, and accepted.
He beamed and there was a flash in his pale blue eyes.
He squeezed my arm affectionately and said: "I'm happy."
He had said that in the right tone, like an accomplished actor.
Only he was not acting, his hard-on was for real.
He was an educated and pleasant man, I reflected.
So, we had our conversation half in English, half in French. In order that I should understand better, he pronounced his words slowly and distinctly.
I learned that he was a business-man and his father owned a factory of chemical products at Utrecht, and he was going to the Far East.
There was no point in discussing anything but the subject that really interested us at the moment, and that was love, of course. So I started talking about it, indirectly at first:
"Are you engaged or married?" I asked.
"Oh, I see I haven't introduced myself properly," he said with a handsome smile that softened the hard features of his broad face, "my name is Willem I'm married and I have an adorable little girl, and you?"
"Yvonne, married, with no child."
We smiled at each other.
Then I risked another more daring question:
"Are you faithful to your wife?" may I ask.
"Sometimes, though not always, like everybody," he answered frankly. "Anyway, I would be delighted to hump on my wife with a woman such as you."
"You're rather blunt, aren't you?"
"I'm used to it," he said.
"Aren't you a bit conceited?" I asked, smiling.
"Not at all, I assure you."
"But, tell me, do you really know women so well?"
"Yes, physically speaking, at least."
His voice changed and became more rasping.
He squeezed my thigh and said in a breath:
"I'm really longing to see you naked, completely naked."
He looked at me and I already felt naked under his searching eyes.
"You're a beautiful woman, I can guess. I wish I could take off your dress, see your breasts, your belly, your thighs, your pussy."
"Hey." I broke in, "aren't you going just a little too quickly?"
"Why play a comedy? I'm telling you all that because I know you're an intelligent woman and we'd better get down to brass tacks and hump. And, anyway, I can see that you too feel like making love."
"Oh, dear, you don't know anything of the kind."
"Yes, I do," he insisted, "I can see it in your shining eyes. And while we were dancing, I felt your bush against my cock, your breasts pointing up, your legs open up."
"Well, at least, one can't say you aren't precise." I exclaimed.
At that moment, a shadow passed in front of us.
It was the Italian. He was as excited as ever.
"Allow me, signor," he said to Willem. And, to me:
"Signorina, may I have the pleasurre of this dance?"
Willem had nodded but I on the contrary answered curtly:
"No, thanks, I'm tired."
A flash passed in the eyes of the Italian.
"But " he started to insist.
Willem cut him short:
"The signora said "no."
I could see the man's cheeks become red.
His eyes flashed, and if they been pistols, I and Willem would have been shot dead.
He stood there, hesitating, for a moment, then went away, still sporting a hard-on that stuck out a full nine inches. Embarrassing.
It was now three a.m.
There were only a few couples dancing.
Willem and I finished our bottle while the orchestra was playing one of its last dances.
He looked at me with his electric blue eyes and asked simply:
"It must be fine on the deck. Let's have a little walk before turning in, shall we?"
He helped me put my scarf round my neck and, holding me softly by the arm, drew me towards the deck.
We leaned on the rail and looked admiringly at the wonderful night.
There was not a cloud in sight.
The ship left behind her a silver wake and far, far away above us there twinkled the stars.
Then we saw something else twinkle in the distance.
"The Sicilian coast." Willem announced.
Then he put an arm round me, with no haste, sure of himself.
He knew he would eventually screw me, and there was no hurry.
We had said no word about it, but we both knew it would happen. That's why his words and gestures were calm.
The situation was not without charm.
Sailors say that the sea air is a powerful sex-stimulant.
If only it were true.
Anyhow, when he kissed me on the mouth, and when he caressed my right breast softly, I had a pleasant thrill.
He felt that I reacted as he wished, so he accentuated his gesture and then started caressing my buttons.
Why wait, now? I felt a warm flush.
He wanted me, and I wanted to make my first experiment.
I drew away from him, whispering:
"Come."
And we walked together to my cabin.
He was the perfect male fuck-artist.
Without any haste, he accepted the traditional whisky while we talked amiably, and, only after about half an hour's conversation, he suddenly got up and took me in his arms, whispering tenderly:
"You're very pretty."
And, so saying, he put his two hands on my bare shoulders. Then he let them slide slowly down, and I don't even realize how my evening gown was suddenly undone and soon my bare breasts pointed aggressively forward.
He caressed them softly and still without any haste he undid my slip without my even noticing it, even as he rubbed my nipples.
That one really knew how to undress women quickly and well.
I was now wearing only my panties and a wristwatch, and it was then that he took me in his arms and carried me over to the bed, my tits waving in the air, nipples jutting.
A prolonged kiss joined our mouths.
With his left hand, he went on squeezing titties while with his right hand he undid my panties.
I repeat it a real ace for undressing a girl.
Besides, he was not only skillful in undressing his partners.
He was just as deft getting undressed himself, without my getting aware of it.
I was surprised when I saw his naked body before me, bending towards me in a harmonious movement of rippling muscles, and, I was right about the size of his cock. It jutted out from his bush in a virile curving arc. The head was circumcised and tremendous.
Then I felt his prick head thrust into the lips of my vagina and scorch its way up into my very womb.
Alas, it was still the same pleasant, but no more.
He took his time, seeking to satisfy my pleasure rather than his own, shoving his huge prong slowly and rhythmically in and out of my wet pussy. In spite of that, I felt nothing more with him than I had done with my husband and the two lovers that had preceded him.
It could have gone on for a long time. But I worked my cunt with a faster and faster rhythm about his big shaft until he finally groaned and spurted a huge accumulation of creamy hot come-juice into my pussy.
He was correct and nice to me. I behaved kindly towards him.
I made several undulations with my tummy, rather briskly, so that he, at least, should obtain his full orgasm pleasure.
He disengaged himself satisfied and convinced that I too, had reached the pinnacle of happiness, he wiped the sperm and cunt-juice gracefully from his limp dick.
Softly reclining on my bed, with a cigarette between my lips, I really enjoyed the company of this healthy, correct man.
I had felt the heat of his squirting come and I had to be content with it.
We fell asleep in each other's arms, after I had sucked him off as a good-night gesture.
We woke up very late it must have been about 10 a.m.
The Mediterranean sunshine flowed into the cabin from the port-hole, casting golden specks on our naked bodies.
As soon as we were awake, Willem had a handsome smile and kissed me on the lips, saying:
"Good day."
I answered him "good morning."
We got up, and he spoke romantically to me, thanking me for the wonderful night he had had. Then without much ado he simply put his big cock-head in my mouth again, and I obliged with a before-breakfast blow job.
Then I accompanied him to the door of my cabin after we had washed and dressed.
My cabin was on deck number 2, and it was number 7.
I learned later that cabin number ll on the same deck, consequently pretty near mine, was inhabited by a very undesirable creature.
In fact, while he took his leave, Willem took me in his arms and kissed me on the mouth, even though his semen was still on my lips.
At that precise moment a man came out of cabin number ll. It was none other than "my" Italian Guido.
He stared at us dumbfounded. His eyes flashed with anger and spite.
Feverishly, he strode before us and hissed in a low but audible voice, looking at me:
"Putana."
That happened to be one of the few Italian words I knew. As it was very near to the French equivalent "putain," it was easily understandable anyway for me.
It meant "whore."
I felt my blood become hotter in sudden anger.
And "bang" when my hand slapped the boorish bastard's face.
He had the reflex of raising his hand at me.
It had lasted at the most a few seconds. Then I saw his wrist seized in the iron grip of Willem who said between his clenched teeth:
"Louse."
And the inevitable fight started.
The Italian, quick and lithe, struck quickly with his fists.
But Willem, calm as a rock, contented himself for awhile with warding off the blows, but his face was dangerously pale.
The next moment, I got afraid.
I saw his hand go to his pocket and I feared he was going to take out of it a weapon.
I shouted:
"No, Willem."
I saw his arm shoot out and reach his opponent on the temple and, as if struck by lightning, he sank to the floor.
I remained as if paralyzed.
I had heard nothing no crack, no shot from a firearm, only the dull sound of the fist connecting with the Italian's temple. And that was hardly audible.
I looked at the hand that had just struck.
The fist was still closed. That was all.
As for the signor Guido, he had been really stunned and a little blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.
My shout of alarm had raised the passengers' attention, as well as that of the steward and three sailors.
One of them fetched an officer.
The latter immediately ordered two sailors to stand guard over Willem.
"Search him." he order curtly.
A search revealed nothing amiss.
He kept smiling serenely, as if he had been alone on a pleasure jaunt, or walking in his native Holland.
The officer, examining the prostrate form of the Italian, asked him:
"What did you strike this man with?"
I interrupted:
"Please speak in German, this gentleman understands French with great difficulty."
The officer translated what he had just said.
"With my fist," Willem answered unruffled. The officer had an admiring whistle. "Well, you can really hit hard," he said. Then he asked:
"Why did you hit him?"
"He insulted this lady and then raised his hand to her." he explained
I assented with a nod.
The officer became more amiable.
"I'm sorry, but I shall have to take you to the captain."
We went with him and the two sailors to the captain's stateroom.
Meanwhile, two male orderlies and a nurse had taken Guido on a stretcher to the infirmary.
When we arrived in the waiting-room, still with a sailor on each side of us, the officer told us:
"Please be seated. I'll report matters to the captain who will receive you in a few moments."
He reappeared a few minutes later, leaving the captain's door open for us to enter, saluted and left us.
The captain was a handsome man with silver-white hair. Gold braid decorated his white uniform. He stood behind his desk, and, on his right, stood a severe-looking officer.
He greeted us affably and motioned us to sit down.
When we had sat down, he started talking at once:
"I'm very sorry to have had to let you come here with two of my men. I know you're not criminals, but maritime rules are very strict. In case of a brawl we (he turned his head towards the strict-looking officer) have to make an inquest and I apologize for it."
As he said those words, he smiled and one could see from the aristocratic features of his face that he was undoubtedly an educated gentleman.
He went on:
"Lieutenant Duplair made his report to me. It says that you, madam, were insulted by signor Guido in very abusive terms. You slapped his face and he was about to hit you in return when this gentleman interposed himself and the two men fought each other, is that right, madam?"
"Absolutely so, Sir," I said.
"Thank you, madam."
He then spoke to Willem:
"Do you recognize as right the facts such as I presented them just now?"
"Perfectly."
"Good. I'll question the injured man as soon as possible and take disciplinary action only if strictly necessary. Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you."
He rose to signify to us that the interview was over.
But, at the same moment the officer standing by his side spoke:
"Excuse me, Sir, but I would like to ask Mr. Willem Vanders a question."
"Go ahead," said the captain. "Mr. Vanders, you are registered on our records as a business man. Is that right."
"Of course."
"Good. But, aren't you at the same time a boxer?"
"Me, a boxer?" Willem burst out laughing.
"The reason I'm asking you that, Sir," the officer went on imperturbably (he did look stern and unflinching, that man.) "is because signor Guido was struck at the temple with such force that it seems abnormal coming from only a bare fist. You're rather well built, I admit it, but, just the same, the violence of your blow appears somewhat suspicious to me."
The captain interrupted:
"Mr. Vanders was searched immediately after the fight and he had no weapons about him."
"I know that, Sir, and that is just what I'm finding rather odd."
"Well, let's say that Mr. Vanders is a very strong man," concluded the captain. Then, to us:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, you may go now. I may call you again to my office as soon as I have questioned signor Guido."
We went out of the state-room and our last vision was the smile of the fine captain and the officer's ugly scowl.
Willem, smiling more than ever, took me to the bar.
"Let's have a drink after all that, what."
"OK."
When we were sitting on bar-stools, I took his hand and, looking him straight in the eye, told him:
"You look as if you were having secret fun. Why?"
"Ah, you'll have to guess."
"Guess what."
"Ah, there.. . "
"You're a human riddle. I give up. But I'm going to ask you a question."
"I'm listening."
"There. I must confess that I was scared during the fight. I saw you put your hand to your pocket and I feared you were going to slip out a gun."
He became serious and, holding me tenderly, said in a low voice:
"Darling you know how serious it is for a man to use a weapon in any circumstance. I admit that in self-defense one may do so, or to satisfy a grudge."
He stopped talking for a while and his eyes took on a far-away look, then he went on:
"When I was eighteen years old I was called up in the Draft. There, I was taught to play with various toys: pistols, rifles, machine-guns, etc. I was a soldier and serving my fatherland, the Netherlands. I was in the war and would probably have killed, since I was there for it. But not out of feeling, only out of reason. I think one must not kill anybody in a simple brawl where chances are equal between the two opponents."
He was silent again for a few moments and smiled again.
"But an agitated man like that Italian, who insults and menaces a woman has to be severely punished. Fists are not enough. One must mark him. And I've done so."
"But you had no weapon. They found nothing when they searched you."
"I had this." he exclaimed, taking a key out of his pocket.
"What? A key."
"Yes, darling. In 1943, when I was in the service I was taught, between other things, that a man with average strength can stun a man if he hits him with his fist in which he holds a key tightly. Moreover, I have a heavy ring on the ring-finger of my right hand, and I can assure you it leaves its mark. The insulter will always remember that he once raised his hand to a woman. Just looking at his face in the mirror will remind him of the fact."
"I understand, now."
"What makes me laugh is the officer asking me if I was not a boxer."
"Beware of that one, darling. I don't like his face," I warned him.
"I don't give a damn. A key is not considered as a weapon, is it? I'm perfectly authorized to have even several in my pocket."
"You're right. Cruel but logical, my dear Willem, I said.
"Well, kiss me, then."
"What, here?"
"Nobody's looking and it's more exciting."
I gave him my mouth and soul-kissed him. That very evening, Willem received me in his cabin.
When I was naked, I convinced myself that this handsome sinewy man was going to make me vibrate intensely and his huge, hard cock would give me an orgasm.
I was for him a lascivious courtesan, ready to fuck him any way he wanted.
And, where that was concerned, I can tell you that Willem knew all about the worst perversions.
Besides, he did not keep them for himself, but gave them to his partners too.
That man was really scientific in his art of the complete screw.
His hand, his mouth, all his limbs participated in the amorous hump.
I felt myself kissed, kneaded and caressed, besides sucked and tickled and other things. My tits, my stomach, my thighs, my cunt felt the caresses of his light fingers and his warm lips all over me.
It was only a long time afterwards that he took me in a thrust, slow at first, then becoming jerky until it led him to a delirious spasm. He groaned as he came.
As for me, I had a slight spasm but nothing but a pleasant sensation, nothing more.
And yet, what a superb fucker.
I liked that man, and yet, with him as with my husband and my two previous lovers, I had to act the part of a satisfied and happy woman. He did his best and so did I. He opened my legs and put his face between them and began to suck my twat with thrilling skill. He didn't stop there, but sucked my asshole, and then topped things off by ramming his dong right up my rectum. This was the first time I had ever had a cock in my anus. I was embarrassed when I saw his limp cock afterwards with brownish flecks on its head.
I left him about four a.m., went to my cabin and slept.
I was strong enough to prevent myself from crying.
A woman is ugly when she has cried.
And since I shouldn't have what I wanted, I might as well keep my beauty intact.
I was awakened up by three discreet taps on my door.
I cast a look on my little clock.
It showed 9 o'clock.
I slipped on a pajama (when sailing near the hot African coast, one sleeps naked) and said:
"Come in."
An officer saluted and said, after having lowered his eyes to take in the sight of my breasts showing above my wide neckline:
"Madam, would you please, as soon as you're ready, come into the captain's office. He will be expecting you."
"All right, Sir."
"Thank you, madam."
He bowed and went out not without another glance at my knockers. The officer didn't know it, but I would have let him shove it up me right then and there.
I got dressed rapidly. Half an hour later, I was in the captain's office. Willem was already there. We exchanged a friendly "good morning" and a smile. The captain, still friendly, after having told me "good morning," spoke to us:
"Madame, Sir, I've asked you to come back to my office in order to clear this affair."
He was interrupted by the entrance of the same officer as the day before, the one who looked as if he had just eaten too much mustard.
He saluted us but without smiling.
The captain continued:
"Mr. Guido is now recovered from the blow delivered by your fist, Sir, (he paused and smiled ironically at Willem), and he will soon be here and I hope the affair will end up with the reconciliation of the two parties."
He made a sign to the sailor.
The latter went out and soon came back accompanied by Guido.
I checked with difficulty an impulse to laugh.
He wasn't precisely handsome, my rumba dancer.
A bandage circled his head and his cheek had acquired different hues that reminded me of a miniature rainbow. One of his eyes was half-closed.
Handsome man that he was, he had now become a kind of motley-faced clown.
The captain was mistaken if he thought the two parties would shake hands.
As soon as he came in, Guido flashed a baleful eye at us and howled in the direction of Willem.
"Ah. Here he is, the sneaky hump-artist." The captain interrupted him brutally (and he did not look affable any longer):
"Sir, please be silent and don't express your thoughts aloud, or else I shall have to take sanctions. You may express yourself calmly and with reserve, otherwise I shall have to "
But the man disregarded the captain's advice completely. Enraged, he went on:
"Sir. You know what I'm going to do I'll kill them both, kill them both, I tell you, both, both."
The captain had risen from his seat, and so had Willem.
Nearly foaming at the mouth, the Italian continued:
"This whore slapped me. This man hit me. I'm going to kill them." He leapt at Willem. But he didn't go far.
On a sign from the captain, the sentry had seized him from behind and was restraining him forcibly in his iron grip.
In spite of it, he tried to wriggle free, howled and went on spouting insults.
The captain rang on a buzzer.
Another sailor came in.
"Get two armed men at once."
"Aye aye, Sir."
The officer, who had not yet said a word, came near Guido, still held from behind by the waist. He was still voicing insults:
"Putana.. .etc, etc."
I can't remember exactly what they were, and it doesn't matter. I wouldn't like repeating them anyway.
The officer, after having warded off a kick in the balls meant for him, took and twisted one of his wrists and told him dryly:
"Silence, or I'll knock you unconscious, d'you understand?"
The captain cut him short:
"Stop. I don't want any brutality against this man aboard this ship.
At that moment, two marines came in, armed with pistols and a belt full of cartridges round their waists.
"Arrest this man," the captain ordered, pointing at Guido.
The two marines placed themselves on either side of the enraged man.
The captain, very calm, but now the indisputable master aboard, spoke in an authoritative voice:
"Mr. Guido we're not used to having passengers like you on board. It's the first time I've been placed in such a position, and yet I've been in charge of luxury liners for 25 years.
You've behaved like a cad and uneducated man. You insulted a woman, struck a passenger "
"But "
"Don't interrupt me or I'll have you imprisoned. You have contravened the regulations of this ship, or of any ship. We shall be stopping at Malta in two hours. There, I shall put you into the hands of the British police of the port. Until then, you'll be confined to your cabin."
"I'll complain to my consul."
"Do as you like. This ship is French and I apply the regulations of my country, which, by the way are international agreements prescribed by Interpol. They are very strict: grave insults, brawls, fights, attacks, all are punished by disembarking the culprit at the first port of call and putting him into the hands of the local police.
"Guards, accompany this man to his cabin and lock him in. One of you shall stand guard outside his door until we reach the Island of Malta."
"I shall complain.. .You're nothing but a "
"One more word out of you and I'll have you put in irons."
The two armed marines seized him by the shoulders and took him out of the cabin.
The captain smiled again and said:
"Madam, Sir, the incident is closed. All my apologies for the trouble, and I hope you will soon forget this unhappy event."
"Certainly, Sir, and, may I add, you've been perfect," I said.
"Yes, indeed" said Willem.
"Thank you, madam," the captain said and shook hands with us.
The officer, his assistant, bowed to me and said ironically to Willem:
"Congratulations, Sir, for the strength of your fist. Considering your physical aspect, you hit like a professional boxer."
"You said so already," snapped Willem in an ice-cold voice.
A few minutes later we were both on the deck.
A sailor ran up to us. "Mrs. Peters?" he inquired. "That's right."
"A cable for you, madam." He gave me a telegram. "Thank you," I said.
Willem out of discretion, walked a few paces away. I opened the radio-wire. I read:
"Thinking of you stop Come back cured stop Wishing you excellent voyage stop Tenderly. Rodney.
I stayed a moment without moving, with the wire still in my hand.
In my thoughts I was no longer on board the ship, nor by the side of the man who had just been my lover; I was no longer under the bright rays of the tropical sun.
Instead, I was there, in London, the town of fog. But in that town there was my husband, and, still in my thoughts, I was there beside him in our studio.
Quickly, I brushed away that vision.
Willem came near me.
"Bad news, Rochelle?"
"No.. .But may I ask you an indiscreet question, Willem? If you answer it, please do so frankly. Are you in love with your wife?"
"Very much."
He had answered without a moment's hesitation.
I liked him still better for his frankness.
I put my hand into his and told him:
"Willem, you're a very nice guy. This telegram is from my husband, and I.. .I love him very, very much."
He put an arm around me and whispered:
"Rochelle, we are both above average. Our comprehension is far superior to the level of the majority of other men and women.
As you know, I'm getting off at Malta.
We shall have to say good bye, and we shall probably never see each other again.
I've had many adventures, and, no doubt, you too. But I want you to believe me when I say that with you our sex relationship was very, very, beautiful."
"I think the same as you, Willem, you have one of the most magnificent penises I've ever seen and I loved every centimeter of it as it rammed my pussy. And you did take my virginity in my asshole, that is. I'll always remember that.
He bowed and kissed my hand for a long time, almost religiously.
A dull boom rang out.
"That was from a big gun, loaded with a blank shell, fortunately," Willem remarked.
We saw the other passengers come running on to the deck.
An officer gave us the information we all wanted:
"That is the British fleet in maneuvers," he explained, pointing at a row of cruisers in the distance.
Soon, we could make out a few of the crew.
A bugle call rang out on board our ship.
The French flag was lowered and hoisted three times.
It was our salute to the British fleet.
The British admiral ship did the same in answer.
I looked at my companion.
He was standing very stiff, with his heels close together.
Willem's dick had been as big as a bull's, with virile balls to match. And he had had me three-ways, pussy, asshole and mouth. Yet still I had no orgasm. Did I have to get fucked by a bull actually? I had read of women coming after being screwed by big dogs' cocks. Was I so neurotic that I would require a real weird humping to finally make me come?
CHAPTER EIGHT DESERT ROMANCE
I arrived in Alexandria on the following day.
On landing, I had pleasure in finding Jessica Bowles.
Jessica was the wife of the manager of the British Hospital in the port.
He had been persona grata in King Farouk's time.
The later government had eliminated him because of his nationality and replaced him with an incompetent Egyptian manager.
The result had been something to see.
Within a month it was a real mess, with more deaths than cures at the hospital.
The government of the general understood.
Bowles was reinstated in his functions of director. Colonel Nasser.. .was intelligent enough to maintain the decision of his predecessor.
I had had the pleasure of receiving Jessica and her husband and had been their guest frequently in London at the time of the revolution, when they had fled Egypt, which had become dangerous for British subjects.
She was like a cute little blonde doll with a pair of big tits and a lush ass, impish and gay, whose motto was "make the best out of life and fuck all you can, while you can."
She was not really a friend, for I had known her too little to call her that, but, during the short time I had seen here a current of sympathy had united us and we had hit it off splendidly in a mad night of pussy-fondling.
That is why I had written to her to say I would be coming to Egypt.
Her husband, Webster Bowles was moderately tall and his hair was black so that at first sight one would not take him for an Englisliman.
They received me like a queen.
Jessica, laughing gaily, embraced me as if we were lifelong friends and, while walking away from the moored ship, she questioned me without stopping and often did not even wait for me to answer.
"Darling, I'm so happy to see you. We're going to spoil you, Webster and I. We'll take you sightseeing every where.. .Did you have a pleasant trip? You look a little off color, how is Peter?
"England, oh, England.. .you must tell me all the latest gossip, won't you? Webster and I adore scandals."
It wasn't tiring for me to answer all those questions, for I could hardly get a word in edgeways.
But, anyhow, it was a fine welcome, and that was the chief thing.
A superb Imperial took us from the harbor to my friends' house.
It was situated in the middle of the superb park of the Hospital.
The park was planted mainly with palm-trees which gave a lot of shade and created a picturesque splash of colors, with the blue sky as a background.
The butler got busy making me comfortable and soon I was in the guest-room that had been reserved for me.
Jessica left me alone for a while but not before giving my bush and pussy a lewd, impish feel with her hand.
Before I undressed and took a shower, I stepped out on the balcony and contemplated the magnificent view.
The Mediterranean Sea was unrolling its blueness before my eyes and, above it, the sky was of a paler blue, interrupted by small fluffy clouds, all white and chasing each other.
I also had a perfect view of the town with its flat, symmetrical terraces, dotted here and there with modern skyscrapers and some mosques from which the muezzins called the Faithful for the evening prayer.
After a long while, I reluctantly pulled myself away from the balcony.
I took a shower, put on some make up and slipped on a light dress with practically nothing underneath, and I went down to the parlor.
There, Jessica and Webster were waiting for me.
"Rochelle, darling, you're adorable," she exclaimed.
Webster was in perfect agreement with his wife's statement.
"Yes, you do look nice," he said and eyed me quite warmly.
They were a handsome couple.
They seemed perfectly united but I soon found out that there was a great liberty of sex perversions between them, under the veneer of a perfect marriage.
The supper was sumptuous and my two friends vied with each other in kindness to me.
It must have been about ten p.m. when Jessica said:
"Darling, some friends are going to come. Don't be astonished by the late hour: in Egypt, particularly during the hot season, we start really living at night, for, it's too hot during the day. Aren't you too tired?"
"Not at all," I said, "your wonderful welcome pepped me up quite a lot and besides I had a very soothing shower before coming down."
"Fine. You'll see our friends are really charming."
I knew later that what she had just said was true.
They came in and were greeted by the Egyptian servant who put his hand successively to his forehead, his mouth and chest. I was introduced to:
Lady and Lord Linley, a big shot in finance;
Signora and Signor Aldori, owners of a big store;
Countess and Count Delamaine, military attache to the French embassy;
Oh, yes, there were plenty of other guests, such as: Mister Fleeke and his wife (he was secretary in the Swiss Legation), Viscount and Viscountess of Metleigh, naval attache at the British Embassy.
Having introduced me to all these diplomats and their spouses, Jessica laughing:
"Darling, you're probably feeling quite at home with the representatives of the Swiss Legation on the one hand and the British embassy on the other, for those are your two countries, aren't they Swiss by birth and England by marriage."
She turned towards her guests and proposed a toast to "Her Majesty the Queen and to the Swiss President without forgetting our charming friend Rochelle Peters whom we welcome in this our home in Alexandria."
A triple hurray, preceded by the "hip, hip, hip's" sprang up enthusiastically and glasses were raised, soon to be emptied down thirsty gullets in perfect unison.
I had already noticed that it was a common trait, among all nationalities: all guests are endowed with remarkable abilities to drink up a great range of spirits for any variety of reasons.
I soon found myself at ease in this elegant, witty and gay atmosphere.
Svelte Mrs. Fleeke was born near my town of Lausanne, and she was only two or three years older than I. Of course, we discussed at length all the familiar places of our country.
We were chatting like old friends when we were interrupted by a man saying:
"Ladies, it's deplorable, if not indecent, to leave two pretty women chatting away while two representatives of the stronger sex are dying to take them in their arms."
We turned round and saw that Martin and the Viscount of Metleigh were inviting us to dance.
The tune "The Brazilian Samba" was blaring out of an expensive record-player.
Martin started dancing with me. After a few moments, he said:
"Rochelle.. .You don't mind my calling you that do you?"
"Not at all," I assured him.
"As I was saying, Rochelle, dear, I think we're going to become excellent friends, aren't we?"
"I'm sure we shall."
"Jessica is very fond of you, you know."
I gathered that from her charming welcome, as well as yours too, I must say."
"Yes, she's really fond of you.. .and so am I, Rochelle."
And, so saying, he held me closer in a tender gesture. He had a big hard-on just like all the rest. I could feel the head of his cock between my inner thighs.
I thought that this worthy spouse of my friend Jessica was going a little too fast, and too obviously.
I detest the idea of breaking up marriages. So I glanced round me to try and see where Jessica was.
I soon spotted her, dancing with Count Dela-maine.
And, from the look of her, she didn't seem to be finding the virile count dull at all.
She was nestling comfortably in the arms of the Count, and their bodies were very close and it didn't need a Sherlock Holmes to see that she was more or less rubbing her knockers and her brush where they would get him real hot and bothered.
Her eyes met mine, but although Webster saw that his wife's eyes were on us, he did not hesitate to place his cheek against mine, and shove his stiff shaft a little more definitely between my legs.
And, seeing her husband's gesture, Jessica smiled in an understanding fashion and looked conspiratorially at her husband.
Oh, that was it, then I was beginning to see the light. Fucking was to be free and easy, with no holds barred.
So, she was quite agreeable, and, come to think of it, I wouldn't be against it either, for I found Webster quite nice. But I couldn't help finding it rather funny to find myself rubbing my bush against my girl-friend's husband's pecker on the very evening of my arrival as her guest.
But that seemed to be the fashion all round in this welcoming house, for I saw people fucking around quite openly.
Apart from Jessica and the Count, I could see other couples behaving as if they had forgotten their legal bonds of matrimony.
For instance, the little Swiss wife was dancing the samba so that her partner was feeling her bare tits. The Signora Aldori whose black eyes were sparkling, was pressing her twat against the cock of Viscount of Metleigh and seemed to appreciate the touch of his hand caressing her ass. Perhaps she was also enjoying the touch of something else., her finger tips were deftly rubbing the head of Metleigh's cock.. .
To sum up, the atmosphere had become, let's say voluptuous.
Needless to say, Webster, who had invited me again for the next dance ( a tango), was not wasting his time.
After having concentrated on my ass during the samba, he was now caressing my tits, not, of course, with his hands, but (if one can call it caressing) with his chest and with the help of the voluptuous tango steps.
Then my body passed from hand to hand.
All the males present made me dance and all, without exception, practiced the consummate art of feeling my tits and ass while giving me a "dry fuck" with their eager hard-ons.
Most of them had been well endowed with lusty cocks by nature I felt the proof of it many times during the evening.
When the time came to say goodbye, my Swiss fried was slightly tipsy and the Signora Aldori rolled her black eyes more than ever whenever she looked at Lord Linley.
All the guests parted at about 4 a.m. in a state of mild drunkenness and all more than somewhat excited, sexually speaking.
When we were alone, the three of us, Jessica took my hands tenderly and said:
"Well, darling, did you have an enjoyable evening?"
"Excellent," I answered, "your friends are charming."
"Aren't they? But, darling, you must be dying with fatigue. We're going to bed now. Good night, dear."
She then embraced me tenderly and kissed me on the mouth.
I felt her sensual lips crush mine in a warm pressure, lovingly than a man's.
Well, well, well.. .
As for Webster, he gave me his hand to shake while wishing me good-night. But Jessica intervened.
"Kiss her, chump, you're positively dying to do so."
He needed no further encouragement, I can tell you.
He shack his hot mouth on mine and tongued me with a deep "soul-kiss."
After a long while I disengaged myself, breathless.
Whereupon Jessica exclaimed triumphantly:
"Doesn't he kiss divinely?"
"I'm glad you like it" she said, "for its only the beginning, darling, he's first-class in everything, darling, you'll see."
Upon those provocative words we went to our respective bedrooms.
I woke up late. It was about eleven.
The first thing I did was to look again at the fairy-like spectacle outside my balcony. The sun was, naturally, already shining brightly.
As I came downstairs, Jessica was ready to go out, and Webster was at the Hospital. She took me with her shopping in town.
Except for the bright light and the heat, we might have been in London or Paris.
The luxury and variety of the articles exhibited in the window-shops matched those of the big stores of the European capitals.
Jessica was in her element there. She handled and felt all sorts of materials for dresses and other clothes, breathed in the heavy perfumes and played kittenishly with gew-gaws.
Her natural beauty and exuberance made her noticed by all men, young and old, and she was obviously pleased to see in their eyes that she was being admired.
Our day was spent visiting Alexandria.
We went back home at 8 p.m. and I saw Webster for the first time during the day. His duties at the Hospital absorbed him completely.
After supper, Jessica said:
"I don't know about you, but I'm positively stifling. You'll excuse me, but I'm going to shed off a few clothes, and you'd better do likewise, ducks."
Hers was rather an odd statement.
For, after all, she was wearing a dress and nothing underneath, so, unless being in the nude, I didn't see what else we could wear in the way of lighter clothes.
But I had no time to think about it more deeply, for, at once, her husband approved:
"Darling, you're right." he said. "I'm going to undress. You too, Rochelle, won't you?"
"But, I don't know.. . " I said, faltering.
"Come, you must have a pajama or nightgown, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have that."
"Well, that'll be fine for the evening. We're not in Europe. Here, you know, here it's very hot, and, besides, we can be informal among ourselves."
I assented.
"Go, Rochelle, and come back quickly," Jessica said with a captivating smile and I noticed her big teats heaving with suppressed excitement.
I went to my room.
Should I choose a night-gown or pajama? I chose the latter.
A few minutes later I was back among them.
Webster had already preceded me. He had put on a superb bright-red dressing-gown with a gold-colored belt.
He really looked good in it.
Better than in his usual coat.
A few minutes later, his wife appeared.
What a deshabille.
She had put on a black silk dressing-gown which was so short and form-revealing that when she walked I could see her legs up to her thighs, and glimpse her bush.
At once she complimented me on my appearance:
"Look, Web, how pretty she is in these pajamas."
"Indeed, it gives her an appearance of, of-"
"Of a little boy," Jessica completed her husband's sentence.
His eyes shone as he put his arm around me, drawing my body to his.
"That's right, a little boy but a really pretty little boy."
Jessica sat down and then, without hesitation, she opened up her dressing-gown, revealing her naked breasts. Her tits were firm and round and I admired their large pick nipples against the white hillocks. Her stomach was very flat, and she was holding her legs slightly apart, showing her provocative pussy-lips, pink and moist beneath her big bush.
I looked at her in detail. I eyed her exposed pussy, noticing the cunny lips were slightly parted.
Looking at me, she lifted her big titties in her hands and told me:
"How do you like them?"
"Very pretty," I said.
She had a throaty chuckle.
"Webster likes them very much. Wouldn't it be fun to compare yours with mine? My lewd old man would ask for nothing better," she proposed.
I had a moment's hesitation.
Her hubby came up to me.
He put his arm around me and his hand slipped down my neckline. Sofly, he caressed my naked skin, soon reaching the summits of my flushed knockers.
I enjoyed his caress, especially on the nipples.
Suddenly I took the plunge and, of my own accord, opened up the top of my pajamas.
My bare tits could now be seen in full view.
Jessica looked at them with shining eyes and her mouth opened itself a little in wonderment.
As for Web he blushed deeply and, standing before me panting, he said:
Your breasts are pretty, very pretty, Rochelle, aren't they Jessica.
He came forward and put both his hands on my bare tits in an almost bestial gesture, his lips wet with desire.
His dick-head was thrusting stiffly out before him. I could see a creamy drip of glad-come in his pee-hole.
He was going to screw me in front of his wife.
I looked at her.
From her fixed look and heavy breathing, I realized she was laboring under a great deal of sexual excitement too.
She had by now taken off her dressing-gown, and, standing there stark naked, she was about to watch the spectacle of her husband fucking me.
Webster was also extremely aroused.
He had also opened up his dressing-gown widely and his tremendous prick was looming towards me in a gesture of lewd desire.
Then the telephone rang.
Jessica was the first to regain her composure.
She lifted the receiver.
"Hello.. .
Hold on, please."
She put her hand against the receiver and asked her husband:
It's from the hospital, they're asking if you're here.. . "
"Ask who it is."
She did.
"I'll see if he's here," she said into the telephone, "but why do you want him?"
". . . "
"I see, all right, hold on."
She turned to her husband, "It's an urgent case. The doctor in charge wants to speak to you at once. Shall I say you're out?"
"No." was his firm answer.
He closed his dressing-gown hiding his hard-on and took the receiver.
"Hello, Gilbert, it's me, what is it?"
"I see."
". . . "
"That's right. We're out of stock in blood group 3, number 2,554."
". . . "
"You're right, they may have some in the German or French Hospital. I'll handle it and ring you back. Meanwhile give the patient some shots of adrenalin and comphor."
He hung up and turned towards us.
The expression on his face had changed completely. There was now no trace at all of any voluptuous excitation. He was now the Doctor in Chief, the Director of the British Hospital.
"I'm very sorry," he said, "it's an urgent case in ward 3. The patient needs an immediate blood transfusion and we're out of blood of his group. I'll have to go and see if we can get some from the French or German hospitals. You'll have to excuse me."
His wife protested.
"But, darling, it's ll p.m. and you're not on watch duty to-night. I really don't understand "
She was interrupted briskly by her husband's harsh voice.
"Please, I've already asked you not to try to understand in such cases. I agree that I'm not on duty to-night. But when a human life is at stake, there is no question of being on watch duty or not. We may be able to save him yet."
The tone of his voice far from its usual softness and kindness, put Jessica on her guard and she did not dare answer back.
He dialed a number.
"Hello, German Hospital?"
This is the manager of the British Hospital speaking. Can I speak to Mr. Baum, please?" it it
"Thanks."
"Baum? Good evening. Sorry to disturb you so late. Webster here. Look, we have a transfusion case on our hands we're out of group 3, No. 250. Would you have any in stock by any chance?"
"Fine, fine. Could you let us have some for a few days?"
"Awfully kind of you. I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour. Thanks again." He hung up and said:
"I'll be back in about an hour, I hope. I'm going to the German Hospital, and, when I get the blood I'll do the transfusion myself.
"If you're tired, go to bed without waiting for me. Again, please accept my apologies."
He bowed a little, smiling, he left us without a single look at our naked disappointed pussies. no
When we were alone, Jessica told me: "There you are, darling, this is the lot of doctors' wives. You're probably getting the same from your husband, aren't you?"
"Yes, but we can't very well blame them, can we?"
"Of course, you're right, but what a pity to be interrupted just in the middle of a game which was shaping up quite nicely."
She stretched herself like a cat then purred:
"Come and sit near me, darling."
I obeyed and sat beside her.
She put one arm around me and our bare tits touched each other, the nipples rubbed together.
She lay my head on her shoulders and caressed my hair tenderly, and yet her gesture was not that of a Lesbian. In spite of our being naked, her caresses took on a tender aspect like that of a girl towards her sister.
While stroking my hair and throat, she asked me:
"Tell me the truth, what do you think of Web and me."
"But "
"Don't lie to me. You understood perfectly that, if it had not been for that unfortunate phone call my husband was going to fuck you in front of me, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Well, I'd like your opinion."
"Well, darling, you saw that I didn't react unfavorably, so that it means I approved."
"Yes, but there's a hesitation in your voice." She paused a while and went on: "Listen, I'm the culprit, I'll tell you why."
She nestled against me and, still stroking my naked skin, she spoke:
"I'm not a Lesbian," she said, "you can see that, for here we are lying naked close to each other, and I'm not touching your pussy."
"I wouldn't say that giving or receiving a skillful caress from a woman would be against my liking, on the contrary.
I was brought up in a college in England, and I can assure you there was plenty of lesbian caressing between us girls there.
I have often awakened, nestling naked in the arms of one of the other girls, with my mouth dry and tired, my cunny all afire and my eyes with a dark ring underneath. We had fingered each others tities and assholes while we kissed each others lips, and we'd fingered each other's cunnies, and then suck, or have a "daisy chain" or "super-sixty-nine."
But all that belongs to girlhood. I like man before anything else, the male with all his attributes.
I married Web when I was twenty. I'm not telling you this because he is my husband, but I can tell you he's a really nice man with whom it is pleasant to live and fuck.
"He's charming."
"I'm glad you think like me darling. So, as I was saying, he's the type personifying a good husband, nice tempered and not fussy (except for his work he's very touchy on that subject), a really nice man. Of course, he has defects: for instance, he's little too fond of whisky, easy women and poker but, on the whole all that isn't too important.
"In bed, well he fucks for a woman to appreciate him, and he's never demanding. We are in short, a good average couple. We don't have rows, we detest them. From time to time he fucks with an occasional woman, and I deceive him likewise.
"We pretend we don't notice and so everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds."
That is, it was, until one evening.. .
We were invited by friends.
The evening was very gay and those friends were broad-minded. With the help of drink, I found myself, about midnight, on a sofa, and in my cunt the cock of a man I had made the acquaintance of only a few hours before, and nobody seemed to find that odd.
It was the first time I experienced an evening party of that kind.
He contented himself with kisses on my neck and shoulders. I gave him my mouth while he squeezed my tits conscientiously, but, as he was about to come, I made his cock slip out and jumped up.
I was not yet used to making love in public.
Nevertheless, the result was that on that evening I discovered in myself a vice which I hadn't known so far.
Indeed, while that man was caressing my twat, I was watching the other couples, and I found out I was no longer a shy girl, as it were.
One of the other ladies was doing exactly as I did. She was letting a man put his hand between her legs and she was obviously not opposing him at all.
Then I noticed it: the man in question was my husband. So it was his hand that.. .Oh, very funny. That dear, Webster he wasn't wasting his time. Neither was she. She had opened his fly and her hand was fondling his stiff dong.
Two or three other couples were fucking away with even greater abandon. In fact, I was the most reserved of all.
I had not let my man shoot his hot sperm into my cunny publicly.. .yet.
As I already told you, neither Webster nor I had ever seen such parties before.
The sight of those couples actually fucking and caressing each other gave me feelings I had never experienced before.
And what made the most impression on me was the sight of my husband whose hand was busy under the dress of that unknown woman: it really thrilled me.
Was it a complex? Or could one call it perversion? I don't know.
Perhaps both.
Even now, I still don't know.
Meanwhile, of course, the man who had been humping me was not wasting his time.
Since he saw he couldn't shoot in my thighs, he concentrated still more on my tits which he caressed with great art, I must admit.
Suddenly the silence was harshly broken by a strident laugh.
Disengaging her self from the arms of her partner a woman stood in the middle of the room.
She was beautiful, even very much so, but her beauty was strange she was slender and there was an eerie fixity in her look.
She laughed again with nervousness and spoke to all of us:
"Ladies, you're all there being content with the hors-d'oeuvre that is offered you by these gentlemen.
"But I refuse to be satisfied with so little. "I want the main dish.
"If you ladies don't dare, I will. I want to make love completely, and, to give it an added charm, I intend making the most obscene form of love in front of all of you."
I asked my companion:
"That woman looks odd, what do you think?"
"Indeed she is, dear," he said, stopping his caresses for a moment, "the reason is that she's 'high', I mean full of cocaine. She's a drug addict, you see."
"I had already noticed she looked strange," I said.
"Well, now you have the explanation. You know her, don't you?"
"As a matter-of-fact, I don't; when I was introduced to her I didn't pay attention to her name," I said.
"She's the famous authoress Anita Brown," my companion explained.
"You mean the Anita Brown who writes in the 'Daily.. . ' and 'Eve'? "
"That's her. She's got a remarkable intelligence and a high erudition. Besides she's very courageous. She was a war correspondent during the whole of the Korean War, and the result is she got wounded by shells in the thighs and one of her forearms.
"Apart from that, she has all the vices: she's a Lesbian, a pervert, an alcoholic, etc. All that would be all right, but then there's something much worse: she's a drug addict-cocaine, morphine, opium, this woman runs the complete gamut.
"But she's crazy," I exclaimed. "With her intelligence, she should know that it's fatal to become a drug addict."
"Yes, it's a shame."
"Indeed it is."
But the famous writer and woman columnist was continuing her little speech in the middle of the room, in a high-pitched, excited voice.
After a while, she declared:
"If you agree, we'll play a little game I learnt at a surprise-party in New York recently:
"The five gentlemen here will write their names on different pieces of paper. Those will be put into, for instance, this vase, and an innocent hand-not mine, anyway, haha-will draw one of those papers out. The gentleman whose name will be on it will make mad love with me in front of everybody in any way I want. OK?"
Her suggestion was warmly received by applause.
"Good," the girl continued, "will you please write down your names while I'm getting ready."
And she opened up her zipper and her evening-gown slipped down, revealing to one and all her naked sex.
She was too thin, but there was such a sensuality in her body, and she showed that she wanted a male, with her jutting nipples and her engorged cunny, you know, that she acquired a sort of beauty, like that of a witch.
I looked at my husband. He had a pencil in his hand, poised above a piece of paper, but with his eyes, he questioned me to know whether it was all right with me.
It's true that in every man there's a horny rapist, ready to fuck any hole.
Out of politeness and kindness, he was asking me for permission, but at the same time his eyes looked as if they were saying:
"Darling, you know, I feel like screwing with that woman very much, but as I'm a considerate husband I'm asking for your permission. But I would be great sorry if you said no."
Just like a greedy kid craving for a lollipop.
So I assented with a smile.
My husband beamed with joy and, very quickly, he inscribed his name on the scrap of paper.
"Now we want an innocent hand," the woman-writer shouted.
The nearest woman came forward laughing and took out a piece of paper, read it out:
"Webster."
So my honorable husband had won.
He was the cynosure of all eyes. He had, I saw, a moment of hesitation and wonderment. He looked at me a little uneasily. So I told him aloud, with a kindness tinged with irony:
"Mind, darling, don't be a disgrace to the family name. Live up to your hump reputation."
My crack was greeted with a general burst of laughter.
As for the woman author, who looked perfectly at ease in her stark nudity, she came near my husband, scrutinized him, touched him in different places and declared:
"He's all right, I could have got myself a worse man. Come on, boy, strip off and start working."
Then she went to the sofa and immodestly lay on it, opening her thighs wide, exposing her box, waiting.
Webster took off his clothes and joined her, his tool erect.
I admit that, like everybody, I had so far mixed laughter with sexuality.
But when I saw my husband's cock disappear into her twat, when I beheld their united bodies joined together with voluptuous spasms, a formidable sensation took hold of me, one I had not experienced before and which made me really vibrate as I had never done.
The sight of that orgy-like copulation triggered off in me a very strong voluptuousness.
I bit my lips hard, I drove my nails into the palms of my hands, and I had difficulty in not screaming under the violence of the feeling. I was feeling intensely warm and my belly and tits were agitated like a sea during a storm.
"The man who was holding me in his arms noticed my aroused state of mind and body, and took the opportunity to risk a precise caress. And, that time, I didn't oppose any resistance. He lifted my skirt, slid down my panties, opened his pants and drove his urgent throbbing prick all the way up my pussy. It was like a rape. I came nearly at once, in a formidable spasm that was nearly painful. He kept shoving his prong like a piston up my cunt until he stiffened and I felt hot successive spurts of his sperm fill my hole.
After we had left the party, when we were alone, Webster and I, in the car on the way home, my fool of a husband asked me:
"You're not angry with me, are you, darling?"
In answer, I put both my arms wildly around his waist (with the risk of making him drive us into a ditch), and with panting breath and wildly excited eyes, I nearly shouted:
"Promise me you'll fuck some other girl again in front of me."
And, my dear Rochelle, that's how I gave my husband a perversion he hadn't got.
And you can guess, of course, that the dear man is qui ted pleased with it.
Thanks to my perversion, he can fuck attractive girls in my presence. Of course, we only use persons we know well and who're broad-minded. Webster told me one day:
"I don't mind your being sexy, as long as you come this way."
And I believe that is the ideal solution for a happy life."
Jessica kissed me again softly on the lips, then suddenly she got up:
"He's back."
Indeed, one could hear the purr of an engine in the park.
A few moments later, her husband came in.
He kissed us in turn and, smiling, took off his coat.
"Was it all right?" Jessica asked him.
"Splendid," he answered.
"I operated myself. The patient will be saved, I think."
I could see from his face that he was satisfied with a job well done.
But gradually that expression changed.
His look became more fixed. He looked at us in detail.
I could see the gleam in his eyes that announces that a man is excited.
He touched his wife's tits, then mine. That hand, which, I'm sure, had not moved an inch during the delicate surgical operation, was now trembling at the touch of our naked knockers.
Jessica, laughing, disengaged herself.
"So, darling, you're glad to have saved that patient?"
"But, of course."
Hot in the grip of her sexual perversion and desiring release, his wife pushed him towards me and said:
"Well then, take your reward."
Webster advanced towards me. His eyes looked ahead fixedly and his hands were half open. He quickly undressed, and once again, his shaft was hard and eager to shoot into me.
Jessica was already very much excited, much more than I. She sat back, her legs parted and she was busily fingering her cunt.
Her husband took me in front of her and I could hear her moan with voluptuousness
Her husband's cock thrust into my moist cunt right up to his big balls. As his shaft rammed scorchingly in and out of my cunny-lips, Jessica stopped fingering her twat and came over close. She thrust her moist index finger right up her husband's asshole as he humped away, and her other hand slid up and down her drenched labia.
Suddenly I felt as if I were being stifled, Jessica put her hot cunt right over my mouth, forcing me to tongue her torrid pussy. Her stiff clitoris was like a little boy's stiff hard-on and I licked away at it. Shuddering, Webster began spurting hot jets of semen practically up my womb, groaning in a joyous come. At this, his wife's pussy heaved and twitched, drenching my mouth with her come as she shrieked ecstatically into a climax.
Only I was left out of the fun-full of hot sperm and hot pussy-juice, but unable to come too.. . . . .
CHAPTER NINE
EUNUCHS GALORE
I left my "very intimate" friends a few days later. Why?
Oh, it was very simple: neither with the husband in front of his wife, nor in the various practices of perversion, had I obtained any result.
Under the virile and yet skilful fornicating of Webster, I had reacted the same way as before. Yet that man had fucked me in front of his wife, and with consummate art, and, for all that, it was only she, Jessica, that had her orgasm. My vagina had not reacted like a normal woman's while being fucked by an expert. It was really hopeless.
Of course, my friends did not know anything about my frigidity and they were convinced that I was satisfied with the perverted set-up.
Well, if they were glad, I certainly wasn't. I was even despairing.
What was the use of throwing myself freely on the lustful pecker of every man? My husband loved me and it was mutual. Wouldn't it be better to return to him and tell him everything?
I am and always have been the calculating and resolute kind.
I mapped out a plan, ready to follow it at all costs. I would make yet one final fuck experiment, but only one. If I didn't succeed then, I would return to my husband.
My nice friends had insisted that, before my departure, I should be invited to the great garden-party given in the gardens of the British Embassy.
That garden-party constituted the best social affair in Alexandria.
The whole diplomatic corps was invited, as well as the highest persons in the Egyptian government.
As an English subject by marriage, I was presented to the British Ambassador, and, as a Swiss by birth, I was presented to the Swiss.
The party was in full swing, when suddenly the music stopped in the middle of a frantic mambo and started playing a slow piece which sounded like a national anthem. Everybody stood to attention. The doors were flung open by powdered lackeys, who announced solemnly:
"His Royal Highness Prince Ali Ben Ergezan."
A young man strode in. He was young, lean, swarthy, and, apart from his headdress which consisted of a turban, he was dressed in the European style, in black with a white tie, and on his chest there was a black and green decoration with a set of diamonds in the middle.
The ladies did a curtsy and the British Ambassador went towards the prince, bowing low before him. The prince shook hands with him and smiled genially to everybody.
I whispered to my neighbor:
"Who is this prince?"
"He is the young brother of King Selimlll."
"Selim III?"
"Yes, he rules over a little kingdom of about two million inhabitants."
"I apologize for being so ignorant, but can you tell me where that kingdom is?"
"In South Arabia, near the Strait of Bal-el-Mandeb," my neighbor explained.
"Ah, I see, now, but I must confess I had never heard of it before."
"There's nothing surprising in that, as that little kingdom was nearly unknown two or three years ago."
"And now?"
"Now, everybody is getting interested in it, oil has been discovered there in great quantities."
"Oh, I see."
"Yes, black gold is very powerful in these modern times. That explains all the kow-towing towards the prince Ali, the king's brother.
Indeed, the prince was at once surrounded with many suitors. But my neighbor was right. One felt all around an unmistakable fawning attitude to gain the prince's favors, in view of subsequently getting his oil.
For oil makes petrol and isn't only used to warm up a cup of tea or light a lamp, but it makes tanks go, as well as bombers and submarines and the weapon factories. And, from time to time, a nice little war is so pleasant (so say the politicians, who don't fight in wars).
Anyway, there was a crowd of suitors around His Royal Highness Prince Ali Ben Ergezan.
"Would you like me to introduce you to His Royal Highness?"
"I'd be delighted."
"Come with me."
He took me by the arm and together we went towards the group surrounding the prince.
He wriggled through the group with difficulty and eventually we stood before Mahamud Ali ben Ergenzan.
Mr. Thorrys (my neighbour) bowed. The Prince knew him, for he spontaneously offered his hand to be shaken.
"Your Highness, may I take the liberty of asking a favor that of presenting to you this charming lady who is desirous to know you?"
The prince looked at me for a long time. His intense look enveloped me like a caress.
In a warm and well modulated voice, he said:
"Mr. Thorrys, a beautiful woman like this young lady should not be desirous to know me it is I who is desirous to know her."
Mr. Thorrys took me by the hand.
I sketched a curtsy while he announced:
"His Royal Highness Ali ben Ergezan, brother of His Majesty Selim II;
"Mrs. Rochelle Peters, wife of the famous English Doctor."
"I know the remarkable works of your husband, madam," the prince said. "He's a remarkable man, and also for the choice he made of such a charming and pretty spouse."
"Your Highness is too kind."
"Not at all, madam. One must recognize knowledge, intelligence and beauty where one finds them."
So saying, he took my hand and kissed it for a long time.
He expressed himself in an impeccable English and nearly without an accent.
At that moment, very softly, in the dancing room, the violins had started playing the nostalgic "Blue Tango."
He took my arm lightly and said:
"Would you like to dance this tango with me, ma'am?"
"I'd be much honored, Your Highness."
He walked with me to the dancing floor and we started our tango.
He was a good dancer, and he had that suppleness of the Orientals.
While dancing he talked:
"I haven't been in your country for a long time. I studied at Oxford. It may seem strange to you, but I often have quite a nostalgia for your native country."
"I'm English only by marriage, Your Highness. By birth I'm Swiss, I was born in Lausanne."
"Ah, I know Switzerland too. It's nearly the same as England.
You may find it strange that we Orientals could find some charm in your gray skies, your rain and your mists, but, you see, it's a nice contrast to our ever-shining sky, our perpetual stretches of sand and the lasting heat of our country."
"For me, I feel the same as Your Highness, only the other way round," I said smiling.
He laughed, uncovering superb white teeth.
"Naturally, according to the inexorable law of contrasts, it's quite understandable," he said.
The dance came to an end and I detected a half hard-on in the Royal prick.
He accompanied me and then suddenly asked:
"Would you do me the honor of sitting at my table and accepting a glass of champagne?"
"Your Highness, I really don't know if "
"Come," he said gently.
He took hold of my arm and accompanied me to his table, where already the ambassadors and their wives were sitting.
I'm not conceited but this moment really made me feel proud.
To be invited at the table of a Royal prince, a real one, brother of a reigning sovereign, and to sit at the side of the representatives of the greatest countries on earth, that was something not happening to everybody.
And I could realize from the spiteful envious looks of the other ladies present that they thought exactly like me concerning the importance of this unexpected invitation.
Later, the prince invited other ladies to dance all the wives of the ambassadors but it was obvious he was preferring me to them. And the Royal prick did have a hard-on as he held my body in his arms.
About two o'clock in the morning, he told me a low voice:
"Ma'am, the protocol obliges me to leave now, for I'm here on an official visit.
I spent with you a delightful evening. May I be so bold as to ask you to come to tea tomorrow at 4 aboard my yacht "Crescent" which is moored in the Alexandria harbor? There will be only a few friends present."
"Your Highness is really too kind to me."
"It's you who's being kind to me," he said.
He gave a long kiss on my hand.
Then he saluted everyone with one bow.
Men stood to attention and women curtsied so low one could see the opening of their busts, with the decolletes they were wearing.
The orchestra struck up the national anthem of Ergezan, and His Royal Highness left the British Embassy.
When I came back to Webster and Jessica, they congratulated me on my social success.
"Darling, you really bewitched the prince."
"Rochelle you're the queen of this ball."
I told them I had been invited aboard the royal yacht.
Jessica lifted an admonishing finger and jokingly told me:
"I believe your nice little English pussy is going to know the royal prick of a prince."
"Oh, we haven't come to that yet," I said laughing.
"Who knows? If he should want it so. Remember, dear Rochelle (and she quoted two classical French verses which meant that when a king orders one must obey without question). "
I burst out laughing and said cynically:
"Why not?"
The following day about noon, Jessica came into my room.
"Darling," she said, "there's a native kid asking for you."
"A native kid?"
"Yes, you'll see. He looks a delightful little boy."
"Oh, calm down and don't rape that boy."
"Do come quickly for I do feel like attacking his lovely little dick."
I slipped on a deshabille and went downstairs.
Indeed, there stood a little native boy such as one imagines in theThous and and One Nights tales: white turban, wide green trousers and red blouse. He bowed gravely and put his little hand successively to his forehead, his lip and his chest.
In a faltering, funny English, he told me:
"My master, Prince Ali, sends his respect to Mrs. Peters and begs her to accept this."
He handed me a superb bouquet of orchids and a little box tied with a golden thread.
I thanked him and he ran off.
I opened the box.
On a black velvet bottom there lay a superb diamond clip designed in the shape of a crescent.
There was a card accompanying this gift a card without any crown or other regal designs. The prince had written these few words in which one felt his inborn oriental lyricism: "The oriental crescent will shine on the bosom of the western golden lady like a silver beam. I hope to present my respects to her today at four on board my yacht." Ali.
Well, that was a surprise.
I showed my present to Jessica.
She examined the sumptuous gem and gave it back to me laughing.
"Darling," she said, "this little crescent of diamonds may be the prelude to a summit prick and pussy meeting between the East and the West."
I guessed what she had in mind. We smiled at each other. "Maybe," I said, "he seems every inch a man."
At four I was on the wharf.
I saw the yacht "Crescent" at its moorings, and marveled at its beauty. It was white and supremely elegant.
In the bows there was the royal flag of Ergezan, black and green with, in the middle, the crescent and the crown.
An Egyptian policeman, wearing white gloves and toupee, was standing guard at the gangway.
I went forward. He saluted, but barred my way.
"The access to this yacht is forbidden, madam," he said, politely.
"I've been invited by Prince Ali," I retorted.
"One moment, please."
He blew his whistle and two crew-men ran up from the yacht.
They bowed politely and one of them said in excellent English:
"Prince Ali, our master, is waiting for Mrs. Peters in his suite."
The guard stood aside and let me pass.
The Prince was waiting for me at the door of his suite.
After the classical hand-kissing and a few polite and friendly words, he asked me to come in and presented me to two couples sitting inside, one European and the other from his country. They welcomed me warmly.
I noticed that after a little banal talk and drinking a few glasses, they left, and I gathered that the prince must have told them beforehand that he wished to remain alone with me.
He offered his arm to me and proposed that we should visit the yacht. I accepted with pleasure.
It was a marvel of comfort and luxury.
At the end of the visit, we arrived in the prince's stateroom.
He was very polite to the end and never ventured a wrong gesture, but, fixing me with his large black eyes, he told me:
"I'm going to tell you something and I would like you to believe me, although it will sound like a bad scenario. When I saw you last night I had the impression that a ray of sun was lighting the horizon of my life. Your radiant blond beauty made me forget the serious problems that weigh on my mind and which I proposed mentioning later.
I won't use with you the long poetical sentences generally used by people of my race, for I had a western education, so I'll go straight to the point: you told me you had the intention of visiting the Orient. Well, my yacht will leave to-morrow evening for my country. It will sail through the Suez Canal and the Red Sea, and I can assure you the sight is magnificent. If you have no other project, will you accept to be my guest aboard my yacht for the trip? The friends you were introduced to just now will also sail with us.
If you will accept my offer, you'll make me a very happy man."
H had spoken in a low, calm voice, but the gleam in his eyes showed that, inside he was excited.
I remained silent a while.
I like the idea of the project but there was an objection.
That was that no doubt, during the voyage, the prince would wish to experience the effect of his princely pecker in my cunt.
As for me, I hadn't given a thought about making love with him.
So I answered diplomatically:
"Your Highness, I'm highly flattered by your generous offer, but it's difficult for me to answer at once. I'll have to think about it."
"You're quite right you need a few hours at least to think it over. But can you give me your answer by to-morrow morning?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
A happy smile lit his face. He accompanied me to the gangway, where he bowed low and kissed my hand.
His final words were:
"Allah is great, madam, perhaps He will make your pretty mouth pronounce the "yes"
I so much desire."
Ah, those Orientals, what lyricism about fucking they employ.
What was I going to decide ?
I was tempted by the ideal of that voyage, but an odd feminine intuition told me that this pleasure yacht seemed uneasy. Not because I thought of it being full of men, hard-cocked and sweating with desire, beginning with the prince.
No, it wasn't that. After all, I was going to make another sexual experiment, so the prince was a winner all right.
I would get laid by him there was no doubt about that.
But I was afraid of something else. What? I couldn't put a finger on it, and yet I felt it in my bones.
Prudence counseled me to refuse that invitation.
But, for a woman, even though she knows it's unreasonable, she's so tempted to say yes.
That is why, the following morning I was foolish enough to arrive at the 'Crescent' with all my luggage.
We weighed anchor in the evening at eleven, and about one a.m., while the Egyptian shore was still in sight, Prince Ali shoved his noble hard-on up my cunt for the first time.
He had been very correct about it and had obtained my tacit assent.
It took place in his sumptuous cabin, decorated with heavy drapery and carpets.
First, he undressed me with great art. When I was naked, I read in his shining eyes all the real admiration he had for what he saw.
Then his very soft hands cupped my naked titties lovingly down to where the skin is tender, and caressed me very pleasantly on my bush and pussy lips.
This Oriental knew the art of caresses backwards. As his thumb played with my clitoris, it became harder than I ever remembered it.
Finally, he took off his dressing-gown with a brisk gesture and appeared in his sculptural swarthy nudity. His cock was a truly a powerful specimen, smooth thick fully nine inches with a hard, rocket-like head. The skin around his balls was soft and silky, and then rippled as he moved.
He shoved the royal rammer up my cunt slowly at first then with passion. He tried to hold his ejaculation till the last possible moment, but soon he was moaning with pleasure and he came violently with a grunt, that hard cock-head spewing a load of super heated semen up my willing cunt. He remained awhile on top of me, breathing heavily and whispering love terms in his native tongue. Since it was the first time I had ever been fucked by a prince, I elegantly used my twat muscles to "milk" his dick of its last drop of creamy sperm. He groaned happily as my cunt worked on his cock-head. Me?
Same as ever, even the Royal load hadn't made me come.
As my new lover would probably say:
"It is written. Allah is great."
That was the end. I would not renew the experiment. I was frigid. For good. Too bad.
I would return to my husband. I would, for love and out of consideration for his feelings, pretend I had experienced orgasm, and that was that.
I have no ridiculous moral prejudices but it looked that no matter what cock I let traverse my cunt, I would never know the true joy of fucking.
I would never consider that making love with another man than my husband were very important, so long as it was a passing imagine. But unfortunately my case was quite different.
Under the pretext of seeking a sensation that kept eluding me, I wasn't, after all, going to sleep with an entire regiment.
I thought to myself:
"Prince Ali, you will be my last lover, the last link of a chain of guinea-pigs." My thoughts were interrupted as Prince Ali's quickly revived dong thrust into my cunt once again. As that huge cock-head parted my vaginal walls, I raised my hips and caressed every centimeter of his noble shaft. His palpitating prick was in me to the Royal balls, which softly slapped my outer pussy lips every time Ali drove his dong in as far as it could possibly go. He groaned with satisfaction as I skewered his asshole with my index finger and shoved it in up to the knuckle, as his ass rose and fell in hump rhythm. I twitched my cunny muscles around the head of his cock, and his torso began to jerk violently as his noble balls gushed another series of royal semen into my very womb. Again I milked him through his orgasm.
CHAPTER TEN
ROYAL ROMANCE
"By the Beard of the Prophet." Prince Ali exclaimed after his second ejaculation, "I have never enjoyed a fuck like this with any woman."
I pulled my index finger from his rectum and was surprised to receive the grateful lips of Prince Ali on my pussy and clitoris. He sucked away greedily, swallowing plenty of his own sperm along with my cunny-juice. I made believe he was making me come like a house on fire.
Of course, by now, the Prince, with his Oriental passion, was deeply in love with me.
Too bad. I would pay with my pussy to the Prince for the trip on his yacht.
I was to expect every night to have his rock hard prick penetrate my most intimate opening. I was to give him a pleasure I would not share.
But, to say the truth, he was quite nice and I liked him very much for his kindness, and, well, he would be the last one, so.. .I appreciated his Royal elegance and treatment of me, so I gave him whatever he desired from my body.
He treated me like a harem favorite, shoving his stiff penis into me a fantastic number of times during the day and night. Once he even spread my legs while I was following the call of nature on the commode. This seemed to arouse him tremendously and he thrust his terrific pecker-head right up my rectum. His shaft was so long that it hurt, and it was a shitty situation so to speak, when he ejaculated in my upper anus but Ali was so charming. I even sucked his pecker immediately after he withdrew from my rectum.
"If you do this, then I will believe you sincerely care for me." he declared in his regal manner.
There were only six passengers on board.
The two couples I mentioned and me and the prince.
On the other hand, the crew contained at least thirty men, all Matese.
The captain, a sturdily built fellow, in spite of his white uniform and braided cap, still looked very much like those Arabs that rape women in the desert.
He never failed to fix me with his fiery eyes whenever he saw me walking scantily dressed on the deck.
If it hadn't been for the Prince, it was obvious he would have tried to shove his prong in too.
Soon I realized that the premonition I had had before accepting the invitation looked like being true. For a few odd things were happening on board the yacht.
For one thing, the radio practically never stopped working, sending messages.
And nearly without stop, a sailor devliered wires to the Prince who read them quickly and at once dictated his answers. And as they were all written in his language I didnt' understand a word.
I thought the voyage would last a pretty long time, but I was wrong. We had hardly sailed beyond Suez when we started speeding up to an unusual rate for a pleasure cruise.
Then I overheard a conversation that edified me.
The prince was talking with the European couple, and, with them, he had to speak in English, so I could understand what they were saying.
"I hope to arrive this afternoon," the prince said.
The man answered:
"Your Highness, we must arrive this afternoon."
"I know, but we're doing thirty knots and the diesels are turning at top speed."
"Your Highness, you must try to go faster still. A delay of one hour could be fatal."
"Yes, my dear, but don't forget that the soldiers of the capital are all for me."
"Yes, Your Highness, but the Royal Guard and the superior officers will remain faithful to your brother."
"Bah. They're just a handful of men."
"Yes, but resolute and courageous. Believe me, Your Highness, order the captain to make the yacht go still quicker. We should arrive at noon."
The prince smiled and assented.
He called the skipper who gave the order:
"Engines at 3.000."
Soon the hull shook with the powerful drive.
I didn't want to stay ignorant so a few moments later I hailed the prince.
"Ali," I said, for I called him Ali when I was alone with him, "tell me the truth, what's the meaning of this unusual speed for a yacht? And why all these conspiratorial conversations, etc.? "
With his Oriental diplomacy, the prince said, playfully tapping my hands the while:
"Dear Venus, what strange ideas are you entertaining in that pretty blonde head of yours? Where have you heard any conspiratorial conversations? We're simply testing this yacht for speed, that's all."
"But you must admit that your haste to arrive in the capital is, to say the least, odd."
"Not at all. You are, in fact, the cause of all this haste."
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
All of a sudden, he became grave. He put his arm around me and made me sit beside him on a sofa, then he told me with a caressing voice:
"Rochelle, I have known many women, but you're the first, really the first to whom I felt I'm going to get attached.
I'm dreaming for you of the highest destiny. I hope that when we have arrived in my country, I shall be able to tell you: "Rochelle, darling, you're going to be a queen."
"A queen? But you can't be serious."
"Yes, I am. Don't forget it, I am a royal prince." I looked at him with eyes round with surprise.
"I repeat it," I said, "you can't be serious. I am Mrs. Peters and I intend to stay that way."
"We shall see, my love," he grunted as he reamed my rectum.
I stayed there for a while, thinking. I was beginning to get really worried.
I was alone as a woman on board this mysterious yacht with alarming men. In what hornets' nest had I put myself?
But how could I get out of it? One cannot very well step out of a ship in open seas.
I realized that I was at the mercy of the prince and his crew. Besides, what were all these men plotting?
I was soon to learn it.
At a record speed the yacht was bound for Haban, the capital of Ergezan.
The Prince was still considerate and loving towards me but I felt that he was very nervous. But it was impossible to get anything out of him: every time I asked him any precise questions, he replied something like this:
"Rochelle, darling, I shall lay on your blond head a crown of diamonds and two million subjects shall be at your feet."
What could I do? Impossible to reason with this stubborn Oriental. Every time I tried he would shove his cock right up my ass-hole. About the only place on board the yacht he hadn't bugged my rectum was at the dinner table, and I was afraid that would be next.
The following day, about noon, he showed me at the horizon a black line where one could already distinguish hundreds of square white patches that were in fact houses.
He took me by the arm and proudly said: "Haban, my capital."
Then he harped back on the same theme: "In a few hours you shall enter that town as an absolute mistress. Rochelle, never will my country get a prettier queen."
I preferred not to answer. In spite of all the cold-cream I used on it, my rectum was getting sore from his dong.
I looked for a long time at that land which was drawing nearer and nearer.
Suddenly we heard a boom and a green flare appeared flashing up with a hiss from the shore.
That signal made everything change in the yacht.
Feverishly, the crew rushed down into the hold and soon emerged from it dressed like soldiers and holding submachine-guns at the ready.
The skipper blew his whistle.
A small boat was lowered, and ten men boarded it and sped with it towards the shore, soon followed, by a second one, likewise manned.
At last, the prince appeared on deck. He was dressed in his richest uniform and accompanied by two officers, also dressed as for a gala.
"Rochelle, my dear Venus," he said.
"I'm telling you good-bye but only for a few hours, for soon you shall come and join me and all this ( he swept his hand towards the town) shall be yours. You shall reign at my side on all this kingdom."
He bowed and saluted, with his hand on the peak of his gold-braided cap.
He and the two officers boarded a third boat, smaller than the other two, and sped towards the shore.
I was dumbfounded.
A hand was laid upon my arm and a sailor told me:
"Madam, this place is dangerous. Please go into your cabin."
I was so nervous I'm afraid I was rude to the fellow.
"No." I nearly shouted.
"It's the prince's orders," he insisted.
"Shut up." I said.
I leant against the rail and looked at the capital.
Now the cannons were roaring uninterruptedly. Here and there fires started up in the town and black smoke curled up ominously.
Now I knew.
I was watching a revolution.
And what was I doing there, a British subject?
And how would it end up for me?
Two aircraft flew over the town. Suddenly one of them nose-dived. It had been hit by the other and suddenly it exploded in mid-air and flames shot out of it as it crashed down in the middle of the town.
"What a waste of a young, virile cock." I always thought to myself when I saw something like this happen.
In spite of the distance I could hear the sharp clacking of machine-guns and different noises that made it apparent that the whole town was in the turmoil of a revolution.
I remained a long time watching, engrossed by this bloody but exciting sight.
Suddenly a small motor-boat sped towards the yacht from the harbour. I recognized it, after a while, as being one of our boats.
Then as it happens in the tropics, the sun went down very quickly. But I could still distinguish the boat coming at full speed towards us.
At last it stopped alongside and there stepped out of it the captain, with his uniform all torn and mud-spattered, and, with him, ten men, also in a bad state, and some of them injured.
The skipper hurried to his post and shouted into the loud-speaker:
"Get under way. Weigh anchor."
The anchor was taken up in a deafening rattle of huge chains.
The captain then gave orders to speed towards the north, then he came back to the deck, panting.
Only then did he give a thought to me.
In English he told me, taking me by the arm as if I were a cabin-boy:
"Madam, go to your cabin. Your place isn't here."
I started and answered in an icy tone: "I don't have to take orders from you and, besides, what's up?"
"It happens that Prince Ali is a prisoner, that the coup d'etat has failed and that His Highness, before being captured, ordered me to escape with this yacht, which must absolutely not be seized by the police launches of the government.
I'm going to try and make for the territorial waters, I mean go beyond them.
In the absence of His Royal Highness, I am the only master on board and I order you to go down to your cabin. Your life is at stake."
I could see coming from the harbor, a few luminous points that were growing in size.
"You see, those are the police launches that are pursuing us. In a few moments they're going to open fire. Please don't talk and go down below."
He took me by the arm and drew me downstairs.
At that moment, we were dazzled by the glare of the searchlights from the launches. Then a spout of water spurted up alongside the yacht and at the same time a strong detonation was heard.
"That was the warning for us to stop," the captain explained.
He let me go for a while and went up the stairs, and gave orders to speed up to the maximum.
Then he ran down the stairs and blew three times on a whistle. Men appeared and, to my astonishment, removed a few tarpaulins under which were hidden guess what yes, guns.
Now I understood that the pleasure yacht was in reality only a camouflage.
Then orders were given to fire.
So we were answering the warning with firing at will.
The skipper leered lewdly and, taking me again by the arm, rushed downstairs with me. He opened the door of my cabin, pushed me inside, ordered:
"And now, don't move from here, understood? I have other things to do than to take care of you. His Highness gave me a mission and I obey his orders, that's all."
And he left me and locked me in my cabin.
Although I have always considered myself a strong and resolute woman, I confess that I felt despair taking hold of me then.
Put yourself in my place. I was locked in a boat manned by rebels and bombed by government launches.
I really got scared.
Especially since I knew that in addition to everything else, the Captain had a real hard-on for me.. . .
The hull of the yacht was vibrating under the effect of speed, and dull booms and thuds showed that the enemy fire was far from abating, and that from the yacht itself they were firing as much as they could. The captain had obviously no intention of surrendering.
It didn't take much brains to reflect that sooner or later we were bound to be hit by an enemy shell and sink.
I remained prostrate on the sofa.
Suddenly I was thrown to the floor by a brisk shock. The floor shook and my ears were assailed by a terrible booming sound accompanied by a sharp and dazzling flash of light.
Maybe I lost consciousness for a moment, I don't remember.
After a time I couldn't say how long the door of my cabin was hurriedly opened and the captain came in. He was pale and haggard and his eyes were feverish. He almost shouted: "We've been hit. I struggled to the last. We're now surrounded by seven launches. I don't want to surrender alive to the government men. But you are neutral in this combat. I'll launch a boat with a white flag and put you in it. The sailors of Selim III will pick you up. That is the order of His Highness." I stared at him.
Then suddenly I saw his expression change. He came towards me with his eyes looking fixedly and his hands outstretched.
I got up instinctively paced backwards. He stopped a moment then, with his eyes afire, he spoke excitedly:
"You mocked me when I looked longingly at you in the semi-nude, while you were walking on deck in a bra and panties only. I'm sure you were laughing at the idea of me, an Arab, who dared to want your white skin and golden hair.
Well, now you're going to pay.
Before attempting to save you, on the orders of my master, I shall taste all the delights of your body. Yes, take you as I have done so many times with women of my country. Only I've never had a European woman before, you understand? So, before I die, I shall at least have one. To take a proud woman, to shove my common cock up the cunt of Prince Ali's woman oh what a wonderful victory.
I have nothing to fear, for as soon as you've left this yacht I shall give the order to scuttle this ship and I'll die with it. The sailors of Selim III will not have me alive.
So, I shall take you, you, the beautiful
European girl, it will be my last joy." He came towards me.
I took hold of a vase and threw it at him. He ducked and the vase broke into fragments against the opposite wall.
Then he pounced.
I felt his hands cling to my light dress and soon it was ripped open.
Big hands took hold of my naked breasts. I clawed at his face.
But he didn't seem to feel the pain. He only laughed satanically and shoved me on to the bed.
I fell on it and I was there stripped naked and with my breasts pointing up at him.
He pulled off his pants, baring a very thick, stiff cock with a flaring circumcised head almost double the thickness of his cock-shaft. I screamed in terror, afraid of being ripped apart by his monstrous prick. He continued brutally to proceed with forcing me to fuck.
With his knees he tried to pry my legs open. I struck him with my heels. He brushed them aside with an iron grip and threw himself on me.
He acted like the unrestrained beast he was. He held me forcibly by the shoulders. I tried vainly to lift myself up from the sofa.
My efforts only resulted in accelerating the thrusts of his body. One brawny arm forced my thighs apart, then his hands pulled at my blonde bush until I moaned in pain and terror.
"Spread your legs, or I will pluck your pussy bald." he grunted.
As I exposed my cunt, his bull-prick began to thrust in. As he forced that enormous pecker-head up my hole, I yelled as my vagina was stretched to its utmost. Finally his shaft was completely rammed in and he began an animalistic debauchery of my cunt. His cock hurt only after the first brutal penetration, then as he kept fucking, his prong slid easily on the copious pussy-juice drenching my cunny.
He was now panting with pleasure. I was vanquished. I could only remain passive and submit.
So I surrendered to this hungry male, this harsh man who was raping with such satisfaction the violated cunt of a woman whom destiny had offered him on the last day of his life, on a yacht that was going to sink.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SURPRISE
As that blunt, bull-prick forced its way to the hilt up my vagina again and again, I could feel his swarthy, hairy balls plopping against my labia and asshole. That's how enormous even this powerful brute's balls were. But instead of my vagina being dry with fear, I was surprised at the copious flow of warm woman secretion overflowing my hole.
That tremendous pistoning prick-head was beginning to give me a tickling feeling way up my uterus.
Suddenly I experienced a most formidable sensation. I was literally lifted up by a wave of happiness and delicious voluptuousness. I screamed in sheer ecstasy.
An eddy of fantastic enjoyment sprang up from my womb, my cunt and spread all over me in a carnal frenzy.
I remember I now embraced my humping aggressor passionately, uttering muffled cries as my clitoris seemed to have caught fire when his boiling sperm shot in torrid floods, filling my cunt, and overflowing down my legs.
Meanwhile I realized vaguely that the yacht was listing and that a violent blow made our bodies roll over on the carpet of the cabin.
But what I was feeling was so intense, so new, so deliriously thrilling, that I only half realized, as in a haze, that I was being seized in his arms and carried away by him, still numbed in a divine torpor.
I literally was overcome by ecstasy, not fear, and fainted.
When I came to, I was lying in a bed. Everything around me was white: the walls, the floor, the furniture.
Of course, I uttered the classical words:
"Where am I?"
A shape, also white, sort of wafted up to me. As it came near my bed, I saw it was a nurse.
She told me a few words in an unknown tongue, took my hand smiling and went away. I can't remember anything after that, until, some time later, the door was opened and two men came in.
One of them was wearing the classical white jacket of hospital doctors. The other had on a gray uniform with red and gold badges on the shoulders.
The doctor came up to me smiling and told me in excellent English: "I can see you're better." He felt my pulse.
"Perfect, quite normal," he said, "but I'd better examine you thoroughly."
He said a few words in a language I didn't know to his companion. The latter saluted, and went out.
The doctor threw back the bed cover and began a detailed examination of my naked body.
He felt my throat, my breasts and my stomach. He made me sit up, then told me to get up. -
I tried, but, as soon as I had put a foot on the floor, I had to cling to his arm.
"My head's swimming, doctor," I said.
He smiled.
"Of course, you're weak, very weak, but that's all. We'll fix that. I'm going to give you a very unpleasant diet: champagne, roast beef, eggs, fish, etc., and the recommendation to eat and drink as much as you can.
I laughed.
He went on:
"I can predict that in two or three days you'll feel like running and dancing, maybe even more," he winked.
I wondered if he had gone as far as to examine my semen-flooded pussy. Was that why he winked?
He went towards the door and called the officer, who came in, and they talked for a while.
Then he came back to me.
"In two or three days you'll be fit and you'll be able to leave this hospital, and then General Pasha Moolay Ahmed would like to see you in his office."
"Who is this general?"
"His Excellency, the Governor of the city of Haban," the doctor explained.
"Ah, I see. But, please, can you tell me where I am and what happened?"
"I'm a doctor, and I received the order to look after you as best I could. But, as for the rest, I was instructed not to answer your questions. However, I can tell you that for the last three days you've been in this hospital, which is the best in town."
"Does that mean I am a prisoner?" I asked.
"Not at all. I can assure you that, as soon as you're fit, you'll be entirely free. Meanwhile, try to get strong and fit as soon as you can, that's the important thing."
Having said those words, he left the room.
I was alone, and I thought hard.
Slowly, memory came back to me: Prince Ali, the guns, the bombed yacht, then suddenly a precise vision: the captain, the struggle, the rape and then "
Then: that immense wave of sensual pleasure which had lifted me up, this unusual joy I had felt for the first time.
So it was true: I, too, had known that climactic pleasure just like the other women I had at last become a normal woman, vibrating, capable of feeling voluptuousness. I owed the blunt, bull-prick of the captain an eternal debt. I, too, could now not only give pleasure to a man, but receive it from him.
I sat up in my bed, with my cheeks afire and I laughed out loud, a bit insanely.
I threw back the bed-sheets and contemplated my naked body, that body which had at last given me happiness, pleasure and voluptuousness.
I contemplated it for a long time, then I lay down and smiled happily. Coming with a man was a most wonderful thrill. Even if it took a fearsome rape to give it to me.
When I woke up, two women were at my bedside.
One was a nurse and the other a European.
In a somewhat faltering English, she told me:
"Good evening, how are you?"
"I've come to take your measurements."
"Whatever for?" I asked.
"To make you a tailor-made suit, something really smart."
I didn't realize at once, but then the little gray cells started working.
Of course, I thought to myself, my luggage and all my clothes had probably gone down with the yacht.
I got up, aided by the two women, and the seamstress took my measurements with a dexterity that showed she really knew her job.
Two days later, completely recovered, I left the hospital. I had received the promised tailor-made suit, which fitted me very nicely. I then followed the officer who was to take me to that General Pasha Moolay Aimed who wanted to see me.
A sleek black Mercedes bearing the arms of the Court of Haban, coursed through the city of Haban and stopped in front of the palace of the Governor.
I was ushered into a sumptuous office, where a man, aged but still far from impotent welcomed me warmly. He was dressed in the same uniform as the officer who had been with the doctor.
He was the famous General Pasha Moolay Ahmed, Governor and Chief of Police of Haban.
He got up from his seat at his desk and came up to me, and bowed.
He motioned me to sit down and spoke in a Cambridge accent:
"Madam, His Majesty Selim and I are really very sorry for all that has happened to you.
You boarded a yacht of our country in perfect confidence and you were submitted to ordeals that have made us ashamed.
In the name of the government, may I apologize for all the inconveniences you have experienced, and beg you to accept compensation for the loss of your luggage and personal belongings ? "
"Very kind of you, General," I answered, "and I'm not complaining for, after all I boarded that yacht of my own free will."
"We know that, ma'am, and also that you knew nothing about the plot that was being hatched."
"Certainly, about that I knew absolutely nothing."
"We believe you, ma'am, but it is our duty, as legal government of this country, to put right the wrongs inflicted on you by a prince of the Royal Family, although a rebel, with whom we never were in very good terms.
Apart from the settlements of the compensation in money for your lost baggage, we shall, if you would like us to do so, take you in a fast launch up to the nearest British port, that is, Aden.
There, you will find airplanes going in any direction you wish to go."
"Thank you, General, I accept your offer."
"Very well, ma'am."
I was still curious about many things.
"General, the doctor who treated me in the hospital refused to answer questions about how I was brought to the hospital. Could you answer that question, please?"
"I will. You remember you were on the rebel yacht as it was being gunned by our launches?"
"Perfectly."
"Well, at one time the white flag was hoisted on the yacht, so we ceased fire. Then a small boat, also bearing a white flag, was lowered from the yacht and you were escorted by a rebel sailor up to one of our launches which took you up."
"And how was I?"
"Unconscious."
"But in which state?"
He hesitated, for a second or two.
"You were completely naked, except for a blanket wrapping you."
"I see, thank you."
He was tactful enough to skip that point, but he added:
"As I was saying, you were unconscious, and we rushed you to the best hospital in town."
"May I ask you a few more questions."
"Certainly."
"The yacht, what happened to it?"
"It sank."
"How?"
"Thanks to the precise gunning from our launches, it was already close to sinking, but the captain scuttled it."
"That implies a certain courage," I remarked.
The General stood up very erect and, in a dry and cutting voice, said:
"Madam, a great European writer said: "one cannot be a hero against one's country."
I thought to myself: "touche," and did not pursue the point.
"One last question, please."
"Yes?"
"So the plot failed miserably, didn't it?"
"That is correct. The Royal Guard and three quarters of the army remained faithful to His Majesty."
An instinctive feminine curiosity made me ask the last question: "And Prince Ali?" The General didn't answer. I insisted.
"General, please be lenient. The prince.. . "
He interrupted me abruptly, and his eyes took on a hard expression.
"Madam, the Prince, was a rebel, guilty of an attempt against the safety of the State and besides, guilty of the crime of lese-majesty."
"Yes, but "
"Please, ma'am, don't insist." He paused, then explained:
"Prince Ali was shot at dawn yesterday."
This was a very regrettable price of news. With my new-found "come-capacity," the elegant, royal jazzing of Prince Ali was a thrill I was looking forward to in Monte Carlo, Paris, Capri. I would have jetted anywhere with the handsome Ali, and would have let him jet his spurting come into me anytime. Especially now, when the feel of his torrid semen in my twat would really turn me on.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JOY
A few hours later, I arrived aboard a launch at Aden.
I had my fill of Orient, plots and revolutions. I was in a hurry to go back to Europe, to live again in London or Switzerland and particularly near my husband.
I sent him a cable:
"Cured stop Longing to be near you stop Arriving London Tomorrow BOAC 643/22 stop Love."
I had a quick meal and boarded the plane I had reserved as soon as I had arrived in Aden.
Comfortably sitting in the cozy first-class seat, I was feeling very happy, with the thought ever present in my mind that soon I would be in my husband's arms again, and in my beloved home.
Suddenly a terrible doubt assailed me.
Was I really cured?
True, I had felt for the first time an intense voluptuousness, but then the conditions had been very exceptional. I had actually "come" and loved it. But there was a lurking fear in the back of my mind.
To speak bluntly, I had been raped. Besides, at that moment, I had been in a really very odd atmosphere: a man had been raping me aboard a yacht that was sinking. That man had thrust a most unusual cock forcibly into my cunt while cannons and guns roared ahead, and I had felt a wave voluptuousness for the first time. Wasn't it due to the extraordinary circumstances, and had my sub-consciousness worked precisely on account of that?
It was a worrying dilemma, a burning question.
How I was longing for my husband, for he alone now would be my man, and I would soon know the answer to my question whether that my voluptuous orgasm was a one-time fluke or if I would experience it for keeps.
The closer the plane got to Europe the more nervous I became. Although I was, and still am, a rather calm and unexcited person, I was exceptionally agitated during that trip, I can assure you.
At the different stops the airplane made, at Athens, Rome and Paris, I paced up and down feverishly in the airport corridors, eager to resume the flight to London.
At last, from the windows of the jet I saw the English coast.
Then, on schedule, we touched down at Croydon.
Rodney, my husband, was there, smiling and as considerate as ever. I threw myself in his arms. I kissed him on the cheeks, the forehead, the neck and also on the mouth, to the consternation of a few conservative people who were watching us with a disapproving expression on their faces. But I didn't give a damn for what they thought.
In the car, I hardly gave Rodney time to tell me what a fine complexion I had-I pinched him, kissed him unceasingly even ran my hands lightly up and down his cock through his pants, until he told me:
"Darling, you're wonderful, that trip has really transformed you, I don't recognize you."
"Oh?" I said, pouting.
"But you've changed for the better, I'm really happy to see you like that," he reassured me.
"Well, then -"
"Then what?" he asked.
"Then drive faster, I want a welcome home hump from my husband.
He burst out laughing, then feigning seriousness, he uncoiled the arm I had passed round his neck and said:
"I don't mind driving faster, but on the condition that you keep still. To begin with, take your hand off my thigh. You feel like making love and so do I, but you go on caressing my dick, we'll drive into the ditch instead."
So I took my hands away from his prick and was a good girl for the remainder of the drive.
As soon as we came in, I ran to our room. "One, two, three, hop." I tossed my clothes to the most unlikely places in my joy and haste to get undressed. In less than a minute, I was naked and ready for my lord and master to come and shove his tool into my eager, impatiently wet pussy.
He was quite dumbfounded by my exceptional speed.
But I didn't give him time to think. I literally undressed him from head to foot, and he was so surprised that all he could do was to stand there passive and let my busy hands rid him of his clothes.
A few moments later I was Eve facing Adam.
I took hold of his hard-on and pushed him on to our bed.
And then, yes, my happiness occurred again.
He had hardly had time to touch my breasts and caress a little the divine temple of my sexuality, my juicily moist pussy, and stiff clitoris, when I came with immense joy.
Yes, before he had even put his prick into my hole just through the contact of his flesh, his fingers, his mouth.
But when he really thrust that professional cock of his way up into my vagina, when I felt him it seemed I was in an unreal world, joyously immersed in flashes of lightning voluptuousness and thrilling orgasms.
When he let go of my spread thighs, I remained prostrate, unable to move or think, so great my joy and emotions had been.
Now I know what I had been missing.
I embraced Rodney tenderly, squeezed his naked body against mine and burst out crying with joy, for now I was sure, at last that I would experience voluptuousness forever.
EPILOGUE
No one had come to disturb our privacy and so she had been able to tell me the whole story in detail.
She concluded:
"The famous psychiatrist Doktor Luftmann had been right. Remember what he said? Something like this:
"I don't know exactly when, but with a new partner or in a different atmosphere you may find the right climate that will trigger off in your nervous system the psychophysical combination that gives orgasm, and once you have experienced it, the function will become natural and you will have become normal for keeps."
Those words were prophetic, for since that day I have always had the most intense, delightful comes. I love making love for I now experience a divine voluptuousness and wonderful happiness."
We were alone in the compartment, and as the attractive woman leaned over me, I could see her sexy cleavage. Smiling, she began to stroke the burgeoning hard-on I could scarcely conceal in my trousers.
I didn't object in the slightest as she unzipped me and took the head of my stiff penis in her warm mouth. As she began to suck, I vaguely wondered how she would classify the taste of the huge load of sperm I was about to spurt in her tantalizing mouth.. . .
