BOOK I

Sous les Toits de Paris

God knows I've lived in Paris for long enough now that I shouldn't be amazed at anything. You don't have to go deliberately looking for adventures here, the way you do back in New York ... all that's necessary is to have a little patience and wait, life will seek you out in the most unbelievably obscure places, things happen to you here. But the situation in which I now find myself ... this pretty thirteen-year-old naked on my lap, her father busy taking down his pants behind a screen in the corner, the buxom young whore sitting on the couch ... it's as though life were viewed through a distorting glass, recognizable images are seen but discredited.

I've never seen myself as a cradle snatcher ... those men you watch being hustled away in the public parks, always a bit shabby, a little shaky on their pins, explaining that the child had dust on her dress and they were brushing it off ... But now I must admit that Marcelle with her hairless little body is exciting me. It's not because she's a child, it's because she's a child with no innocence ...

look into her eyes and you see the monster of knowledge, the shadow of wisdom

... she lies across my legs and squeezes her naked figlet against my fingers ... and her eyes mock my hesitance.

I pinch her lengthening legs, cover one entire cheek of her restless ass with a palm ... the roundness and shapelessness of childhood have scarcely left her body. She is a woman in miniature, a copy as yet incomplete. Her cuntlet is damp ... She likes it when I tickle it with my fingertips ... she's feeling the front of my pants for my dick ... her fingers frighten me when they sneak into the front of my fly. I hold her arm ... but she's found my bush. She clutches my coat and pulls herself so close to me that I can't keep her away from my dick, she begins to play with John Thursday ... well, she'll find him hard ...

The whore sits shaking her head ... Such a child ... such a child, she says ...

these things should be forbidden by law. But she watches every move eagerly. In her trade one can't afford to feel excitement, whores live only when they've learned to sell their cunts and not their passions ... but I can see emotion coming into her body, her voice is already thick with it ...

She calls Marcelle to her. The child doesn't want to leave me but I set her off my lap ... I'm almost grateful to be rid of her. Why does she want to be a--well, a bad girl, she's asked. She doesn't answer, she stands between the girl's knees and the whore touches her bare body. Does she do these things every night with papa? Yes, every night when they're in bed ... she is defiant, triumphant ... And when papa's working, when he's away in the daytime? The little boys try to make her do things sometimes ... she never does it with them, nor with the men who want to take her for a walk.

Her father steps irritably from behind the screen. The young lady will be good enough not to question the child ... he produces a bottle and the three of us have a drink of stinging brandy. "There is a thimbleful of white wine for the daughter.

I sit with the whore on the couch. She's as grateful for my presence as I am for hers, she has forgotten her trade or she'd take her clothes off when I reach for her leg ... instead, she lies back and lets me feel up her dress ... her legs are big and solid.

Marcelle is on her father's lap in the chair. She plays with his dong and he diddles her between the legs ... she raises her little belly and he kisses it, her spread legs show his finger sliding up in her tiny hole. Her mousetrap stretches when she puts one of her fingers in with his, and she laughs ...

The whore's body is hot, and when she spreads her legs I find that she's wet between them. She has a bush as big as my hand and as soft as feathers. She lifts her dress in the front, takes my dong out and rubs John Thursday's nose against her whiskers ... will I pinch her breasts, she moans, and would I be offended if she asked me to kiss them, perhaps to bite? She's catting for a fuck, that she's been paid to come here has nothing to do with it now ... she'd probably give the money back and something extra besides just to get a cock into that itch under her tail now ...

Marcelle wants us to look at her. She's bending over her father with his prick in one hand, gesticulating with the other, and calling loudly for an audience.

She's going to suck him off, she tells us, don't we want to watch her put it into her mouth? Her old man beams like a hashish addict, everything's rosy now. He's halfway out of his chair, waiting for the little bitch to take it.

I wonder if her pleasure is half as much as it seems to be ... she's been taught, that's seen at once, it hasn't all come out of her imagination. She rubs her nipples with the end of her father's dick, puts it where it would be between her bubs if she had any, and cuddles it ... then she presses her head against his belly, kisses him there, kisses his thighs, kisses his bush ... her tongue looks like a red worm hiding in his black hair.

The whore grabs my hand and holds it between her legs. She's so hot that she almost screams when the filthy little cunt suddenly pops her father's cock between her lips and begins to suck it. Such things cannot be, she exclaims, and Marcelle goggles over and smacks her lips a bit to prove that they can ...

Marcelle wants me to fuck her. She leaps onto the couch and pushes her way between the girl and me ... there's something so fascinatingly horrible about her that I can't move. She slides into my arms, pushes my cock with her naked belly, opens her legs and places my dong between them ... I turn onto my back to get away from her when I feel her bald cuntlet touching the end of my dick, but she's straddling me at once.

"Fuck the dirty little cat!" The whore leans over me with narrow, excited eyes

... she pulls the bosom of her dress and pulls it half off her shoulders ... her teats press my shoulder. I hear Marcelle's father too--"Fuck her! I must see my little darling be fucked!"

Marcelle stretches her tiny split fig, holds it open and pushes it down against my dong ... the little monster gets it in somehow ... I watch my dong stretch her to twice her size. I don't know how she manages to take so much ... but her bald cuntlet seems to gobble me up, it takes my cock in and in ... for a moment I have an urge to throw her beneath me, spread her child's legs and fuck that splitting little trap until it bursts, open her and open her with my dong, fuck her baby womb and fill it with jism again and again ... She's fucking me now, has her sweet ass against my bush, the bareness of her cunt hidden by my hair ... she's laughing, the puppy, she loves that cock in her ...

I throw her from me, push her off the couch, but she doesn't understand that I don't want her, or if she knows she doesn't care ... She clings to my knees and licks my balls, kisses my dong with her red lips--suddenly I see that they're painted--and takes it in her mouth before I call stop her. She sucks me, and I'm almost coming ... she gurgles and pants over my cock ...

"You loony bastard!" I yell at her father. "I don't want to fuck your damned kid!

Fuck her yourself if you have to have her laid!" I shove my dong into my pants and Marcelle runs to her father. "I must be as nuts as you are to have come here in the first place ... I'm certainly not drunk ... Now get to Jesus out of my way!"

"Papa!" Marcelle cries. I think she's frightened by my violence, but she's not ...

not that little monster. She shines her amber eyes at me. "Get it now, Papa! Get the little switch so she can beat me while he fucks me! Oh, Papa, please!"

I absolutely run out of the house. I'd kill somebody if I didn't get out, and I tremble so badly when I'm on the street that I have to stop and rest against a fence. I feel as though I had just escaped from something dark and bloody, something out of a nightmare ...

"Monsieur! Monsieur!" It's the whore following me. She clutches my hand desperately. "I threw his money in his face, the dirty old pig." She sees me reaching in my pocket. "No, I don't want any money ..."

I pull her behind a fence into what must be a lumberyard. She stands solidly against me, holds her dress around her ass and lets me fondle her bush. She's so hot that her cunt has wetted her legs farther down than I'm interested in feeling

... her cunt opens against my fingers and she takes John Thursday out.

There's a pile of boards to lie on. They're rough and damp, and she'll probably spend the rest of the night picking splinters out of her ass, but none of that matters ... she wants to be fucked, and she'd lie on a bed of nails if she had to.

With her legs spread she hooks her high heels into a crack and raises herself while she tucks her dress around her middle.

"Monsieur ... Monsieur," she sighs. You'll never know, you wonderful bitch, how grateful I am for this night ...

I dig John Thursday into her whiskers. He hadn't a brain in his bald head, but left alone he can fend for himself. He can manage somehow. He slips through her bush and butts her rectum.

She has a flood coming down from her tail, this whore. There's no stopping it

... you could stuff towels, blankets, mattresses between her legs, and it would still pour down to engulf you. I feel like the little boy who had to stop the break in the dike and had nothing but his finger. But I'll plug it, I'll fill it with my dong... .

What was it like? That's what she wants to know, that's what she keeps asking me. She can't forget that hairless cuntless cuntlet even when my cock is nudging into the very gates. The way it stretched and closed over my prick stays in her mind, she says. That little bare body slipping against me ... ah, if I could have seen how it looked to someone else! But what was it like?

And when the dirty little puppy held my dong in her mouth, that painted baby mouth, and sucked it, what did I feel then? Oh, such a wicked, wicked little girl she is, that one, to even know such things exist! And so on. But won't I just lift a bit, at her hips, to make it easier for Jean Jeudi to slip into his stable... .

Monsieur!

An army has marched through her legs ... an army uncounted and nameless and half forgotten. But she'll remember this night. It's an event in her life when she gives it away for nothing, that won't be forgotten so easily. I push my cock into her ripe fig and she pulls at my coat to keep me down and close to her. She's not a whore now ... she's only a cunt with an ache that must be rubbed away ...

The ache won't remain long. I'll fuck it out, fuck out the memories too of those others who had you. Who were you with tonight? Who screwed you? Does it matter and can you remember even now? In a day or a week they will have marched on to join those others who have come before. But I will remain, you won't pass this one by so easily ... my cock is in you, and there it will stay, even after I am gone. I will leave something that you will never forget, I will give you a little parcel of joy, fill your womb with a heat that will not cool ... You lay beneath me with your thighs strained apart to receive it, and your whore's mouth whispers words you have said a thousand times before to a thousand men. But that doesn't matter. Before me there were no men, and after me there will be none. It is not your fault if you have no unused phrase for what you feel ... it is enough that you feel ...

I club her thighs with my dong, taking it out of her and pushing it into the soft wound again and again, taking her anew time after time. They have left her ravaged and open, easy to take and easy to fuck, all those others. But I fill her, she knows she's being fucked this time. She pulls her dress away from her shoulders again and offers me her teats. I rub my face against them, sucking and biting.

I grab her ass in both hands and crush the meat while I slip my cock toward her womb. If it hurts her, neither of us know or think about it. My balls lay in a hot pocket, a hairy nest under her tail. The boards rattle under us like the jangling bones of a skeleton.

Jism gushes out of my dong as freely as water out of a hose. The whore suddenly puts her legs around me and holds me tightly ... she's afraid that I'll stop and she hasn't come yet. But I fuck her for a full minute longer, coming into her womb even after the fire in her has been quenched and her legs fall to my sides again ...

The whore lies sprawling on the pile of lumber after it's over. She doesn't try to cover herself ... she acts as though she had forgotten where she was, and she seems to be completely fucked out and contented. But I'm afraid that she'll remember and try to wheedle her few francs out of me, want me to buy her a drink, pay for a taxi, tell me of her ailing mother ... I take the first bill I find in my pockets, wipe my cock on it, and lay it crumpled on her bare belly weighted with a coin.

The streets receive me, as bleak and foreign as before... .

 

Tania's letters will find me, no matter where I go. Two arrive, one in the morning and the other by late post. She is lonely! ... .

... . . think I will go crazy if I have to go another night without a fucking by you. I keep thinking about that big prick and all the wonderful things it does, and I would give anything I own if I could just feel it again, and take it in my hand. I even dream about it! It isn't enough to have Peter fuck me. Sometimes it is hard to keep from coming to see you, even when I know you would probably be angry with me and not treat me nice.

Don't you ever think about me and the good times we had together? I hope that you do and that sometimes you wish I were there in bed with you, sucking you off, playing with your cock, and fucking, Mother wishes you were here to fuck her too, I can tell because she talks about you so much. She is always asking what we did, just what happened on the times when you fucked me and even what we said! I don't think she is letting anybody but Peter fuck her now.

She has Peter and me go to bed with her every night and she makes me suck her off a lot. I don't care, I like to do it, but I wish that you were here so that I would be fucked more often ... . .

And so on. "Love from Tania," closes this letter. The second one is longer.

Tania has discovered a new thrill and, as she writes, I have to tell you about it right away. Isn't that strange? It's because I would like to have you do it to me.

Everything that anybody does to me would be better if you were the one who did it to me. I guess that's because you have such a big cock. When I think of how big your cock is I feel goosepimples come up all over me. And I was even thinking of you part of the time when he was doing it to me!

I was so glad to have a man fuck me again (Mother watches me like a hawk) that I could hardly wait to take the time to undress when we went to his room.

He wanted to lie on the bed so we could play with each other, but I kept getting so hot that I couldn't stand it, and he had to fuck me. I was acting so crazy that he was afraid I might jump out of the window or something. Oh it was wonderful to feel a man fucking me again. Peter is kept so busy fucking Mother that he isn't so much good any more, and this was the first time that I have had a good one since you went away. He dragged me all over the room! He had already fucked me twice when he told me that he was going to show me a new trick, but he didn't have any trouble getting his prick hard. I just let him put it in my mouth and sucked it a tiny bit, and in a minute it was just as good as ever! Then he laid me on the floor on some soft pillows and had me lie on my stomach while he started to fuck me up my ass.

It was wonderful, of course, although it wasn't as wonderful as when you ram that big cock of yours into me that way, but then I was just a little disappointed because it wasn't really new after all. Then I suddenly felt something new and strange. At first it felt as though he had come and the jism was going into me, but then it began to squirt hard and I knew that he was making pip in me! Oh what a queer and wonderful feeling that was! His big cock was stuffed into me and nothing could get out, it all went up inside. It was so hot that I felt as though I was burning all through me, and I could feel it squeezing into every bit of my insides.

 

It seemed as though he would never stop, and it crept up and up in me, making me feel all swelled up like a pregnant woman. When he was all finished he took his prick out very slowly and said that if I held it in, it would all stay in me. You can't imagine how I felt after he had taken his cock out, lying there with a man's piss inside me and feeling it all through my stomach every minute.

Then he took me into the bathroom and I let it come out again, litres and litres of his pipi pouring out of my ass while he stood in front of me and made me suck his Jean... .

 

I'll confess ... . it gives me a hard on to read Tania's letter. I know the little bitch so well ... so fucking well, I might say ... that I can imagine the entire performance as well as though I were there. I can close my eyes and see every gesture, every move she would make. I go marching back and forth across the room with a dong that would do credit to a stud horse. I don't know why the thought of pissing up that smooth round ass should evoke such results, but I can't get rid of the damned thing.

I go for a walk, feeling that one leg drags slightly. I'm bait for every whore on the streets, and they all make a pass at me ... they're experts at judging a man's condition. But it isn't a whore I want. I want another Tania, but one with whom it will not be necessary to become so deeply involved.

I do not find her on the streets.

 

Ernest has a wonderful view from his window. An art class, the real thing, where the students take turns in posing for each other because they're so poor that they can't afford a professional model. When I'm up in his place we sit and watch them for a while. I like the spirit the people in that place show. They goose the model as they go past, give her bubs a pinch, tickle her in the crotch ... she's a nice tight young blonde with wide hips and she doesn't mind a bit. Ernest tells me that there was a young fellow posing the other day and the girls bothered him so much that if their sketches were honest they must all have shown him with a hard on.

It's a fine thing to see art come to life. Back in New York they used to have phoney sketching classes where the bozos who mooched around the burlesque houses used to go. Fifty cents paid at the door and they gave you a half hour of looking at a naked cunt. All done, of course, with the strict understanding that you weren't really looking at a cunt at all ... you were looking at something called Art. But these youngsters--they're all kids, even the instructor--know what it is they're after, the girl on the soap box is a naked girl with a bush around her cunt and juice between her legs! She's something alive, to get your hands on and your prick into, and if the boys stop to give her a feel, if they pinch her ass and do their work with their cocks up ... their work and the world will be the better for it.

Ernest tells me that he's always had good windows ... all but one time. The one he didn't like was one which gave him a view into the apartment of a couple of fairies ... the real things, the kind that even your grandmother would recognize on the streets. It wasn't so bad just having to see them sucking each other off or sucking off their boy friends, Ernest says, but they were continually bringing home sailors and being beaten up the next morning. The mornings were awful, he tells me, and besides there was always their wash with the silk pants hanging out the window every morning.

The most convenient was at a place where he lived with a whore named Lucienne. The house she worked in was next door and Ernest could look over and see the bed where she took her clients. It was very comforting, Ernest declares, to be able to look over and see his Lucienne at work and know that the rent was being provided for.

This leads into a discussion of the women with whom Ernest has lived at one time or another. The list he makes astonishes me until I discover that he is cheating. Any woman with whom he has spent more than ten minutes he counts as having lived with.

"Shit," he says, speaking of one when I challenge her position on his list. "I took her to dinner, didn't I? And didn't she sleep in my bed that night? Bed and board, if you give them that they are living with you."

Ernest is astonished to learn that I've never laid a Chinese. I'm astonished myself. With all the chop suey joints back in New York you'd think I'd at least have gotten next to one of the waitresses. The subject of races comes up, and Ernest is prepared to give me advice on all of them. Don't try the Japs or the Chinks in the whorehouses, he warns me. They're all shaved and bathed and perfumed but they carry a skull and crossbones between their legs. They take on any man who comes along and wow! SYPHILIS! The galloping kind that carries you off in six months, nothing that you can pass off as a bad cold. The far Eastern brand of the syph, Ernest insists, has a special deadliness for the Occidental race. It all sounds like shit to me, but Ernest is positive enough to scare me away from the Orientals forever.

Then, when he has the piss scared out of me, Ernest tells me that he knows of a nice little cunt who's quite safe. She's not a whore, just a nice Chink girl who he knows, and there's not a chance of catching anything. Her father has an art shop, one of those joints filled with salvaged junk that was probably thrown out of the palaces with the garbage a few hundred years ago, Buddhas and screens and ratty chests, and so on, and the girl helps with the place and waits on the young blades who come in looking for a jade necklace.

Ernest writes the address on an envelope and gives it to me. I may have to buy something just to keep up appearances, he says, but it's a certain fuck if I work it right. He isn't going with me ... he has a date with some cunt who paints and he's going to try to fuck her into doing a portrait of him for nothing, but he assures me that it will be all right.

"Find out if they sell cocaine, will you Alf?" he asks. "I promised to get this cunt of mine a little ... she's never tried it. I'm afraid to go back to my old neighborhood for it. I owe them a little bill yet and they're sore because I moved away ..."

 

Armed with this address I take a stroll down to this shop after I've done my two hours in the office. On the way I change my mind half a dozen times, and I almost go off with a black wench who gives me the signal from a park bench.

There was a time in New York when I spent almost every night in Harlem. I was nuts about a black cunt for a few weeks and wouldn't touch anything else. I got over that, but I still like it, and this girl is so husky and black ... shit, she looks healthy enough to withstand a barrage of germs. Ernest really has frightened me with all his talk about catching something. But I pass her up and go on.

I never know how these things are done. When I'm stinking drunk I can talk to any cunt on the street, make the most insulting propositions without batting an eye, but to go into this joint cold sober and make my little speech ... it's too much for me. Especially when I find that the girl is one of those cool, poised bitches who speaks perfect French. I expected to have trouble understanding her accent, and instead she makes me feel that I speak French like an American tourist.

I don't know what the fuck to say. I haven't even the slightest idea of what I want to buy, if anything. She's a pretty cunt, I'll say that, and she's as patient as she is good looking. She shows me everything in the damned shop ...

I like her looks, especially the odd way in which her nose is flattened against her face and pulls her upper lip up. Nice ass and bubs, too ... something there I hadn't expected. I've noticed that most of the Chinese women I've seen appear to have no teats, but this cunt has a beautiful set. Still, they're not quite the thing to begin a conversation around.

Using Ernest's name doesn't help matters a bit. I was sent here by a friend, I explain, and I mention Ernest, but she doesn't know him! So many people are in the shop every day, she suggests politely ... I find that I have bought a hanging, a gorgeous thing with dragons to hang on my wall. The cunt smiles and wants to give me a cup of tea ... her old man rattles out of the back of the shop and whisks the hanging from under our noses ... he's going to wrap it.

I don't care for tea, I tell her. I was thinking of going around the corner for a pernod, and I would be charmed if she would accompany me. She accepts! I can't say a word ... I stand gaping like a fish and she trots back through the shop.

She comes back wearing a trick hat that makes her look more Parisienne than the Parisiennes and she carries the package under her arm. I still haven't invented anything clever to say and our departure out of the shop is made even less graceful by a little bastard of a street urchin who tosses horse turds at us from the gutter. But the cunt has wonderful poise ... we march down the street with a grand air and I'm soon at ease ...

Questions! She wants to know who I am, what I am, my entire history. Also the matter of my income comes up. I don't understand what she's leading up to, but she begins to talk about jade. There is a little trinket, she tells me intimately, which has just been smuggled in, a true gem of the emperors which must be sold for a mere fraction of its worth ... and she mentions my month's salary almost to the sou.

 

I'm curious. There's obviously something fishy, and I get the impression that she wants me to understand that she's shitting me. Where can this stone be seen, I ask. Ah, everything comes to light, then! It's not safe to have it about the shop, she tells me ... so she wears it on a silken cord tied around her waist, where its cool caress on her skin speaks of its safety. The purchase would have to be made in some secluded spot far from the shop ...

It's a wonderful game once I understand how it's played. This cunt really has imagination about selling her body. But her asking price! I begin to haggle with her and over the third pernod we agree that a week's salary will be the price of this piece of jade. I'll have to live on credits until the ghost walks again ... I've never paid so much for a tail, but this cunt makes it seem to be worth it.

I don't doubt that she has a French name like Marie or Jeanne, but in the taxi going to my place she coos something that sounds like the piping of a flute ...

Bud of Lotus, she translates it, so I call her Lotus. It's all such a marvelous fraud

...

I add my part to the show. As soon as I have her tucked away in my rooms, I run down to buy some wine from the concierge and serve it in the small green glasses that Alexandra bought for me. Then, when Lotus is to show me the stone, I spread the lovely old hanging on the floor for her to stand on.

The bitch must have played a year in burlesque to learn a strip routine like the one she showed me. Artfully, she leaves her stockings and shoes on after everything else has been tossed off. And there's a red silk cord around her belly with the piece of jade hanging in her bush. It looks very neat, that little piece of green stone, snuggling into that bit of black. She leaves her clothes heaped on the dragon spread and offers it for inspection ...

The stone is the cheapest sort of junk, of course, but it's what's under it that I'm interested in. Lotus doesn't mind when I pay no attention to the thing ... she smiles quickly when I pinch her thighs and run my finger between her legs. There is an odor about her that reminds me of the tiny scented cigarettes that Tania used to smoke ... she smiles down at me while I sit on the edge of the chair and run my finger into her tail. She says something in Chinese, and it sounds fascinatingly filthy.

 

I've forgotten all of Ernest's dire warnings by now. With the dong I've got I'd probably fuck her even if she did have a dose, and trust to a quick cure ... but it's so fresh smelling and pink that I'm positive everything's all right ... she lets me pull her fig open and sniff at it ... then she moves away from me again. She breaks the cord at her waist and drops the stone into my palm.

I fuck her on the floor, right there on my new hanging with a pillow tucked under her head. I won't let her take off her stockings, not even her shoes. To the devil with the embroidered dragon ... if she gouges his black eyes with her heels, if we leave a stain that won't come off, so much the better for it. I go after her fiercely ... a French whore would object to such violence, the biting, the pinches, but Lotus smiles and submits.

Do I enjoy to squeeze her teats roughly? Very well, she presses them into my hands. And if I bruise them with my mouth ... she gives me her nipples to bite. I put her hand on my dong and watch her long almond-colored fingers squeeze around it. She murmurs continually ... in Chinese. Ah, she knows her business well. Her customers pay well for that spicy breath of the Orient and she knows what it is they buy.

Her legs and belly are quite hairless ... it's only at one spot that the well-kept goatee covers her. Even her ass, the damp skin around her soft cul, is bare. She spreads her legs when I touch her rectum. Her thighs are beginning to feel hot and slippery close to her fig. Her abricot-fendu is almost as small as Tania's, but it has a more mature feel about it ... it seems softer and more open ...

John Thursday interests her. She pinches his neck and pulls his whiskers. I stop feeling her up and she sits cross-legged between my knees to play with him.

Her con splits open like some ripe and rich fruit, and her stockinged thighs press against my knees. The stockings and shoes provide an anomalous touch that I like.

I couldn't tell by looking at her whether she was excited or not. But that damp patch around her silky muff gives her away. It spreads and shines between her thighs, and the smell of cunt slowly cuts through the odor of the scent she uses.

She pats John Thursday's head and tickles my balls. Soon she's stretched out full length between my legs with her nose pushing along my dick and into my bush ... her hair is blue-black, straight and shiny ...

 

I don't know what they teach their women in the Orient ... perhaps cocksucking is neglected there, but Lotus has had native French teaching. Her tongue curls into my hair and smooths against my balls. She licks my dong, kisses my belly with her flat lips ... her slanting eyebrows arch together when she opens her mouth and bends to let John Thursday poke his head in ... her eyes are wild slits. Her arms slip around me and her teats are warm against my balls as she sucks me off.

I scramble over her ... she sits up with my dong still in her mouth, still sucking it, but I push her flat and crawl down to her open crotch. I rub her bush with my cheek and my chin, tickle her bonne-bouche with my tongue. I lick her thighs and even the flat crease between them ... I want only to feel her thighs close and draw me in, pull my mouth to that deep-split fig. I throw both arms around her waist and pinch her ass while I lick the cunt juice from her skin and from the spread mouth that offers itself. Quickly she throws herself upon me. Her conillon presses my lips and her legs are weak and open. Her juice drips into my mouth while I suck the hairy tail.

She seems to tremble when she feels my tongue in her cunt. She can't think of enough things to do to my dong in return ... she bites it, licks my balls, does everything but swallow the whole works. She even pulls her fig further apart with her fingers, until I have my tongue so far in that it must be tickling her womb.

Suddenly there's a flood. She's come, and she almost bites my prick in two. I let her fuck my mouth with her juicy thing ...

I want to see what she looks like, what she'll do when John Thursday blows up in her teeth ... I lie on my back again and watch her work over him. Her head rises and falls slowly. The look of surprise ... She's found something warm coming into her mouth. Then her slant eyes close. She swallows and sucks, swallows and sucks ...

The Chinese, I've been told, or I've read someplace, measure a fuck by days rather than hours. When I ask Lotus about it she laughs ... She'll stay all night if I want her. And could she please take her stockings off now?

I'm hungry and I suggest going out for something to eat, but Lotus puts me right. When a man buys a Chinese woman, she says, he's bought a woman, not something to fuck like a goat. She brings all her talents to him ... and Lotus can cook. I like the idea, so we dress and go out to buy some food.

As soon as we're in the place again we take off our clothes and Lotus makes a meal with a towel pinned at her waist, covering her front but leaving her ass bare. I lie on the couch and she pauses to kiss my cock each time she passes me

... she's an agreeable cunt and she doesn't mind if a pot burns while I'm feeling her up ...

After we've eaten we try the bed. Lotus thinks it would be nice if we did the tete-beche again, but I want to fuck her ... I jump onto the bed after her and immediately ram my dong up her tail. She stops talking about the so wonderful tete-beche when she feels what John Thursday is like under her ass.

It doesn't make any difference to Johnny what color she is. She's warm and wet and hairy around the edges, and that's all he requires. He really spreads himself. He fills all the cracks and crevices, and when he's in I tuck his whiskers around to cover the corners. A few swabs with him and the girl begins to glow ...

she wiggles her round, yellow ass and begs me to take the itch out of it ... it doesn't matter that she jabbers most of the time in Chinese, we understand each other perfectly. Her small feet cross between my knees in back ... her soft, naked thighs are stronger than I thought ...

She's a positive relief! I think of Tania, remember that bookkeeper with his half grown daughter, and laugh. The white world is upside down ... a man has to find a Chink for so simple a thing as a quiet, normal fuck. Lotus laughs with me, without knowing why we're laughing ... perhaps if she knew she'd be laughing at me. She's a good cunt. I start to fuck the hell out of her. It's a great thing to have a bitch who can laugh while you fuck her.

And she's no whore! A concubine, rather. Lotus brings her passion as well as her talent for cooking ... it's accidental that money's involved. The money simply buys a jade trinket ... If she pants in your ear, it's real, if she moans softly you may be sure it's because she feels. She has life in her body, juice to oil the works, and she gives them ungrudgingly ...

I play with her bubs and she wants me to suck them again. The nipples, I discover, have a lemon ring about them like a Chinese moon ... Ah, Lotus, you'll soon find that you have a Chinese firecracker in your cunt ... I'll singe your ovaries with Roman candles and sky rockets will flash through your womb ... The spark is catching ...

Lotus may fuck in Chinese, but she comes in Parisian French.

Later in the night we become very gay over our wine and Lotus teaches me a few filthy Chinese phrases, each of which I forget in turn as I learn a new one. I fuck her again and again and in the morning I find she's gone, leaving a cheap jade trinket tied with a silk cord to my tired prick.

 

Visitors! Two of them. Sid, whom I have not seen since the night when we gave Marion such a hell of a going over at his place, and a cunt. Or a female. They perch politely on the edges of their chairs and we talk delicately of the weather or literature or something equally safe. She's a Miss Cavendish. A Miss Cavendish, with no first name. You need only hear her hoity-toity "How do you do?" to know that she is something that will be forever England.

Miss Cavendish, Sid explains, is a friend of his sister who lives in London. The explanation seems purely conversational and it seems that the visit has no purpose save a politely social one. But Sid goes on to say that Miss Cavendish is going to teach in Lyons and, since the job does not begin for almost two months, she plans to spend some time in getting acquainted with Paris.

One has to be civil, even with a female who wears tweeds and cotton stockings. I ask cheerful questions, just as I will cheerfully forget all about her tomorrow. And where is she staying?

Her glasses gleam as she turns toward me. "That's one of my problems," she says. "Sid has suggested that I might be able to get an apartment here." She takes a look at the place as though she were just seeing it. "It appears very nice

... and inexpensive?"

"Oh sure," Sid assures her. "Alf, you'll fix things, do all the arranging, won't you?"

I'll arrange to wring his fucking neck! But there's nothing to do ... she's moving in somewhere in the house. Anyway, she has nice legs, and there's an outside chance that she may be good for a fuck. But what a fine fucking friend Sid is! I wish that I could see her without her glasses ...

 

When she is settled, says Miss Cavendish, we must not forget her, for Paris can be very lonely for a single girl alone ...

 

Evening visitors ... Anna, back from the grave, and ten minutes later Alexandra. Anna is sheepish about our little party of a few evenings ago. She laughs about it, with embarrassment spilling over the edges of her laughter.

About what happened to her after she ran out of here without her clothes she is very vague. I don't press the subject. As soon as Alexandra arrives Anna remembers that she has another appointment. This time I remember to get her address.

Alexandra pours her troubles over my head like a libation. She is certain now that she is going for a trip to get away from Tania and Peter. Readjustment, she calls it. She sits on the couch and shows me her thighs while she calls the roll of the great sinners of history who have ended in the arms of Jesus. Perhaps ... who knows? ... she may even turn to the church herself, she confides.

"But would it be necessary to confess the details?" she wants to know. "Would the church have to know everything?"

I really don't know, but it's simple enough to see what she wants to be told. I give it as my opinion that Jesus would probably like to know the whole works.

Alexandra shudders deliciously. If she could only escape the children, she says, everything would adjust itself. But they seem to have an evil grip on her. And Tania ... she's far worse than Peter now that she's been to bed with her mother.

She comes parading her naked little body into the room and there's no escaping her ...

"I don't know what the end of it is to be," she says. She pauses, glances at me and quickly looks away. "Something really too depraved to mention occurred last night ... I tell you only because I know that you understand. She tormented Peter into ... into making his water right in my face while she had her mouth against my con... ." She wrings her fingers in distress. "The moment was ... but you understand. In passion the mind is clouded ... I believe I may have said something ... perhaps I said that ... I liked it. She called me a filthy name ... and bit my thigh. The mark still remains."

 

Never a word, of course, of the times when she's pissed in Tania's face. That little depravity is passed over and forgotten. She lifts her skirt along the thigh to show me the place where Tania bit her. The white flesh bulges over her garters.

And the mark, as she said, remains ... a round, perfect imprint of Tania's teeth high up and on the inside, a few inches from her cunt. She raises her knee and parts her legs while I examine it. I squeeze her leg and begin to feel her up.

She didn't mean that this should happen! Not much! She's made herself and me hot with her little slide-lecture ... she knows what she's after, this bitch. But if it's a sample of John Thursday she's after ... his head is already up. I lay her skirt up to her belly and slip her pants down.

What an ass she has! She could harbor a nest of white mice in the bush between the cheeks and never know that they were there; they could live cosily with never a care in the world. I tickle the hair and she begins to warm up. Her fingers go into my fly and John Thursday leaps out.

While we lie there playing with each other she reveals more of her adventures with those fuck-nutty kids of hers. She talks more freely as she becomes excited.

Peter, it seems, now believes that sucking off a man makes him more potent... . it threatens to become a habit. I'm glad that I'm out of that asylum, but it's nice to hear what goes on there ...

Do I guess, she asks me, why Tania has such a grip on her? It's because she likes so much to have her cunt licked ... and Tania does it so shockingly. Nothing stops her. If it weren't for that perhaps she could break away. And while she tells me this she rubs her bush into my hand. It's an invitation, she's waiting for me to bend down and give her fig the same treatment that she describes, but she's disappointed.

I squeeze my dong between her thighs and rub her abricot-fendu with the end.

She throws one leg over me and the split spreads. Alexandra reaches under her ass and sets my cock into the place where she needs it and manages to get a little of it in. She's so hot that she doesn't want to take the time to undress. I tell her that I won't fuck her with her clothes on... .

We compromise. Tania has told her so many things ... yes, she even knows that her precious Peter sucked me off that day before I left ... and will I fuck her the way Tania says I've done it? She wants me to do everything ... . everything that I've ever done to her daughter.

She sits up to take her clothes off, and as soon as we're both naked I yank her off to the couch and put her to her knees in front of me. I wipe my cock in her hair and give it to her to kiss. Ah, I pull her face into my bush and let her lick it.

A moment later I have it in her mouth, swabbing her throat. A few choice names go well too. She gobbles deliriously when I call her the bitch she is, in embroidered synonyms... . .

She slobbers over the end like a kid with a juicy lollipop. John Thursday is a mess but at least he's having his beard shampooed ... She tries to lick my bush while she's got him in her mouth and almost succeeds in smothering herself.

Then, when she's really working over my dong, when I've got her loving it so much that it hurts, I take it away from her.

Alexandra's too large to be tossed around like Tania, but I push her onto the couch and flop her legs up in the air. The whole underside of her, everything that's between her legs, sticks up. She raises the very devil when I suddenly push a finger up her ass and tell her to be quiet or I'll put my whole fist up there. With three fingers stuck into her rectum she's positively dizzy, but this is what she asked for, and I'm determined that she's going to get the whole thing.

She doesn't object when I turn my ass in her face and make her kiss it. She even licks the cheeks without too much fuss. But when I tell her to spread the cheeks and run her tongue over my rectum ... ah, that is really too much! She can't do that, not even if her daughter did, she begins to tell me, but I but it against her mouth and make her kiss it anyway.

Shit, there isn't anything they won't do if you give it to them in the right way.

In about three seconds I feel Alexandra's hot tongue slip into the bush under my ass and then she begins to lick it. I have to teach her the little game Tania invented, and soon she's running her tongue up my rectum and letting me shit it out again. And it makes her hotter, too ... . she holds my dong in a death grip ...

if anyone tried to take it away from her she'd probably begin to tear the joint apart, pull down the walls with her fingernails.

She must know what's coming next, but she pretends not to, so I make her name all the possibilities. Finally she hits upon it, speaking hesitatingly and as though hoping that she guessed wrong. It won't be, she suggests, that I intend to put my prick into her rectum. For a favor and a prize for guessing correctly I let her have another taste of John Thursday.

Oh, but not that, she pleads. She had forgotten, when she suggested this, that I had done that to her daughter ... but now she remembers ... how the little thing was stretched and stretched and almost split ... OH, ho! She doesn't know how it's accomplished, my prick is much too big.

She's faking, the cunt. And I finally win an admission. Well--doubtfully--

perhaps she did consider it now and again ... . it would be hard not to think about it after having watched me do it to her daughter. Yes, she might even have desired it to be done. I pinch her ass. What about it now, I want to know? Doesn't she want me to do it? Well... . DOES SHE? Yes, she thinks that perhaps she does want to do that.

I'm after her at once. I pull her around and set John Thursday knocking at her back door. She kneels with her legs far apart and hangs her head while I work him in. She doesn't object as she did when I first put my finger into her rectum ...

in that she is very much like her daughter. She simply waits for it to be accomplished.

Her rectum isn't as tight as I expected it to be. Either she's shoved candles up it or she's played this game before, I decide. My dong doesn't actually fall in, but there's none of the trouble I had with Tania, and quite soon I have it up there.

"You've done this before," I tell her. She is shocked. How can I possibly think such a thing? It's abnormal, to do such a thing as this! That's what the bitch tells me ... it's abnormal!

Let it be abnormal, then. I fuck her this way because I like it, and she likes it too. Just to make certain, I pull my dong out. She looks around and reaches for it immediately.

"Please!" That's all she says, and it's enough to tell me what I want to know.

But I tease her with it, start again to put my cock in and snatch it away. I like to hear her ask for it. I make her call herself a sucker of pigs, a five-sous licker of assholes, a whore who fucks dogs in the gutter. "Please put it back! I was lying

... I like to have it done to me... . Peter does it to me ... Tania's seen him do it ...

Peter does it to me, yes, my own son pedicates me! Put it in and fuck ... . Your cock is so much bigger than my son's... . My cocksucker son ... ah, it's so wonderful to feel your prick there! Your wonderful prick that we've all sucked ...

my son and my daughter and I ...

Tania's letter comes to my mind ... now she wishes that I would come to see her and try the new tricks which she has learned. Well, if the girl isn't here, there's nothing to keep me from trying it with her mother...

Alexandra positively screams when she feels the scalding piss let into her ass.

I don't know what she thinks, but it's a marvelous feeling for me. I keep my dong all the way into her and piss a stream. She begs me to stop, but I couldn't if I wanted to. I go on filling her with it until I feel her belly swelling in my hands.

She moans that she's coming ...

I pull her from the couch and she writhes before me on her knees. It's hot inside her, she whimpers, it's making her come in a way she never felt before... .

"Lift your face... ."

She clutches my knees and turns her chin up. "I know what you're going to do

... Quick, now, ... . . while I'm coming... . please do it..."

She kisses my cock and presses it to her lips while I piss, lets some of the piss fall into her open mouth ... Then, when it's finished, she stays on her knees and sucks my prick until another taste wipes out the old... . .

 

Miss Cavendish is a fucking nuisance. Or, to speak more correctly, a non-fucking nuisance. In plain language she's a cock teaser, all promises and no follow-through. In three days of living here she's invented three hundred excuses for three hundred visits ... or so it seems. If it isn't the faucet that drips it's her clock that won't tick. Instead of running down to the concierge she comes tapping at my door. The faucet needs nothing more than to be turned completely off and all that's wrong with her clock is that it hasn't been wound, but no matter

... she has her excuse to come in and tease around a while.

The glasses have disappeared, and she's really quite good-looking. The tweeds and cotton stockings seem to have been packed away too ... she blossoms out in organdy and silk. And she has thighs ... .

The thighs I discovered the first time she came in to see me. It's easy to do, I suppose, to show just so much and no more, to drive a man nuts by letting him almost--but not quite--see that extra four inches. The hard part is to keep him from knowing that you're quite aware of what you're showing, and at that Miss Cavendish is not so good as she might be.

I thought at first that she was catting for a lay. But a few feelers put out in that direction put me off that trolley! She hasn't the slightest intention of letting her pants down for a man ... at any rate, not for me... . but she teases and teases until I'd like to toss her out on her ass.

It isn't just with me that she plays her little game ... Sid was certain that he was going to lay her, told me all about it, and even offered generously to put in a good word for me. Now he comes around with the news that she must use the douche bag that hangs in her bathroom to clean her ears with. He can't get anywhere.

Women like that can make a nervous wreck of you if you take them seriously.

Two hours of carrying a dong in your pants and you're ready to go back to masturbation. And you can't help but take Miss Cavendish seriously. She's under foot too much of the time to be ignored. I have my nails bitten to the quick... .

Christ, you can't even cop a feel from her. She talks nothing but fuck. It's fuck-fuck-fuck every minute that she's around ... but nothing direct, of course.

Grandma might have called her a flirt or a coquette. She knows naughty stories about little boys and little girls ... but try to touch that ass! She'll bring in a new pair of pants that she's just bought and ask you to admire them ... . even lift her skirt and give you a comparative squint at the ones she has on ... . but don't try to get too close to the pair she's wearing!

Then, when you're ready to give up in disgust, she becomes somebody else.

The rules are changed, and she comes and sits on your lap. Then it's permitted to give her a little squeeze on the behind or play with her garters, but before you get anything more than a terrific hard-on she's gone again and you get a who-the-hell-do-you-think-I-am look the next time you try to touch her.

Last night Sid and I tried getting her drunk, but that didn't work worth a shit.

Oh she got a little edge on, she laughed easily, and she even let us have a few peeps at her cunt ... by way of those wonderful accidents she contrives to have happen. But that was all. When she had teased up to the point where the tension was becoming unbearable, she went home.

I'd let it go and forget her, but the bitch simply won't let me. This morning she came into my room with nothing but a bath towel wrapped around herself ... a big bath towel, but only a towel nevertheless, to ask how the lock on the bathroom door works ... .

 

Ernest is in bed when I call. He's been waiting to hear from me, he says, and he's glad to hear that Anna has turned up whole in mind and body. But he's more interested in my story about the little Chink he sent me to. I don't tell him that she cost me a week's pay... . .

It doesn't matter that I forgot to find out about the cocaine. He's off that cunt already, he says. She didn't want him after all. What she was after was a young Spanish cunt that she'd seen him with a few times, and Ernest is disgusted. The Lesbians are taking over the world under our very noses, he insists, under our very noses. A moment later he's made an epigram ... it's cunt that they're taking from under our noses ... from under our very noses.

Ernest acts uneasy, and I think that he may be expecting some cunt along. He lies with his knees drawn up and the covers bulked around them and apparently intends to stay in bed all day. I ask if he's feeling well. Oh yes, he's fine, just a bit tired ... and he fakes a yawn. Well, I tell him, I guess I'll mooch along ... and just then something moves under the bedcovers, at Ernest's knees.

I've seldom seen a man look so sheepish as Ernest ... . When I see what he's been hiding I have to laugh.

"Which sex is it?" I ask him. Ernest pushes back the covers and a girl of ten or eleven climbs out from beneath his knees.

"Another two minutes and you'd never have guessed it," he says. "But now look, Alf, Jesus Christ, keep quiet about this, will you? You know how it is."

The girl pushes back her straight black hair and wipes her forehead, on the sheet. She complains that it was too hot under there ... she was ready to die. She sits on the edge of the bed and stares at me.

"How the hell long have you been keeping this around?" I ask him. "What do you do? Give her peppermints to get her up here?"

 

She's the daughter of the people who keep the bar next door, Ernest tells me.

And, he says defensively, she doesn't visit him only ... . . everyone in the neighborhood knows about her.

"It isn't as though I just picked her up somewhere," he says. "Shit, there isn't a fucking thing I can teach her ... she knows everything now. Just ask her a few questions, you'll see that I'm not shitting you. It's only that she's learned to fuck a little earlier than most girls do."

The girl spreads her legs and shows me her bare figlet. She even pulls it open to be certain that I get a good peep.

"You can fuck me if you want to," she pipes up. "Only I've got to let Mr. Ernest fuck me first."

Does Mr. Ernest fuck her very often, I ask her? No, this is only the third or fourth time she's been here. He was just ready to fuck her when I came in... .

"Go right on," I tell Ernest. "I don't want to spoil anything." The girl has begun to play with herself with one hand and she's using the other to shake Ernest's cock up.

Ernest thinks that I don't understand. He's not doing anything that anyone else might do, etc. etc. On the other hand, I do understand, I assure him. I came close to doing the same thing myself ... in fact, strictly speaking, it might be said

... . So Ernest feels better.

"By God, Alf," he says, "you ought to try her once. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd admit it, but it really does give you a kick." He pushes the bedcovers back with his feet and sits up. He gives the girl a pinch on her ass and sets her shoulders straight. "Look at her. Isn't she a little beauty? She'll be a fine cunt when she grows up. And she's filthy as hell ... you ought to hear the line of gab she can toss out at you when she gets sore. And Christ, the stories she tells me! I don't believe half of them, but the half I do believe is bad enough. Did you know that they have a smell even when they're as young as this one? It's just sort of a suggestion, but it's there all right, all you have to do is get your nose close enough."

The girl stops playing with herself and grabs his dong with both of her hands.

She knows enough about pricks to understand what makes them big... . she bends over and lets her hair tickle it while she slides her fingers up and down.

 

"It's not like this was all I liked to fuck," Ernest goes on. "Shit no! I'm only trying this as a change. And she's big enough... . it doesn't hurt her or anything.

Jesus Christ, Alf, she's getting laid anyway... . I might as well try it and find out what it's like."

He'd be singing the national anthem in a minute, but the girl has him so excited that he's begun to stutter. She brings her mouth very close to his cock time after time and then draws away just as her lips are about to touch it.

"She wants to charge extra for sucking you off," he explains, "but she always forgets about it and does it anyway."

"Charge extra!" I shout. "Do you mean that they know enough to sell it at her age? By God when I was a kid ... ."

"Sure she sells it. But that doesn't make it any less of a good fuck... . ."

The girl stops playing with his dick and starts to diddle herself again.

"You see that?" Ernest says. "She's nuts about that cunt and the feeling she gets out of it. The money part doesn't have anything to do with it, some dope probably gave her a few sous once and she found that she could get money too.

But Jesus, Alf, when you get your prick into that little thing, when she starts to wiggle under you and rubs that little belly against yours ... . I'm telling you, it's like nothing you ever tried before."

"I don't want to talk," the girl complains suddenly. "I want to be fucked."

"That's the way it is, Alf ... . just like that, just like she said. Now watch her when she feels it between her legs. Shit, you'll think she's going to kill herself getting onto it. But she's plenty big enough inside. It's just the way it looks ... .

she doesn't take it in her cunt, she wraps herself around it... ..."

She doesn't touch Ernest's cock when he gets himself arranged over her ... she grabs his bush, a handful in each fist, and holds onto that. She lifts her ass a good six inches from the bed and seems to throw herself downward. It's amazing, but she has half of his dick into herself with just that one movement.

"The first time she did that I thought she was a goner," Ernest declares, "but that's how she seems to like it ... can you see it? Christ, I used to hold a mirror behind her ass just to watch it. You can see the whole machinery with this little cunt, not a hair to hide the facts of life. And you ought to see... ."

 

Whatever it is that I ought to see, Ernest forgets it. The girl has begun to wiggle, and each time she gives her ass a shake it squeezes his dick in a little further. Ernest wasn't cheated when they were handing out pricks, either; and it really does begin to look as though the girl might do something to herself that can't be repaired without some fancy hem-stitching.

Her cuntlet stretches and stretches, until it's more than twice the size that it ought to be able to reach. But never a squeak out of the little mouse ... she shakes her tail and tightens her legs around Ernest like a veteran. When it stops going into her it's because there isn't any more ... all that she's left outside of herself ... except Ernest ... is a mop of hair and a pair of balls.

"Just take a good look at it now, will you, Alf," Ernest begs me. "Just as a personal favor to me. I want you to take a look at it and then tell me it's possible.

Christ, I have had bad dreams about it at night, but I can't leave her alone. Ah, you little bitch, that's it. Wiggle some more! Jesus, I never had anything that was more like fucking a snake... ."

"What to Jesus are you going to do when you knock her up?" I ask him.

"What was that? What did you say? Knock her up?" Ernest becomes very excited. "Stop shitting me, she's too young to get knocked up ... isn't she? Hey, what about that, Alf? How young can you knock them up? They have to have hair, don't they?"

"Like hell they have to have hair. All they have to do is have a hole to put it in, and you can get them in a fine family way. You mean to say you don't use anything with her?"

"Don't shit me any more, Alf. Anyway, I'm not the only one that fucks her.

They couldn't prove anything on me... . could they? Hell, I'd drag the whole neighborhood into court, everybody around here lays her. Look, Alf, you wouldn't believe it if I pointed out some of the guys she tells me she's been fucked by.

Even some of the women, honest to Christ! Not whores, either. Just people around here."

He lies there with his cock shoved into the girl's tail and argues with me about the possibility of getting her knocked up. But the girl gets tired of hearing us talk... . she wants to be fucked, she says, and if Ernest isn't going to fuck her the right way she won't come to see him any more. So he swabs out her figlet a few times and then lets her take a couple that should have knocked her teeth crooked.

"Get this," he says. "See her ass twitching, sort of? She swears she's coming when she does that. Do you suppose she really goes? That's all that happens... ."

He goes to work fucking her again. "But Holy Jesus, when I come in the little bitch... ."

He grabs her ass and half lifts her off the bed. His dong drives in and the bed groans... . or perhaps it's Ernest. The girl keeps her legs far apart to help him go in as far as he likes, and I imagine that I can see her belly filling out... .

"God, she takes gallons," Ernest gasps. "Imperial gallons ..."

I'm actually shaky on my pegs when it's over. I'm in worse shape than Ernest, and he doesn't look exactly like a daisy. The girl passes the whole thing off with innocent nonchalance. She wants to know if I'd like to fuck her now!

"Go ahead, Alf," Ernest advises me from the bed. "You won't find anything like it again. But you'll have to do it on the floor or someplace ... I simply can't move an inch from the spot I'm in ..."

I tell the girl that I don't want to fuck her just now ... some other day, perhaps, but she comes over anyway and rubs her baby ass against my knee. If I'll feel her up a little, she tells me, I'll want to fuck her.

"They all do after they've felt me," she informs me. "Put your hand between my legs ... . you can feel Mr. Ernest's jism coming out of me now... ."

But I don't, I insist, I don't want to screw her, and I don't care to feel of Mr.

Ernest's jism. Then would I like to be sucked off? No! Played with, perhaps? Or if there's anything else I'd like ... . she slips between my knees and presses her belly against my cock... I have a real dong on, she can feel that, and she can't understand why I can have a hard on and not want to screw her. She suddenly asks if I'm a fairy! Or if I haven't any money, she says she'll let me do it on credit just this one time.

Just this one time! The French Caution appears early. But even the inducement of credit fails to sway me, so she finally decides that I'm really serious. Well, she says, perhaps some time again... . Mr. Ernest will tell me where I can find her ... she'll expect me... .

 

Miss Cavendish! A bitch on wheels if I ever saw one. This morning I got a look at her in the altogether as they say. It's some trouble with the toilet this time ...

she can't make it shut off and it's driving her out of her mind. Just why it should choose the moment when she is dressing to drive her out of her mind I don't know ... . these things are beyond the scope of normal intelligence. But there's a noisy toilet and of course I'm the boy who's picked to do something about it.

It takes about fifteen seconds to lift the top from the thing, loose the float and replace the cover, and in that time Miss Cavendish manages to get out of the few clothes she had on when I came in and strut calmly from her bedroom to meet me as I'm coming out of the bathroom door. Oh, she's terribly shocked and dreadfully embarrassed, of course. She simply hadn't dreamed that it was anything which could be fixed up so quickly ... she'd expected to be quite safe, running around the house that way ... she's carrying a small, white scarf and she drapes that eloquently in front of her.

That bitch! She stands and fumbles the scarf until she's sure that I've had a complete exposure ... teats, belly, cunt ... the whole layout. And it's not had, that I have to admit. Anna, perhaps, has better bubs, but Anna's an exception, you can't class the headlights she sports with the accessories that most women carry.

And I note that Miss Cavendish has one of those big, deep navels, the kind that you could keep a horsechestnut in. What I can see of her cunt isn't a hell of a lot, since she's standing, but she takes care to keep her thighs apart so that daylight comes through them ... . her mop hangs down in a reddish tuft.

She stands on one foot and then the other, giving me the full benefit of all angles, and when I have the complete plan blueprinted she turns slowly ... ah, you can be sure it would be slowly! ... presents herself in profile, and gives me the full read while she ambles back to the bedroom. And there I stand with a dong on and nothing to do with it.

I'd give my back teeth to fuck that cockteaser! Not because I think that she'd be such an incomparable lay, but because she makes me so fucking mad. I'd like to get my prick into her bush just once, just for the satisfaction of hearing her say a few well chosen words of apology to John Thursday ... just to knock her off her high horse, take some of the starch out of her sails, put a spoke in her wheel, and a half dozen other metaphorical phrases which add up to fucking the nonsense out of her.

 

It's Arthur who has the wonderful idea. Sid and Arthur and I are in a bar, all just a little bit tight, and Sid has told Arthur the sad story of Miss Cavendish, to which I add my little piece from time to time as the occasion seems to call for it.

Arthur, of course, is certain that we haven't been very smart about the bitch.

Now if he had her, things would be entirely different. In fact, since we've let him in on a good thing, he'll help to make things different for all of us. The wonderful idea is that we'll go calling on Miss Cavendish and fuck her. There isn't the slightest chance that it can't be done, Arthur says, because there are two more of us than there are of her.

"We'll go up and talk to the young lady," he explains, "and we'll try to get her to fuck us peaceably. But if she won't--zingo! We'll rape the bitch!"

Sid applauds heartily. If only he could think of things like that, he says. But his mind doesn't work that way, he never sees the simple, obvious conclusion ...

So we go calling on Miss Cavendish.

She's quite glad to have visitors, she says when she lets us in ... although we can see that she wasn't expecting anyone. She spreads the negligee she's wearing and lets us have a peek at her legs, leads us in and immediately provides a hospitable drink. While she's out of the room Arthur whispers to us that this is going to be easy, we won't have to rape her after all ... didn't you catch the way she eyed him when she made that crack about being properly dressed? He gets the horse laugh.

Talk begins to roll around the room ... Matisse ... Gertrude Stein ... I don't have to listen to take an intelligent part any more, I simply say the names, for no one listens to anyone else anyway. I keep my attention on Miss Cavendish. She's giving Arthur the works ... her knee becomes uncovered again and again and the negligee falls open halfway up her thigh. The poor dope goggles at her and waits for the thing to come open far enough to let him see her fig ... but if I know her there's a pair of pants under that negligee and Miss Cavendish has every intention of keeping them there.

 

It takes Arthur an hour to work his way to the couch at the same time that Miss Cavendish is there. Well, he'll find out ... She lets him pat her knee and feel her up a bit ... he can pinch her thigh from outside the negligee, but she won't let him get his fingers under it. When she leaves the couch he follows her, mooches around the place after her like a dog following a whiff of fresh meat. Sid and I pretend to be having an argument so there won't be any interference ... it's rather funny to see someone else getting spiked ...

Miss Cavendish has trotted out her naughty stories ... and a few personal reminiscences designed to let Arthur believe that she might be a tiny bit naughty herself. The next time she's out of the room he tells Sid and me that we're a pair of lunks.

"She's dying for it," he says. "What the fuck's wrong with you bozos, anyway?

Why she's like ripe fruit, all ready to fall off the tree into your hands. She's doing everything but asking out loud for it."

Here Miss Cavendish's voice cuts in. There's something wrong with the light in her bedroom. Won't someone come and see ... ? She's afraid of electricity... .

"There it is, Art," Sid says. "Now she's asking for it out loud. So you just run in there and see what you can do. If you need any help we'll be right in."

Arthur hasn't been in the bedroom more than a minute when there's a scream and the cunt comes dashing out with Arthur close behind her. The negligee's half off and as I expected, she's wearing a pair of pants under it. She runs into Sid's arms and snuggles her bare belly against him. Arthur, she gasps, attempted something unmentionable back there in the darkness.

Sid turns sternly to Arthur. "Why you nasty man, you," he says.

Arthur's tongue is hanging out and he doesn't see anything funny.

"Just give me the damned bitch," he says, "I'll give her something unmentionable to mention! Look at my fly! Who the hell do you think opened it?

She did. The bitch, she had me in there with my cock out and everything and then she wouldn't give it to me. Hand her over, I'll fuck her."

"That wasn't the agreement," Sid argues. "We were all supposed to screw her, not just you. Where'll we do it, here or in the bedroom?"

The difficult Miss Cavendish can't believe what she hears. She leans back in Sid's arms to see if he's kidding, and finds that he's holding her tightly with no idea of letting her go. She demands to be released. Sid gives her bubs a squeeze and tells her to be a nice baby.

Then, when she decides that we're serious about it, she begins by demanding that we leave at once and ends by pleading that she didn't mean to do any harm

... she was just joking, innocently.

"Then how about a fuck," I ask her, "a nice, innocent fuck, as a sort of joke?"

We can't talk to her that way! She'll scream if we don't release her at once or sooner! She'll have the police in to investigate if we make a false move. Ah, she'll see to it that news of the outrage reaches the proper authority!

"Look, Sid," Arthur says, "I can't stand this kind of talk ... it makes me sick at my stomach. Anyway, she might scream at that, and it hurts my ears to hear a woman yell, so let's fix her up so she can't make those noises."

Sid gives her one more chance to come across peaceably. She won't, she screams. What kind of a girl do we think she is, that we expect her to let three men misuse her? Arthur stuffs a handkerchief into her mouth and ties it behind her head.

"Say something," he tells her, and Miss Cavendish says "goo" in I think a British accent. "That's fine," he admires. "Now, you cockteaser, you're going to find out what fucking is like. You're going to be raped on your own god damned bed, since you won't let anyone in it any other way."

She kicks and scratches, but the three of us are simply too many for her. We carry her into the bedroom and toss her into the bed. Sid and Arthur hold her while I strip her.

I've never raped anybody in my life before this. It always seemed pretty silly to me, but that was before I ran into this teaser. Now I'm for rape one hundred percent, and I've seldom enjoyed taking off a woman's clothes as much as I enjoy stripping this cunt. I feel her up, give her a squeeze here and a pinch there, and the more she squirms and blubbers into the gag, the harder my dong gets.

Since it takes two of us to hold her down it is decided that the fairest arrangement all around is for us to fuck her in the order that we know her, one at a time. That makes Sid first, and he's in fine shape for it, too. Miss Cavendish takes one look at him with his pants off and squeezes her eyes shut. I can feel her trembling under me. I might feel sorry for her if I wasn't so fucking sore about the way she's acted... .

Sid takes his time about everything he does, even rape, it seems. He tickles her crutch and feels her up, beginning down at her feet and taking a long time to work back up to her bush again. He runs his hands over her belly, plays with her bubs ... then he spreads her legs and takes a peek into her fig. She's no virgin, he announces... . .

Miss Cavendish is scared shitless. Possibly she thinks that we've already made plans to get rid of the body when we're through with her. But she still fights like a cat whenever she can catch enough breath ... Sid has anything but an easy time making her hold still long enough to get his dong under her ass.

Arthur and I both lean over to watch his cock go into her ... Sid opens the bonne-bouche and rubs his dick against the struggling, straining thighs. Miss Cavendish stares mutely from one to the other of us. Somehow she manages to slip the gag partly away, but fright seems to have taken her voice ... she doesn't scream ... she begs us, in a terrified whisper to let her go.

"Please don't do this to me! I won't ever tease anyone again, not so long as I live ... I swear it! Oh, please ... please! I'm sorry that I was such a beast ... it won't happen again! Don't shame me any more . ."

But she's far too late with her good resolutions. Sometime later we may talk reasonably with her; but as Arthur tells her, she has a lesson to learn first. Sid slips his dong into her mop ... her thighs strain away. Arthur and I stop playing with her bubs and give Sid a clear road. Her belly quivers and quakes and I notice that her nipples are erect ... they stand up, large and dark in the center of the dark eyes of her teats... .

"NO . . no . . no . . no . . no ... ."

Sid has squeezed the end of his prick into her tail. He forces it in ... his balls brush against her smooth legs. He keeps her thighs spread and slowly gives it to the bitch. Her belly recoils from his as he leans against her and begins to fuck her. She moans. She doesn't want to look or have anyone see her face ... Sid holds her head and makes her open her eyes.

"Now, you bitch, how do you like it? This is what you've been teasing us for ever since I've known you ... why don't you smile? Aren't you happy, you lousy cunt? Feel that prick in your cunt, God damn it! I want you to feel it! Here, maybe this will help you know what you've got in there!" He fucks her so hard that it's impossible to tell whether it's her struggling or the fucking that tosses her about the bed. "You won't be so tight when I've screwed you ... it won't be so easy for you to keep your legs crossed when you have some poor bastard sweating to lay you ..."

For the first few minutes the cunt fights him. But nothing will let that dong out of her tail now, not before Sid's finished. She finds that it's no use ... she can't push him off ... her struggles become weaker ... she's defeated. There's nothing for her to do but let it be done. She becomes still.

"Ah, now she's becoming reasonable," Sid declares. "Maybe she's learning again that it's nice to be fucked ... she must have liked it once ... somebody's screwed her before this. We should have done this last week ... I think she enjoys being raped! You fucking teaser, you won't do your act so easily tomorrow!

Listen, stingy pants, there are three of us. Get that ... three of us. Three cocks just like the one you're being fucked by right now, and we've been kidded by you for a long time ... don't think that one fuck each is all you're going to get ... we're going to fuck you once and twice and three times ... God knows how often, until we've fucked ourselves out on you. We'll give you a night like nobody but a whore ought to know ... shit, maybe we'll go out and get some of the boys and sell fucks off you, maybe you'd like to be a whore ... But you won't be so spry when this is over, you won't be ready to hop through the daisies... ."

 

He's really fucking the piss out of her by this time. He's got the juice coming out of her by spoonfuls and he must have her womb opened up too. When he's ready to come I expect the bed to come down under us ...

"Here's a little something to warm your cunt," Sid yells at her. "Maybe there won't be enough to fill you right up to the edges, but don't worry ... you have plenty more coming ... Hold her, you guys ... She'll jump a mile when she feels it... ."

"Don't do that!" She begins to beg again ... having Sid's jism dropped into her trap seems worse to her than just having him fuck her. "You can't do it to me!"

 

But Sid goes on and shows her that he very well can. He pulls his dick out and as a parting insult shakes the jism off the end onto her belly. Miss Cavendish hides her head under the kicked up covers and moans.

Sid has accomplished at least one thing ... he's opened her up so far that it isn't the slightest bit tight when I climb on her. And she doesn't fight me so hard, either. Oh, she doesn't exactly throw her legs around my neck and shout a welcome ... she raises a minor bit of hell. Not another one, she pleads ... we won't make her go through that torture again will we? Haven't we had our revenge?

It's really nice to hear her beg after the way I've been treated in the past few days, and I tease her a while before I fuck her up, just to hear it. I've been going nuts thinking about putting my tail up her legs and now that the time has come when I can do it I get everything out of it that I can ... I tickle her bush with my cock, feel that fucked-open split that she's been such a bitch about ...

"Hey Sid," I yell, "she's got something coming out of her cunt! I think it's jism

... it's all over her legs. What'll I do about it?"

Sid takes a look at her and declares that it's at least half cunt juice.

"Shove your cock in her and push it back in," he advises me. "We don't want her to lose any of it ... we have to keep her nice and juicy for the next round ...

and if we decide to raffle off fucks on her or something, we want her to be nice for the boys ..."

"Jesus Christ, will you stop talking and give her a fuck, Alf?" Arthur protests hoarsely. "I can't just feel her teats any longer ... I'll come right in her face.

Honest to Jesus, if you don't give me a shot at her I'll have to shove my cock down her throat, and we don't want to have to fuck a corpse ... . so soon."

The girl is wrapped up in the covers by now, but I untangle her before I put my prick up her fig. I want to see all of her, I want to be able to feel everything and see just who and what I'm screwing. I let John Thursday sniff in her hair... .

.

There's a tide sloshing around inside her ... Sid must have tossed her one hell of a juicy cud ... either that or she's a damned wet fuck. My dong is positively submerged. John Thursday has to swim for his life in there. But it doesn't interfere with his pleasure.

 

"Come knocking at my door again sometime, will you?" I beg the girl. "Just come around tomorrow and rap three times. I'll be there, Johnny-on-the-spot." I slip my prick deeper and feel her become limp under me. "What do you have ... a clock that needs winding? A cunt that needs fucking? Just call on me, rap three times and I'll fix you up... . ."

I smack her bare ass... . God, it's a treat to be able to do that! ... I grab her bubs and lick them. Even if she has to be held while I do it, I CAN DO ANY

FUCKING THING I WANT! I stretch her conillon, let my prick head into her womb... . .

The room becomes seasick. Her cunt smells like the sea, and the world rocks like a boat. I lose sight of things ... I scatter jism like spray... . .

Arthur can't wait to have his turn. He pushes me off and gets between the girl's thighs. She's too weak to do a thing to stop him now. Her legs open weakly and she does not even attempt to keep them together against him.

One shot and he's in. He wiggles his cock under her ass and tries to climb in after it. She doesn't try to hide her face any longer ... she simply lies there and lets him fuck her ... it's no effort to hold her.

Sid puts his prick into her hand and tells her to play with it. She closes her fingers. I put my dick in her other hand ... it's still wet... .

"Don't fuck me any more ... please don't fuck me any more ..." She seems too weak to talk above a whisper.

Arthur stops fucking her. "Maybe we are fucking her too much," he says. "I don't want to hurt her even if she is a cockteaser."

Sid climbs down and looks into her fig. There's nothing wrong with her, he says. It can't be hurting her ... it's as fresh looking as when we started, just a little more open.

"Go to it," he says. "If there was anything wrong she'd let you know about it.

Listen you cunt ... yes, YOU! I want you to tell the truth... ... . are we hurting you, or aren't we?"

He looks so damn fierce that the cunt's afraid to lie. No, she says, whispering, it doesn't hurt her a bit. But she can't stand any more ... . . she'll never tease us or anybody else again... .

 

Which is all that Arthur wanted to know, of course. He pops his cock into her abricot-fendu and does his bit to widen the chamber. He groans like a tired camel and leaves her with a thick flood that soils her thighs.

"See this," he says, pointing out a patch of jism on the bed. "Tomorrow when that itch comes again you can sniff these spots and play with yourself... or you can chew on the sheets if you like to eat it."

Sid reaches between her legs, smears his fingers with jism, and rubs them against her lips. "Lick them off damn you," he says. "Maybe we'll let you suck us off if you like it ... maybe you'll suck us off anyway ..."

"I wouldn't trust that cunt to take my cock in her mouth," Arthur says. "I'd probably wind up with only half a cock and one ball. For Christ's sake, Sid, don't be nuts, don't give her a chance to set her teeth in you. I've been bitten by bitches, I'm telling you, I know what it's like... ."

Sid bends over Miss Cavendish and whispers in her ear. "How about it, you cunt?" he asks. "I'll bet that you've tasted cock before now, haven't you? Oh, don't be so fucking coy about it, you're among friends ... . . your nearest friends.

Did you ever have a prick in your mouth?"