Through all history, servants have been sexually exploitable. In Mexico today, maidservants are referred to as cats, and that term carries full connotative value of what a cat does; has kittens. Copulates. Is in heat. And that is merely a candid term to sum up a situation that always has existed.
A servant serves. He has very little control over his own destiny. If the servant is a female, by the very nature of societal structures throughout history, she has even less control over her destiny. A woman, even in modern America with all its supposed equality of the sexes, is at a certain mercy in a man's world. The maidservant, who is often a humble creature of little education and small background, is thus further encumbered in any struggle between the sexes. She serves. In many ways.
This is true even in the United States. For one thing, the maidservant comes from a lower stratum of society, where sex is experienced often. She is expected to copulate. Furthermore in the American society of this time of the sexual revolution, every girl is prey for every man's desires and the servant girl more so than her sisters.. If she doesn't "put out," she often doesn't keep a job. Copulation is expected of her.
This is ironic in a time of world history when the preachments of democracy are so strong upon all the nations, in a time when the United Nations through its agencies has been seeking to enlighten mankind about its obligations to its women. Exploitation is the rule of the day, more often than not, though it may be handled slightly more sophisticatedly than it was in ancient times when women and cattle were plundered by the conquerors.
Los Angeles California 1970
CHAPTER ONE
One of the biggest businesses of its kind in the United States is the recruitment of servant girls, particularly from Europe and especially from Germany. There exist agencies in Manhattan and on the West Coast that do nothing but specialize in that task. They provide a network for women who would come to the U.S. and from abroad and for those who are already in the U.S. and are of foreign birth; and they link the women to prospective employers. They do this through ads in foreign language newspapers at home and abroad and they circulate brochures in the neighborhoods of those who can afford such servants, bringing the customer together with his product and vice versa.
Most of the entrepreneurs in such businesses are legitimate. They believe in what they are doing. They maintain sincerely that they are filling a need. Essentially, the majority of such business people do not feel they are supplying anything other than the kind of service supposedly sought, a servant for a person who wants a servant. But at least one, Philip K., a young entrepreneur on the West Coast who makes contact through an agency in Manhattan, speaks otherwise of his function.
In a frank interview about the problem, he stated matter-of-factly, "I'm not a procurer and I don't believe I'm engaged in prostitution, but I would be liar if I said I didn't know that many of the clients I work for only want to bring the girls out here for fucking purposes. It's purely and simply a case of fucking and nothing more."
When asked what then happens to the girls, Philip K. shrugged. "Who knows?" he said. "Sometimes they get lucky and hook a guy. Sometimes they go home. Sometimes they actually stay as servants in the same place where they were brought originally to fuck or else in another household where they may be expected to fuck or finally to do what supposedly they were brought here in the first place to do, work at the business of being a servant."
According to Philip K., the largest number of employers of foreign servant labor on the West Coast are in the Los Angeles area and specifically in the environs of Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Bel-Air, and the small communities westward to Santa Monica and the ocean. Persons related in some way or other to the motion picture industry are prime employers also, Philip K. stated, and these facts have been corroborated by various Manhattan and other West Coast foreign servant employment agencies.
The girls, Philip K. stated, come with "stardust in their eyes." They are informed before they accept the employment that they will be working for someone connected with the motion picture industry, and they infer from that their own possible future stardom. "But that's important to understand," Philip said. "They are not told in any direct way that they ever will be given a crack at the movies. They are simply told they will be working for somebody connected with the industry. They take it from there, themselves."
In discussion with others about that particular aspect of the problem, it was indicated though not substantiated that certain persons are a main source of employment for such girls, that those individuals have only a tentative relationship to the motion picture industry, and that those persons seldom maintain the girls they hire for more than a minimum period of time. Philip K. confirmed this fact and noted an interesting corollary; that certain individuals who are engaged in such occupation operate, themselves, or have friends who operate marriage agencies. "In other words," it was stated, "the girls, after a brief employment, are released. The men who have hired them and provided bond for them and brought them to California then suggest that they want the girl to find a husband. Since that is one reason too why the girls come in the first place, the suggestion naturally is accepted. And the next step is to put the girl in circulation with prospective marriage partners."
This is done through another ad in the newspapers, one that advertises the availability of young women for men seeking marriage partners. A phone number is provided, and the interested male calls the number. He is then given an address to visit, and upon his arrival at that address is told that for a fee he will be given the name and address of a girl interested to date somebody. If the customer asks what will happen if he is not satisfied with the date, he is told that three or six or nine or twelve, some set number, of names and addresses will be provided him for the established fee which is a minimum of fifty dollars and often a hundred and two hundred dollars, each name and address to be given him upon his expression of dissatisfaction with the previous girl he has dated.
Nothing in this smacks of procuring, and there is no prostitution involved. The "date agent" even usually makes clear to the prospective "dator" that the girls are interested primarily in marriage, and if the party seeking the dates expresses a promiscuous interest in the girls, the date agent frowns upon that expression. He seems most concerned with the girls' welfare.
But in reality, though he certainly is not engaged in prostitution, he definitely is engaged in sex, and in a sense he is trafficking that sex. As one young German girl stated the matter when interviewed about the problem, "They don't sell us as whores, and none of us think of ourselves as whores, but the nature of the situation makes us fuck whether we want to call it by that word or any other one. In the end, that's what it amounts to."
The girl, Hildegard R., might be considered a typical product of the system. Twenty-one at the time of her interview, she had been in the U.S. three years, had been brought to California through the agency of Philip K., had worked for a middle-aged couple tenuously related to the motion picture industry, and was dismissed after a minimum period of time. Her employers, however, made arrangements with a friend of theirs who "just happened" to operate a date bureau, and she proceeded to file her name and address on his long list of available girls. Soon she was in business.
"Oh, it was not a whore business," she said in a special interview about the matter. "I want to repeat that. It was not a whore business. But it very much was a business otherwise. I was the Nordic on the list, I suppose you would say, the true blonde with pretty blue eyes and the ample curves of a girl who was raised on many potatoes and much cabbage. Oh, I was not the only blonde on the list, of course; for so many of us are from Germany where so many blondes exist. But I still fit into the Nordic type, you see, and I was called on for festivities involving Nordics.
"So, soon I was getting phone calls and I was going on dates. I was meeting prospective husbands, or so I thought. But of course they weren't prospective husbands at all. They were men who simply were looking for a piece of ass. And I happened to be one of the pieces of ass they were looking for."
It was important to realize, she said, that there were two ways of handling the situation. Or three.
She could accept the money which sometimes her dates offered her; she could ask them for money if they didn't offer her any and/or she could continue working as a domestic in someone's household.
"But you see," she said, "if I was a domestic somewhere, then I would be obliged to live in, and I wouldn't always be available for dates and I would hurt my chances for marriage, wouldn't I? But if I were not a domestic, what else could I do in a place where all employment otherwise is so specialized? I could sit home and wait for dates, couldn't I? And meanwhile, what about the bills?"
The dilemma was circular, and she ended up looking for some way out. Her mind immediately focused on Albert M., the middle-aged man who had sponsored her career in the United States, and she went to him for an interview about her problem. This, in her own words, is the story of that encounter:
He lives in Beverly Hills. It is not a fashionable home. It is just a run-of-the-mill place not far from Doheny Drive in the older section of Beverly Hills not far from the Sunset Strip. His wife is really not his wife at all, except in name. He has a penchant for girls like myself, and he thinks he is doing us a favor, I suppose, by bringing us to California. He even speaks of his activities as being "socially valuable," and it is true that he does always encourage us to "keep in touch" with him.
But of course he wants us to keep in touch for a very good reason. I found that out in the minute I went to see him. He greeted me at the door in a maroon satin lounge robe which I remembered he always wore when he came to visit me in my room when I first arrived in the States and was living in that house. Each morning he would come so very kind-heartedly to ask if I had slept well the night before. It always ended up the same way, with me beneath him and he in my cunt. So I had full expectation of what was in store for me when I went into his house that afternoon for his help.
But when you have fucked as much as I have fucked, another fuck doesn't mean so much. I am not promiscuous, or at least I do not think of myself as promiscuous, but I have seen enough dicks not to be afraid of them. In fact, I have even come to enjoy the feeling of a good dick. I find it highly pleasurable if it does its work well up my cunt.
But Albert wasn't just a cunt-fucker. He liked headers even better, and it was something he said he liked most about me. In fact, I find it funny to remember how he almost cried on the morning he told me he had to dismiss me as his maid because, as he said, he felt I just wasn't doing my job. He said, "If it was just a matter of your terrific lips and tongue on my cock, Hildie, I'd never fire you. But I have to think of other things." It was hilarious. But of course I still was fired.
So when we faced each other in the wide parlor that was to a poor German girl so very beautiful in all its white and gold elegance, I was wondering if I should blow him in order to get him to help me. And when he sat in his favorite chair, a deep white fluff thing with its back to panel glass doors off a wide palm-filled veranda, and he kicked his bare feet high to a gold plush ottoman, and he let his maroon satin robe fall away from his thick hairy legs and almost reveal his family jewels, I became rather convinced of what my duty would be.
He ran a thick hand through his thinning gray hair and looked at me with pouched eyes and a puffy face. "Well, Hildie," he said, "I'm glad you came back. I'm always glad to see all my girls. I think of you as my family, you know, and I'm always glad to do anything I can for you. What do you need, Hildie?" And he scratched his crotch, indicating what I could do for him.
I told him my problem. "You're not seeing enough guys?" he asked.
"I may be seeing too many," I said.
"Nonsense," he said, "You can never see too many. Contracts are important. It's the way of life."
"They want to lay me," I said. "They all want to lay me."
He frowned. "You're a beautiful girl, Hildie," he said. "That's your damned trouble."
"This is a man's town," I said. "Every man can have all the women he ever needs. A woman is just a plaything for a man in this town."
"I know," he said. "I know what you mean." And he scratched his crotch again, then sucked his thick lips and looked at me.
Already I was realizing the futility of that visit. Already I was realizing there are things over which we have no control. I was in Hollywood because I had wanted to come to Hollywood. I had come with big dreams, and the dreams were false. I had been used sexually, and I could go on being used sexually. I was a servant girl, and I could go on being a servant girl. I could very much continue doing what I had been doing all along.
Yet I said to him, "Isn't there a way out? Isn't there some way out?"
"Look," he said, "you're a sweet girl. You're pretty and you're nice in bed, and you've got your life ahead of you. Nobody's exploiting you. I hope you realize that. You've made your own choices. You don't have to go on any of these dates that are lined up for you. It's up to you to handle your life the way you want." He scratched his crotch again, then sighed and looked away. I knew he had a hard-on. I saw it move beneath his robe.
"Albert," I said, "suppose I blew you. What would you do?"
He looked at me. "Hildie," he said, "I wouldn't do anything. I would let you blow me, and that's it. Don't look for villains, Hildie. There aren't any."
He was right. We're all our own villains. I was my own villain that afternoon when I stood from the sofa where I had been seated in Albert's parlor, and I unbuttoned the frilly white blouse I had purposely worn because I knew it was one he liked. I discarded the blouse to the sofa behind me and let him peer at my great tits in the see-through lavender bra I wore. I unzipped the short and tight black skirt I wore and let it fall around my ankles and showed myself without hose, wearing only see-through bikini-style panties that matched my bra. Then I stepped away from the skirt, and kicked off my white heels and went to him and stood between his legs, caressed his cheeks, ran my hands through his thinning gray hair, and said to him, "Albert, undress me all the way." And I pressed between his legs so that my own legs touched his dick and balls.
He straightened in his chair and reached behind me while he nestled his face between my tits and he unsnapped my bra. I hunched my shoulders and let him pull the straps away. He tugged at the brassiere between my tits and dropped it off me. And then he clutched me close to him and nuzzled my tits with his nose and lips, then tongued them and made them very erect.
With a fever then he gripped my hips and shoved my panties away, rushed them down my flanks and past my knees and let them fall to the carpet where I could step away from them and be naked before him. And then he buried his face to my big blonde bush, and he licked its crisp wiry curls. "What a muff," he said. "Hildie, your muff is supreme."
"Will you eat me?" I said. "Albert, will you eat me?" And I tugged at his head to go between my legs as I spread them so that he could consume my cunt.
But as if he knew that it was a last desperate effort on my part to control a situation that I already had let run away from me, he looked up and whispered hoarsely in his own heat, "I think you want to do something else, Hildie. Don't you want to do something else?"
In that moment, his great cock came unfurled as his robe fell away when he tugged the satin cord that held it bound, and his hairy body was bare before me even while he still wore his robe, and his great cock with its red ripe head beckoned me like a giant in a dark forest, rising above the crisp foliage, calling me to love it.
I was overwhelmed. It is possible that I am a born cocksucker. Albert sometimes told me that in the first times when he would visit me in my servant's room in that house, let me fondle his dick and always permit me to love its loveliness. "My dear, there are those who are born to the purple," he would say in such moments, patting my head gently and stroking my hair. "You are one of the gifted ones. Many are called, but few are chosen. This is particularly true with the female of the species. They are often so inept, so clumsy, so lacking in the grace that makes a good cocksucker."
He said women as a rule failed in the role of a cocksucker because, being women, they had no understanding of the male nature, of the feeling a man got through his penis. They behaved grotesquely, he said, because they worked without what he called "specific knowledge of the terrain."
"But you," he repeated, "are one of the gifted ones. You have that extraordinary perception and talent bequeathed only to the great artists of all time. You possess a sensitivity given only to the blessed ones. Ah, Hildie, your tonguework is exquisite." And he would feverishly then clutch my cheeks and hold me fast upon his great dick.
Perhaps what he said was so. Certainly I've always loved cock. And it has seldom disturbed me that men want me to lick their dicks. I have heard other girls complain and have heard them say that their men want nothing more of them than to be blown. The girls find this distasteful and they are often very unhappy at their tasks.
But this has never been true with me. Though of course I have always wanted to marry and certainly do not enjoy being passed from one to another, yet I never have developed a distaste for cock. For me there is something sublime in the nature of the male force, and I relish studying and observing the minutest details of the magnificence all cocks possess. To me a cock is like a great instrument, a weapon, a tool, something precious and wonderful, something to write poems about, the thing which builds nations and makes history.
Oh, I know I sound overly romantic, and I admit that I often am swept away on the wild passion of the moment. Yet I feel strongly about cock, love it greatly, and cannot withstand the temptation to suck it whenever I get the chance. And such was my chance that morning. Perhaps, even, I had anticipated that very opportunity. Perhaps it was for that reason that I went to Albert. Perhaps I wanted simply to lick his dick.
In any case, I fell between his legs, my mouth was watering as I looked upon that masterful instrument, and I gripped it gently with both my hands to its wide and glorious hilt. I held it before me and virtually drooled to see its beauty so close to my hungry lips. I trembled with anticipation at the delight which awaited me in its splendid presence, and I was transported on a river of joy as I merely moved it slightly back and forth, gripping its hilt gently and exercised it with my thumbs, pressing it forward, gently forward.
Then I touched its tip with my lips, ever so gently, felt its great heat upon my own torrid flesh, looked up to Albert momentarily and saw his still countenance as he feverishly watched me with bated breath while I returned to my delight-filled task. And I protruded my tongue past taut and tense lips and then manipulated its tip with my tongue's crest. Back and forth I went with loving tongue upon his noble force, to and fro I glided over that wondrous weapon of delightful war. Oh beautiful, for spacious dick. Sometimes I have wanted to sing songs to it, and Albert has laughed at my exuberance. But I care, don't you see? I care so very much.
His cock throbbed. He ran his hands through my hair. "Oh, Hildie, sweet," he whispered hoarsely, heatedly, "you're the best little artist in this world." He breathed deeply. "You're sublime. Hildie, you're sublime."
T answered him with a curl of my tongue to his cock's crest. I wrapped my hot tongue around the head of his dick in response to his ardor. And my ardor mounted even in such reply to his own. I wanted to consume his magnetic force. I wanted to possess his great beauty. I wanted to eat it and chew it and make me it mine, swallow it whole and place it in my belly. I wanted to make Albert's dick my own.
He spread his legs wider and tried to relax in that deep chair. But he could only recline. He could not relax. Tension flowed through him. It was natural. I was upon his dick, and it was natural that he should be so tense, so bound, so gripped in the beautiful emotion that held both of us, that chained and held both of us with his dick as the link in our mutual chain of slavery.
I lapped his dick's head. I extended my tongue and lapped his head. I went back and forth, left and right, upon his wondrous great red knob, upon that red cap of splendor which I loved so much. I tongued him lovingly and spread all the juices of lubrication everywhere upon his force. I went next up and down his beautiful long and wide shaft, this way and that. I went with gay abandon at my task, gaily enjoying every minute of the wonderful experience. I loved him ardently; oh so ardently.
"Hildie, you're driving me crazy," he whispered, barely able to utter any words evenly. "Hildie, sweet, you're driving me mad." And he gripped my cheeks, pressed his hands flatly to them, and moved me farther upon his great prick. "Take me as far as you can take me, sweetheart," he whispered chokingly. "Take me as far as you can take me into that pretty mouth of yours." And he began to force his prime weapon into my accepting orifice.
Yes, orifice. My mouth was his orifice and receptacle. I gave him my mouth as one might give up a bowl for its private use, as one might surrender anything to be used wholly by another. I gave him my mouth lovingly and with surrender. I yielded it up to him for his purposes.
Down, down, down I went on that lean and yet full, mighty and so powerful long rod. Down, down, down I went ever slowly, infinitely slowly, until everything that could fit to my mouth fitted to it, and I held so much of him in me. But of course I held so small a part too, for Albert is so huge, so majestic in size. And though I had him against my very throat, I did not have his force within me fully at all. So much still was beyond my lips; so much still was outside.
And I gripped that which was outside, and felt its greatness, knew its size and loved the wide long shaft and hilt that still was beyond my willing, my wanting, my taking lips. I was proud of all that could enter me. I looked down my nose at it, let myself become cross-eyed from delight in the process, and saw the magnificence of that lovely and powerful hilt and rod not yet taken into my mouth. It was so wonderful, so truly wonderful.
Then I released from my mouth that which so deeply was into it. Slowly I released it, let it slip away, worked it from me along the flat of my tongue until again his tip was to my lips. I licked his cock's head then gently, lovingly, tasting its precious force, and slowly, ever slowly, took it into my mouth again, brought it between closed lips upon it until it was into my mouth at that point where, with my tongue now in action, I could go back and forth upon it quickly and teasingly.
I worked my tongue's tip upon his cock's head while his dick rested so in my mouth, and my cheeks were hollow from the expanse to which my mouth was extended, and Albert pressed his palms flatly against my cheeks and would seem to crush me from his mounting glory. "Sweetheart Hildie," he gasped. "Oh baby. Baby. Suck it baby, now.
Suck it." And he began that first loving small jab of his wonderful great cock into my accepting mouth.
So I provided my mouth then as his cunt. I went back and forth on his dick then with closed lips to its flanks and I offered my mouth as his cunt. He began to enter me. He began to move into and away from my mouth. He began to fuck my mouth, and I worked my cunt-mouth exquisitely back and forth along his jewel while he fucked me so. Back and forth I went and knew that he was going with me too. And I felt his dick's head growing in size, larger, ever larger, and knew he soon would blast away with such splendor and glory. And I hungered to taste his seed.
Yes, that next was in my mind. My imagination was occupied with it. I sensed his imminent release, and I wanted that wonderful warm seed into me. I looked forward to it, and the very thought of its coming excited me more even than his cock had until then done; and his cock had done so much already.
I should mention my own condition here. I was a great running river. My cunt was full with juices. Everything about me was hot, torridly so. I was steaming, and my cunt was boiling the juices I kept releasing in my joy at the feel of his dick in my mouth. And I wanted so badly to be free of the great stress upon me. I wanted to come so very badly.
So it was that I began to move my body back and forth involuntarily in the strange motion I always developed when I sucked Albert's cock, the strange action which came to me so often when I have gone down on cock. Something in me snaps loose and I cannot control my body movements; and soon I am fucking nothing and yet fucking everything, moving back and forth in the motions of a fuck even while no dick is in my cunt. I do not even need to play with myself. I simply fuck with no more stimulation than the wonderful feeling of a cock in my mouth.
And as that beautiful cock begins to grow fiercely in the final swelling minute before its release, I become more driven in my animal urgency, begin to fuck harder and harder in my need to bring myself loose from everything that holds me tight inside myself. "As "my" cock moves down to its orgasm, so also do I move to my own orgasm. And we are rushing together towards our splendid disaster.
He began fucking me strongly then. He began pushing and shoving, pulling and jerking his dick in and out of my mouth, running it deep inside me and yanking it slightly away before plunging again for still another wild drive. He forced himself farther and farther along that strange path that all passion seems to take en route to its fulfillment. And he gripped my head angrily and thrust himself again and again at my throat as he rushed towards his conclusion.
It was then that I concentrated more than ever upon his nuts. Previously I had played lightly now and again upon those splendid spheres. But now, as he moved towards the final moment in his lovely madness, I went upon his balls with swiftness, knowing Albert always loved me more when I fondled them and went behind them and played along the line between his balls and his ass-hole. And I also went into his butt with a little finger suddenly, whirling it around inside his anus.
That was the means that brought his climax. Yes. It was when I startled him pleasantly with a wild little finger up his behind, that I felt, playing with my other hand along the muscle behind his balls and to his ass-hole, the snapping within him that broke everything free and caused his balls to deliver up through his cock the wonderful fluid I so anxiously awaited. Up, up, up came that precious liquid fire, that white joy I always have loved. Up, up, up, came his delightful come. Up, up, up it surged and rushed at my waiting, my quivering, my anticipating, heatedly anticipating, mouth.
And he splashed my throat and tongue with his great globs of wonderful seed. He splattered my mouth and throat and gave me a wonderful spray of hot good semen. I swallowed it immediately. Albert always liked me to swallow his come. He said that was the most wonderful thing about me; my avidity, he called it, to take his seed into my belly. So I swallowed everything he offered to me. Hastily and hungrily I swallowed it and made him part of me. I swallowed repeatedly what he passed into my mouth and throat.
He was pleased. I knew he was pleased. He pressed ever tightly my cheeks with his hands and shoved his great fountain as far into my mouth as he could place it. And he sprayed me more and more with that beautiful hot sperm. He sprayed me repeatedly with his beautiful seed.
I swallowed it all. And I drained him of everything. When he gradually decreased his flow, gradually dropped everything into me which he perhaps thought possible to give me, I sucked tightly upon his cock's head and drained him of the last full measure of his precious come. I took from him all that was in him, and gripped it deeply to myself, draining him and swallowing everything, taking it into me, taking it all.
"Oh, you doll," he whispered joyously and yet tiredly and with that small turn of pain which always signalled the end of his time. "Oh you loving doll." And then he cautioned me that I was hurting him with my draining work upon him. He cautioned me that I was taking everything from him that was possible for him to give. "You've drained me completely, sweetheart," he whispered. "You've taken everything I can give you." And he signalled me, with a small movement away from me, that I should not pursue him farther, that I should let him rest.
So I did. I stopped sucking upon him and drew away from his force until it rested pleasantly at my lips and tongue's tip. And, in that position, I looked up to him and smiled all around his depleted and yet still large and wonderful great cock. And he smiled down to me. He patted my head and stroked my hair, and smiled down to me. "Sweetheart," he whispered, and rested his head against the back of that deep chair and closed his eyes from the joy that was upon him.
And then, brought to that peak, having paused only to insure his final joy, I began wildly, maddeningly to plunge and rock my body forward and backward even while I held his dick limply at my lips and tongue's tip, rocked myself wildly and maddeningly to the climax I demanded for myself, closing my eyes so tightly, and seeking breath against the storm of passion that swept over me. And finally I released myself of my own tension, finally released everything in me, and was done, finished and relaxed, pleasantly quiet and peaceful.
So it ended. The time was done, and I knew I had not accomplished anything in the problem which took me back to Albert, the problem which now I am sure was but an excuse to be with him, to taste his precious cock again, to do that which really had been such a strange and delightful compensation; to blow him.
If I am as I am, I have myself to blame, if blame is to be given at all. I could leave; I know I could. I could go elsewhere. I am nobody's slave or trollop. I am the mistress of my own fate. Sometimes I mourn that fate, and then I wish to tell others of it. But when I do, as I here have done, I soon realize that my fate is not that fate which at the outset I often relate, but rather the fate which, when I perceive it clearly as I have in conclusion here done, I actually have chosen for myself. Rather than being the poor bereft foreign girl who seems insidiously exploited and trapped in a world she would not now have, I see myself clearly as one who stays here because I enjoy what I am doing, especially what I am doing now.
For, you see, I must tell you this: I am again living with Albert, my Albert of the great cock. Oh, he still takes others; he still brings little new girls to California for his purposes, though he still maintains most sincerely that he is providing a social good. But he has now place for me, as well. His wife rarely is with him these days, and though I am not mistress of his home, yet I have more time upon that which I love, and am at ease in familiar surroundings.
My fate then is one I have chosen. I should not complain.
CHAPTER TWO
In Mexico, maidservants are called cats. They are called cats for a reason. Fernando A., a longtime employer of maidservants in Mexico summed it up succinctly when he said, "They fuck like cats. So we call them cats."
Mexico is a rich country and yet it is a poor country. It has a rising middle class, and much wealth is at the peak of the economic pyramid. It is a leading nation in all of Latin America and it ranks as one of the ten most industrially developed countries of the world. Yet in its midst is extreme and abject poverty. Forty to sixty percent of its people live at levels which are considered below subsistence even by Mexican standards which, in turn, are already below those known in the United States.
Unemployment is widespread throughout Mexico despite the nation's industrial development. The population increases at four percent per year and a nation of barely nine million fifty years ago moves towards the hundred million mark by the year 2000, a figure which will make it the sixth most populated land in the world. Its industrial growth cannot keep up with its population explosion. At the same time, there is an increased need for skills as automation takes over in Mexico as it does elsewhere in the industrialized world, and the literacy rate in Mexico is pitifully low; it is not uncommon for a child to leave school at the end of the first grade in order to become another worker in the fields when an opportunity for seasonal labor in agricultural districts offers itself.
In a land with such a burden, only the most fortunate escape the common tragic fate which awaits most. For the Mexican girl this is further aggravated by the fact that by tradition all value is placed upon the male. A boy child is important. A girl child is inconsequential. The boy develops with emphasis placed upon his ego. The girl is considered a trifle. Furthermore, in adult life, this is yet aggravated again by a strong Mexican stress on masculinity which assumes the male will use the female at his will. Masculinity in Mexico means making babies, for babies are proofs of masculinity. It is not merely sufficient to copulate; one must have a product of the copulation. One must prove that it was done.
What then can a girl child, perhaps born to the poorest of the poor in a hinterland agricultural district, hope for from life? The city and escape; that is one paramount answer. The city draws into its teeming vortex all the seeking ones. The poor from everywhere rush to the city to seek their salvation. And the girl child grows up with an image of faraway places with the strange-sounding names of Mexico City, Guadalajara, Monterrey or even Cui-dad Juarez before her; the place of escape from the poverty that haunts her daily life.
Yet there are poor in those cities as well, and they are consigned to their fate even when they live in the shadow of the image to which all the others rush. And the competition is fierce among all who have so little. Lacking in skills, lacking in background, lacking in education, they have nothing to offer and are at the mercy of the marketplace, destined to sell their labor so cheaply as needed to insure some possible employment.
The young girl then in Mexico will become a maidservant, for no skills are required save the elementary ones of the home. She will be employed by a middle or upper-class Mexican family for a pittance and the chance to occupy a small room, often in an attic, in a good home and to eat a wider variety of food than the beans-and-tortilla diet she has known throughout her life till then. For her, it is a giant step forward.
But for the master of the house, she is just a cat, and even his wife knows that the new girl is just a cat. In fact, the wife may be grateful that the new girl has arrived, for the last one became pregnant and was sent away and the master in the meantime has made the wife pregnant with still a new child. So the new girl is welcomed for the relief she will bring the wife for awhile.
Fernando A., a resident of the Federal District, which is Mexico City, spoke from long experience as an employer of maidservants. He is well-placed in Mexican commercial circles, is descended of a family whose name ranks well in the history of the Mexican Revolution, and owns a palace-like mansion not far from Paseo de la Reforma, the city's leading artery. In our interview, this is what he had to say about the matter:
All my life I have slept with the cats. Every male in my class has done the same. It is how we live. When we are young, our first sex experience usually is with a cat. Often we bed an expensive whore in one of the better cathouses of the city. Usually though we experience our first sex with a cat. Don't you see the connection between the two terms, cat and cathouse? A cathouse is full of cats, is it not? And why are they called cats? It's self-explanatory, don't you think? So we call our maidservants cats. Of course they are not whores in the strictly commercial sense. But they are our private whores in another sense. After all, we feed and sometimes clothe them, and we give them shelter, and they are really sometimes incapable of doing much valuable housework, anyway. So what are they here for? To provide us with pleasure, of course.
You see, the Mexican male is a very virile man. He prides himself on his masculinity, as I'm sure you know. Every male in my class has a wife, and divorces are infrequent here; so after a time, we often become bored with our wives, though we still bed them sufficiently often to keep them busy having children and therefore out of mischief. But we must have other sexual activities or we have not fulfilled our image of ourselves. Therefore, we all also have a little house on the side, as it is called, a place where we keep a mistress to whom we regularly go. And some of us even have two and three such houses. After all. for one in my class, the cost of renting a small furnished house on a side street away from traffic is quite meager, and the general upkeep for a mistress is insignificant.
Yet we are still not done, we Mexican males who have strong ego images of ourselves, and we must release our sex drives still elsewhere. So we go to the whores occasionally in their fashionable cat-houses where they serve us and the rich tourists. Or we pick up an entertainer in one of the better clubs and spend a time with her. Or we seek out fleeting moments with the girls who work for us in our offices. We dally as the occasion arises, but always we are in motion.
And that of course makes our cats worthwhile too. For you see, our cats are always with us. Every middle-class home has at least one cat, if only a part-time cat who comes in to help with the ironing and washing and cleaning on certain days of the week. And we of the upper classes have seldom less than two and sometimes as many as six and eight and ten. When the wife is high-pregnant, it is not uncommon for us to take as many as a dozen if we feel very amorous. Of course the cats are hired ostensibly to help her through the childbirth time.
But the cats in Mexico are very beautiful. I have traveled your country and I have traveled much of the world, but I must admit as a Mexican man, I am most prejudiced in favor of my country's own feminine beauty and pulchritude. Our girls are lovely creatures. There seldom is a small-titted one among them. Mexican girls descend from the old Indian stock of the Aztecs. They are big-breasted creatures, built to suckle their young in the true meaning of that term. They have broad hips and full asses. Their backs are splendid and their bellies are lovely. Their thighs are wide and full and very inviting.
Their calves are not the best. I frankly admit that. I think the yankee girls' calves are better. Often the Yankee girl has more beautiful calves than she does thighs. That is something interesting, I find. But in the case of the Mexican girl, her thighs are always beautiful and inviting. And of course her hair, that Indian hair, black and full and thick, that hair which we have from Montezuma, is always lustrous and appealing. When it swirls around a girl's shoulders and frames her delightful face and accents her wide brown eyes and sensual lips, it is difficult for me not to be, as you might say, turned on.
One such girl was Carmelita. She worked for me a few years ago. She was a lovely thing, just turned sixteen and fresh from the country. I remember her demure nature, shy and withdrawn, on the morning I interviewed her for her job. My wife was pregnant again, nearing her seventh month, and I wanted to handle the last sixty days in a different manner than I previously had done. I felt I was tired of running about and, except for an occasional visit to my little houses, I intended to pass a while with just one of my many cats, to concentrate on that one, and spend most of my free time with her. It was an experiment, you might call it.
And then I met Carmelita. Carmelita, perfection personified. May I describe her for you? May I describe her in all her magnificence? What an adorable creature she was, truly exceptional. I see her again as she stood before me in the radiant light of a golden morning. I stood with my back to the open french doors to the balcony that overlooks the wide expanse of my estate, and she was before me in the great chamber that is our parlor, a baronial room with much gold and silver and bronze and with great mirrors on its walls. The ceiling is high, there is a crystal chandelier dominating all, the rug is deep and most expensive, and everything is very massive. Of course she was awed by such opulence.
But let me concentrate upon her and not the chamber. She stood before me with the placid and yet frightened gaze of a mere child lost in the headiness of her wildest dream and fantasy, her arrival before wealth in the great city. And I looked upon her with her oval face and full cheeks, her long dark hair, a wide forelock of which swept across one brow, and I saw her pallid wide sensual lips and her small nose with its button tip, and I tried to place her in time, to see her as a sixteen-year-old boy might see her. And I knew that I was as smitten with her in my own way as any sixteen-year-old boy ever would be.
Yes, I was smitten with her; but of course in a very sexual sense. I looked upon her lovely body as it crowded a too-tight dress which she already had grown out of, a brown and drab thing which she probably felt was the Sunday finest for her trip to the big city, and I wanted to rip that dress off her, break loose its popping breast buttons, rip away the petticoat that bound her, and tear off the drawers she would be wearing beneath all. She wouldn't have a bra. Girls who come from the country never do. I could see she wore none when I saw the lovely natural curve of her astounding bosom.
Yes, an astounding bosom. Let me concentrate on that too. She was all tits. The Mexican girl is always full in the breasts, as I have said, and that is one of their blessings. You never have to worry that a Mexican girl might be wearing falsies or pads. She isn't. She doesn't need them. When she tells you her breasts are a 36, if she knows her tit size at all, she isn't lying to you. They are all of that, and more. More-likely she has underestimated them out of shame for their great size.
But no man resents a Mexican's girl's tits, I assure you. We love our women's knockers. We worship at their shrine and feast upon their loveliness. They are blessed things to be adored and glorified. Beautiful tits are things we never deny.
So you can imagine my rapture when I looked at Carmelita before me, my latest cat, and looked forward with controlled but fevering excitement to the unveiling of those globular immensities she held taut beneath that too-small dress. And I wondered how long I should wait before I probed her hidden treasures.
It is conventional for us to pass a fortnight before we launch an attack on the fortress of our latest desire in the realm of the cats. Usually we pass them by a few days and greet them only pleasantly, and let them warm to our presence as they look eagerly and anxiously upon us. Then we give them a few pleasant comments upon the work they have been doing and warm them to us more. Perhaps at that time, we may give them specific instructions about a particular chore and even guide them somewhat through its labor. And in a few more days we are ready to touch them most casually as we guide them through yet another duty. Within the fortnight then they are ready for our attack, and we of course are more than ready for it as well.
Then it can come anywhere. Often it will be in the girl's own room, a miserably small thing high in the attic where we go of a morning to awaken her personally for some task we say we have ahead for her. Sometimes it occurs in our own chamber while the wife obligingly and without our requesting the seclusion, is elsewhere in the home, and then ring for our little cat and she comes to see what we want; and of course quickly finds out. Occasionally it may happen in any other room where we perhaps happen to be guiding her through a new chore. In my own case, it has been known to happen in that very chamber where I was interviewing Carmelita for her job.
In fact, I was persuaded to let it happen again then and to forego the fortnight's conventional waiting. Looking at that terribly tight dress, I feverishly wanted to assist that stunning bosom in its desire to free itself. I wanted very much to fuck Carmelita without further ado.
My wife was away shopping and no other servant would dare to disturb me. My children were upstairs in the nursery. It was an opportune time in terms of privacy. And yet I realized the risk I might be running. Girls from the country though often experienced in sex, for they learn the sex act quite early as a normal function of life, nevertheless have been known to be frightened away by overzealous masters; and it pained me to think that I might drive such a lovely prize into the hands of one of my associates.
Yes, lovely; lovely in all ways. Carmelita even escaped the misfortune visited upon so many Mexican girls; her calves were shapely in a way that the Yankee loves so well in his woman. They were full things with the proper curve and trim ankles. They were quite lovely; and, as with the rest of her, very inviting.
Thinking upon that as I looked at her, I was driven to make a comment about her attractiveness. And when I was done surveying the usual letter from the political chief of the village where she lived, who properly required a payment in kind for the words he spoke in her behalf to a professional letter-writer in the village to transcribe, and when I had glanced at the simple form provided by the local employment agency whose services delivered that voluptuous item to me, I said to her idly, "But you're so very pretty, my dear. Surely you can't really want to work as a maidservant." It was flattery in part and yet very true.
She blushed. How very appealing. And she flustered and finally said, "Oh sir, I am a very poor girl. I could not hope for anything else." And she trembled as she looked upon me shyly.
"You are indeed very beautiful," I said. "I feel as if I'm taking you away from a great career." When she didn't answer, I said, "Are you frightened of me?" And when she smiled meekly and almost nodded, I added, "But why? Tell me, dear; why would you be afraid of me?"
"I am not afraid of you, sir," she said hastily. "I am not afraid of you." But of course she betrayed her fright in the very manner in which she spoke.
I motioned that she should come to me. She stepped forward with trepidation. "Your dress is so tight," I said, touching her shoulder lightly. "Doesn't it bother you?" When she shook her head but did not look at me, I said, "Here, let me unbutton it for you and help you to breathe more easily." And I started to unsnap the top button.
"No, no," she said and broke away from me. "Please. Please don't." And she trembled terribly on the verge of tears.
But I was overcome. If I thought I could seduce her, now having touched ever so lightly, I knew that I must rape her if need be. I knew there was no turning back from my passion. My lust enveloped me and I had to have her. I had to make her mine. And I grabbed her and pulled her to me and thrust my mouth hard upon hers even while she terrifiedly fought to be free. And I held her tightly and forced open her lips with my tongue, and rushed my tongue against her tongue in a brutal embrace.
Passion gripped me. Lust held me in its toil. I pulled her body tightly against mine and my mighty cock stunned her belly. Even while I clutched her starkly with one hand, my other went at those buttons in my rage to hold her breasts.
She fought me. Oh how she fought me. Even while my tongue would seek out hers, she fought to be free. And when I went with one hand to those buttons, she broke away from my other even as she pulled her lips abruptly from mine, and terrifiedly she would cry out in her plight.
"No, damn it," I snapped and slapped a hand over her mouth. "I want you and I'll have you and you'd better shut your mouth or I'll destroy you in this city." And as she looked at me with a strange sudden sense of loss in her eyes coupled with the terror that gripped them, I slashed a hand down her dress front, clutched her petticoat beneath and pulled it all away in one violent rush.
And if she was stunned, I was more stunned. For before me then was the most astounding absolute dazzling beauty I had ever seen. I gasped. Even as she would cry out against the imprisoning hand that still held tightly shut her mouth, I gasped at her extraordinary beauty. Before me stood the most beautiful huge breasts I had ever seen in my life. I looked at them, and I could do only one thing; fall upon them and devour their loveliness.
So even while I still held her mouth, I swept low and dived upon those fantastic globes. I lapped them and loved them and tried to encompass their entire wide saucers, tried to make those great dark haloes mine at the same time I sucked her rapidly-emerging long hard nipples.
And it was then that she stopped the fight. It was then that she yielded up her surrender. The enemy was at the gates, and her citadel fell before the attack. There are very few Mexican girls who can withstand a tit-kissing. It is the nature of the Mexican woman to go slightly insane when her tits are kissed.
I released my hand from her mouth. I knew she wouldn't yell now. And I concentrated my hands, especially my fingertips, on the feeling of that warm and wonderful flesh while I continued to lick and nibble her very erect nipples. And I pulled at her nipples with tight lips upon them, and rolled my tongue and sucked upon them, munched them, and loved them.
Then the damnedest thing happened. In fact, it already was happening before I knew it was happening. She had her hand inside my fly, and she was reaching into my briefs and pulling out my enormous dick, and she was squeezing it tightly and gasping as she did. She squeezed my dick with one hand, then grabbed it with the other as well. And she was yanking it to her as she pressed her belly at it. Carmelita very obviously wanted to fuck.
I stopped kissing her tits. I looked at her. I was about to ask, "Are you sure?", for I was again having the realization that I would top a sixteen-year-old lovely thing. But then I dismissed such an absurd question from my mind and simply shed her of the remnants of her dress and dropped her pants and lowered her to that rug by the door to the balcony.
She spread immediately, and looked at me with shy but excited eyes. She smiled in the same manner, then gasped again as her eyes went to my dick in the moment I lowered myself between her legs. I laughed. "It's all yours, little one," I said, and raised her knees and then cupped her buttocks as I moved my prong in front of me like a spear for her cunt.
Her lips were wet and waiting. I probed them with my dick's tip. I played at the opening to her box, and she rolled her ass cheeks in my hands while she cluthced my shoulders and begged me to enter her. "Please put it in me, sir," she whispered throatily. "Please put it in me."
I laughed. I looked down at those marvelous mounds standing on her chest like twin mountains, and I laughed. She was beautiful. She was extraordinarily exciting. I bent low, remaining on my knees and with my dick still at her cunt lips, and I loved her nipples with my lips and tongue. She held my head and moaned. And she rolled her ass cheeks in my hands as she tried to grasp my cock fully with her snatch.
So I entered her. For awhile I dallied at the portals of bliss; and then I entered her. She was warm and tight and nice. It was a delight to move into her hole. It was like entering a paradise. I eased my cock into her hole slowly, enjoying the good feeling all the way, getting a supreme pleasure from the warmth and wetness that surrounded me tightly. There is nothing so beautiful as a girl's cunt when it is tight and hot and wet.
"You're very beautiful," I told her, gazing upon her as she smiled to me, still shyly. "You're a very, very beautiful girl."
"Kiss my titties again," she begged me. "Don't tell me about my beauty. Just kiss my titties." And she clutched one and offered it to me.
"I love to kiss your titties," I said. "They are the most beautiful titties I have ever kissed in my life." And I mouthed them again.
"Oh you kiss them so divinely," she whispered heatedly. "You kiss my titties so divinely." And she sucked air deeply and shoved the tit I was sucking directly at me and rolled her cunt upon my cock. "I am so excited," she said. "I think I will have your baby."
I looked at her. "Do you want a baby?"
She nodded. Her smile was still shy and yet there was a small note of triumph in it. "I have seen you," she said. "I saw you when you went into the employment agency yesterday to register your want. I knew then I would want to work for you. I knew already then I would want your baby."
"Are you at that time in the month?" She seemed extraordinarily hot.
"I do not know about times in the month. I am a poor country girl and I do not know about times in the month. I only know that now I am a cat in the city, and I want your baby." She rolled her ass and worked her vag muscles on my cock as if to tell me even more clearly how very much she wanted me to make her pregnant.
I do not know how the American man reacts to such a statement. But the Mexican male is very much concerned with his masculinity, as I have mentioned before, and such words as Carmelita's are a stimulus to his pride and vanity, and I think every Mexican woman knows what they do to his love-making. Already virile, he becomes even more virile. Already with the strongest cock in the world, his cock suddenly grows even greater in strength. He becomes formidable, and all he wants to do is fuck the universe.
That was my condition. And I looked down into her beautiful eyes and saw her lovely smile and bent low and kissed her monstrously beautiful tits, and I speared her cunt with the most powerful urgency of which I was capable. I thrust my dick in and out of her cunt with a savagely rejoiceful rhythm. I was heady in the ecstasy of her words and the feel of her body around me. I felt as if I could carry all the galaxies on my shoulders. I wanted to fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck.
But a fuck cannot go on forever. It is the nature of a fuck to come to a conclusion. That is why it is called a screw. You keep getting tighter and tighter and tighter; there is a point when you cannot get any tighter. And that is when the screw is done.
So it was with lovely Carmelita and me. Our fuck kept getting tighter and tighter. We blended. Our bodies joined. Our rhythm mounted. We moved slowly but constantly to that point where combustion sets in. Gradually, increasingly, we were controlled by the force that was greater than ours. Gradually, increasingly, we were taken up by the power that was upon us.
So we moved to our explosions, and I saw myself in that big beautiful black bush, felt her legs wrap themselves around me, knew the pleasure of her hot cunt on my dick and enjoyed every rapturous moment of the long good wonderful wild fuck. I kissed her and caressed her and loved her very much. And I felt my dick beginning to swell in the last drives of a startling good fuck and wanted only to sink my shaft down her well as far as it would go and to release everything that ever was in me. And yet I wanted to blow up the world because it felt so good.
There came that point when I simply rolled off my knees and we fell to our sides and faced each other. And I rested into her deeply and began the last penetrating drives for the release that I wanted more than anything else. We fucked each other, dick in cunt, cunt on dick, mercilessly, ruthlessly, down the way, all the way down the way in that synchronized abandon that belongs to all great fucks. We leapt and dived at each other with our vital organs, and finally charged against each other with that brutal last surging thrust and shove that smashes everything and creates whole new generations.
Smashing each other then in amazing collision, we blew off our comes in a frightening simultaneous explosion. We rocked and whirled and released our comes, spilling out the tension that had gripped us so long. I let into her body all my sperm. I shot away everything that I had. I broke the universe in a breaching cloud of white hot seed. I let it loose high in her hole, far far up there where they make the babies that she wanted. I gave her my seed as high as it could travel, so high that with another inch it might be almost to her lungs. High; I sent it.
She screamed in the moment of her come. She let loose a startling scream and clawed me fiercely, digging her nails deeply into my flesh, ripping my shirt and penetrating my flesh. And her cunt then went into a convulsive series of rocking rolls that played away those last small fetters which bound her, played away everything that still was left inside her to be demolished. She tore up everything in her insides and rocked away her last tension.
Then together we gave up our fucks, exhausted in the pleasure of the released pressure, relieved and at ease, quiet and in peace. And slowly we gained again the breath that meant now so much to us, slowly came back to earth once more. And I looked to her and she looked to me as she opened her eyes at last, and she smiled so happily. Oh how she smiled. She smiled with a warmth and joy that could transfigure whole planets.
And she said, "I am pregnant. You know that, don't you? I am with your child now. You have given me a child." And she pulled my head to her and kissed my brow lightly.
I was proud and vain and happy, yet felt sad that she so soon would go away. Only a few months would exist, and then she would be gone, gone into the nether reaches of a vast city where she would have her child and then accept that employment which so many cats end up performing, the task of the true cat, the task of the pretty girl on the street in the night, the girl on the Paseo de la Re-forma who solicits. So many cats end up on the Paseo.
Yet Carmelita did not end up there. I should tell you that now. Others have, and I have been guilty in part for some ending up there. But Carmelita did not end up on the Paseo. I cared for her and saw her through her time. For awhile afterwards I even gave her a little house, and she was my mistress for a time. But that passed too, and now she sleeps with another, for I grew tired of her, as wonderful as her flesh was. I still contribute something for the little girl who is another Carmelita in beauty already in her childhood, and someday perhaps I shall even help with her education if she goes far enough with it. But Carmelita now is of my past, and it is but a memory.
It is also the story of at least one cat in Mexico.
CHAPTER THREE
Abdul Ben B., a Moroccan of Marrakesh, is of the opinion that cats exist everywhere. "It is the nature of life," he said in an interview in his home city. "The subordinate position of the female is well-established biologically," he continued, "and it is only in the minds of the suffrage people such as you have in the United States that a woman is worth more than consideration as a sexual plaything."
The Moroccan gentleman speaks from much experience. He would be considered in some circles in the U.S. as an impresario. That is, he engages entertainers and sponsors their exhibitions. But to those who know him more closely and know the kind of entertainers and entertainment he sponsors, it is hardly-likely that he would be labeled an impresario. His business to a certain degree is the recruitment of belly dancers, and they are then sent throughout the Arab empire, across the sands of North Africa and even into Byzantine Turkey. Few of them remain exotic dancers. Many of them join harems. Most of them become sexual servants of the men who purchase them from Abdul Ben B.
Yet Abdul Ben B., when confronted with the term "procurer", refuted it as applying to him. "I am not a procurer," he flatly stated. "Nor am I even a buyer and seller of women's wares. Rather, I see myself as a provider of services. It so happens that the services I sell are women's services, yes. But that they are only or even therefore essentially sexual services, no. A woman in our culture is taught to perform many functions. Sex is only one of them."
In his effort to make clear that this was so, Abdul Ben B. took his interviewer to a luxurious restaurant where the principal entertainment was a belly dancer who surprisingly went by the name of Astra. "In honor of your astronauts," quipped Abdul Ben B. "She can take you to Mars." And he chuckled quietly as he introduced a very exciting dark-haired girl who reminded the interviewer of Fernando A.'s description of Carmelita. Though her dimensions were perhaps not as excessive as were those of Carmelita, Astra had in every element of her figure a very definite allure. And the costume she wore, which was but a filmy pale blue nylon train dangling between her legs in two pieces front and back, a thin transparent bra of the same material and color, and high gold heels, accented that allure very much. A rhinestone in her navel added a fillip.
Abdul Ben B. presented the girl, and the interview took place in a narrow and long and rather primitively furnished dressing room "between shows," the purpose of the interview being to corroborate the impresario's statement. Translation of the girl's answers to the interviewer's questions was made by Abdul Ben B. into the English that he spoke quite fluently. The interview, in part, follows as it was captured on tape, a feature of all such statements in this volume:
INTERVIEWER: Are you at liberty to talk freely?
ASTRA (looking to Abdul Ben B., and seeing him nod): I think so. What do you want to know? INTERVIEWER: Do you like your job? ASTRA: Very much.
INTERVIEWER: If you didn't have this job, what do you think you would be doing?
ASTRA (laughing): Probably standing on a corner, selling it.
INTERVIEWER: Is there nothing else the Moroccan woman can look forward to?
ASTRA: Is there something else? If you are pretty, there may be something else. But I think it is always the same for a woman.
INTERVIEWER: How is it always the same?
ASTRA: It is always a matter of pleasing men. What do you think?
INTERVIEWER: Do you think you are pleasing men now? I refer to your work as a dancer.
ASTRA: What else am I doing? I'm a servant. I serve the men in this restaurant. That's what I'm hired to do.
INTERVIEWER: Do you think of yourself as a slave?
ASTRA (curiously): What do you mean? I do not understand you.
INTERVIEWER: Are you working because you have to work? Would you rather do something else?
ASTRA (laughing): I would rather sleep all day in bed. But no, I would rather not do anything else. I am happy in my work. I like doing what I am doing.
INTERVIEWER: Does doing what you are doing involve anything else?
ASTRA: How do you mean?
INTERVIEWER: Does it involve going to bed with any of the men you perform for?
ASTRA (looking to Abdul Ben B. and seeing him nod): Yes, I suppose so. I sleep with some men, if that's what you mean.
INTERVIEWER: Any particular ones?
ASTRA (again looking to Abdul Ben B. and seeing him nod and smile; she then smiles too): Well, him. I sleep with him. And others.
INTERVIEWER: For example?
ASTRA: The others? Well, there are three brothers who own this restaurant and...(She lets it die there.)
INTERVIEWER: Others?
ASTRA: Sometimes when one of the brothers brings a friend. (She shrugs.) Different times like that.
INTERVIEWER: But you do not consider yourself a slave?
ASTRA: Why should I consider myself a slave? I do not understand you.
INTERVIEWER: You do not resent having to sleep with so many men?
ASTRA (laughing): "Many" men? I do not sleep with many men. I sleep with five or six or seven or eight different ones in a month. Is that "many"? I do not think so. I have a sister who sleeps with that many in a single night. She works in Cairo. She walks the streets there. She went away with the craziness of your Western ideas. And now what is she doing? She is walking the streets in a faraway city.
INTERVIEWER: But you? What will happen when your days are done as a dancer?
ASTRA: I have thought of that. But a woman's days are never done so long as she can please a man. An Arab girl learns to please her man. Unless she goes crazy with Western ideas. But even then she must please men. So I will not worry. And I do not think I am a slave.
The above transcription provides the essence of one girl's views on her life in one area of the world. Abdul Ben B. was pleased with her answers, and praised her highly. "She is representative," he said, "of the others. The Arab woman knows her place. And nothing that I do is procuring."
In Alexandria later, on the other side of the African continent, a European of Austrian birth, Ger-hart P., who spent a lifetime in the import-export business, offered a somewhat different viewpoint. It was his contention that all women, regardless of the land of their birth or upbringing, exist in a form of slavery. He, as with Abdul Ben B., placed the matter within a biological framework. But his view was harsher than Abdul Ben B.'s.
"The woman is a breeder," he said. "What else does she exist for? Think of it, and you will see. She has a few good years and then they are done. And what is the rest of her life? Nothing. Nothing at all." He drew parallels between a man and a woman with regard to their ages to illustrate his point. "The girl at fifteen can be very lovely. And the boy at the same age? A gangly youth with so much to be filled out. At twenty? The girl is ripe in every sense of the word. The boy? At the height of his sexual powers, true. But career-wise? Nothing. While the girl may at that age be at her maximum beauty and be a photographer's dream and a millionaire's desire, the boy is nothing except so much promise for the future."
He continued. "And at twenty-five? He is still only starting his career at best. She already has children. At thirty, he has a foothold on the ladder of life, and she is losing her beauty. At thirty-five, he is starting to attract women fifteen years younger than himself, and for ten years he has been attracting girls of fifteen. But his agemate of the opposite sex? She is dwindling on the vine. The lovely bloom is off the rose. It is only five years to forty."
He said that at forty there was a full reversal of positions. The woman then was faced with oblivion, according to his words; she was nearing the menopause, and her functional life was coming to an end. But simultaneously, the man was just moving into control of his powers, extending and enlarging his mind, his experiences, and his possibilities for the future.-likewise, with regard to sex, the entire gamut of sexually attractive females was available to him. "He is mature," Gerhart P. said, "and has a position and can offer them something in the way of sustenance. The woman, knowing this, turns to him as an available protector against the storms of her own life, the storms which result from her inferior birth as a woman."
He went on to say this at length:
Now it is important to realize too that the male in those years gradually becomes aware of his sexual attractiveness and he gradually learns to understand why this is so. When he is young, women are complex creatures which he cannot fathom. He is caught emotionally on the stridence of his youth. He sees everything most sexually, and his gonads rule him. He wants to fuck, and that's all he wants to do; fuck night and day.
But as he grows older, his sex powers dwindle at least a bit, and he begins to behave more rationally. He learns to give his time to his career. He learns to concentrate on an objective in life. He learns to have a goal in life and to work towards it. And it is this purposefulness which gives him insight to the matter of sex. Soon he realizes that there are priorities in sex; soon he learns that certain things are possible in sex even as they are possible in his career. He learns that with time he can have almost any woman he wants.
This is a surprising discovery, and when it first strikes him it is thrilling to contemplate. He becomes aware that any pretty little thing he sees anywhere is available for the right man and that if he handles himself well enough, he will be that right man and she will be available for him. In other words, what he has learned is a bit of wisdom from the ages, that all women can be had. He has always suspected this, and there was a time in his youth when he even callously said it was so, but now he knows the truth of that youthful assertion; it has come to him both intellectually and emotionally in a form of catharsis. He is the ark in which the wisdom is covenanted.
Now I don't want to take you away from the problem of sex and servants, even though I believe that every woman is every man's potential servant. Let me simply illustrate a different aspect of the problem which in part will state my theme also.
I am in the import-export business as you know, and of course much of my business is with the English-speaking world, a fact that accounts for my ready use of the English language. Now it so happened not so long ago that I was interested to employ a resident-manager in the United Kingdom; that is, someone who would be my representative there and would intercede for me with various companies there with which I dealt.
But at the same time I wanted someone who was trained in the ways of my own company, someone therefore who was readily available in Alexandria and who, after a brief interim period in my offices here, could travel to Britain and work for me there. At the same time, too, I wanted someone who was cheap; that is, who would work for a minimum wage. And I knew of course that women always will work for less pay than will men if only to get the opportunity to do something they consider fascinating.
But there was more than that behind my decision to interview locally. You see, I had come upon that time in my life when I realized how readily available a woman could be. It is a crude and cruel moment in a man's life when this power awakens in him, and the young man is always abashed at the older man's blatancy. I still remember an old business associate I once had who flatly propositioned a young woman I once dated. She told me he had offered to pay her rent if she would let him lay her. It shocked me at the time, in part because he and I worked together, and he knew the girl was my fiancee; but it shocked me more that a man could be so crude.
Yet now I was fascinated by my own temptations to similar crudities. Suddenly I realized how much could be said to a woman and how much she would accept. I recalled that my fiancee had said she simply told my old associate, "No, thanks," but. that was all. Yet he had fully demeaned her by propositioning her to be a whore.
My first interview was with a stunning English-born girl who had been to the Sorbonne, spoke four languages, and had lived in Alexandria for several years. She was in her early twenties, and she was long and willowy and brownish-blonde in the tradition of so many from her land. I remember how she sat across from me in my small office and crossed her legs and let me see them nicely and how superior she seemed to be. And I thought to myself, "Twenty years ago, I would have been her thrall. She could have bought me off with a good-night kiss. I would have been ecstatic. I would have planned her conquest through long months and perhaps never have succeeded. But now?" I laughed to myself, and added in my thoughts, "I'm her prospective employer."
It was enough said. I have always been fascinated by the dimensions of power, by the obeisance which authority is given. As an old fellow Austrian I have never stopped realizing the infinite power the madman Hitler possessed even to his last hours in a surrounded bunker. Power is so much because to it so many people give so much.
Therefore I immediately said, after discussing the routine nature of the assignment, "Of course you must want the job; that's important."
"Oh but I do," she gushed. "I do want the job very much." She turned on a bright smile for me.
"You're a sweet girl, Julia," I said, calling her by her first name and dropping the formalities, "but I wonder if you realize what will be expected of you." I leaned forward on my desk and looked at her most sincerely. "Do you have any idea?"
She blinked. "Well, I..." She was at a loss for words, of course. Of course she knew the sexual drift of the conversation. Yet she was restricted by her role as a good girl from becoming obvious in her knowledge. A woman is such a plaything of the gods; she always has a role to perform.
So I was the one who made it quite obvious, as obvious as obvious could be. For I said flatly, "You'll be expected to fuck."
She choked. She started to cough. Her face went red. She lost all her poise and frantically tried to regain it.
I immediately moved up the second line of attack. "Would you be willing to fuck?" I said, very matter-of-factly, not at all lecherously or in any way lustful. I was wholly business-like.
It took her a minute to regain her composure, and she continued to cough and look away longer than I knew she was consigned to do and I realized that she was buying time, carrying out what originally was just a reaction but now had become a cover. So I pursued her further, saying, "We must have an understanding about that at this time, Julia. If you're willing to lay men, I think the job very well could be yours." I patted a hand to her application as if to seal a contract, and I looked to her most sincerely and awaited her reply.
She nodded. She nodded as she finished her cough, and her eyes were on me briefly before she again looked away while her hand was balled in a fist to her lips. "I think so," she said between coughs as she continued to look away. And she nodded again.
"Good," I said, slapping her application firmly again. "That's all I want to hear." But I immediately added, ever sincere, ever interested in her as a person, "Have you fucked much? Have you had any affairs, Julia? When did you lose your cherry? Speak frankly. This is a business in which candor is expected. When was the first time you did it?"
Now I suppose you may think that most women would turn away and say such an interview is ridiculous and that they wouldn't be a part of it. But you're very wrong if you do. You see, a woman will accept almost anything when it is done privately and when her reputation to the rest of the world is not directly at stake. She is a creature of the moment, and if the moment is sufficiently private, it is amazing to note the things she will accept.
So Julie, she told me I could call her Julie and not Julia, told me some things of her sex life. Oh she didn't catalog it for me; women seldom do; but she answered every specific question I asked her. She even told me she had measured the size of various of her lover's dicks. "In inches and also in millimeters," she confessed. But then I assured her that most women, sooner or later, measure at least one of their lover's dicks.
So we talked about many things, all related to sex, and she admitted that she had done head work, that she liked to be eaten, that 69 was all right, and that she had also taken it like a dog.
"But have you ever taken it up your ass?" I said at that point. "Have you ever taken it up your ass?"
"You mean where my..." She groped for a word.
"Where your shit comes out," I said. "Have you ever taken it up your rectum? Your anus?" When she shook her head somewhat hesitantly, I quickly said, "But that's the way to go. That's first class travel. I love to go up a woman's ass." It tickled me to see her eyes widen as she looked at me. I knew what she was thinking, and she knew what I was thinking. And I didn't give her long to think, for I quickly said, "How would you like me to fuck you up your ass? Would you like that, Julie? Would you?" And I was as enthusiastic an ass-fucker as you'll ever want to see.
She blanched. And she actually trembled too. "Well, I ... " We were back to that.
And I already was around the desk, zipping down my fly, putting out a big hard that was ready and waiting. She blanched again, looked with big bug eyes at my tall dick, and actually gulped. "It's yours, Julie," I said, enthusiastically. "It's all yours." And I flicked it back and forth twice for her. "Hurry, drop your pants and we'll go at it right away."
Now you may believe that surely I couldn't pull that off. You may say, "Oh yes, I can go along with the idea that he would talk to her that way about her sex life; but not the cornholing business. And even if he did, and even if he yanked out his yang, I can't believe that the girl would drop her drawers for him."
Ah, but that is exactly where you're mistaken if you say such to yourself. For you fail to realize how far the situation had been carried. You fail to realize that when a woman starts to involve herself verbally, it is not too long before she involves herself sexually. A woman is a plaything of the gods, and it is the gods who gave mankind words, and the first words the gods spoke were to women. All her life, a woman is the victim of words. She is always wooed and won with words, no matter how the words are uttered. In this case, the case that I relate, I bombarded her with sexual images. It was just a matter of time before she collapsed under the attack.
So, though she protested rather feebly against the idea of letting me send it up her ass, she nevertheless yielded, dropped her own drawers with a minimal persuasion physically from me, and bent over the very chair she had been sitting on, rested her forearms and head to it, spread her legs, and let me go up her ass with my tall dick.
Oh it was a beautiful session, believe me. I spat on my hand and massaged my cock with spittle plus lube juices, then sucked my fingers and worked their moist way up her ass-hole to get her ready for my gallant charge. I readied her in every possible way, giving her also a little clit action as well as a tit-pulling when I lifted her blouse and unsnapped her bra and let it fall forward from her breasts so I could slip inside it and yank her nipples a few times. And then I gradually eased my cock up her tail.
It's a very beautiful feeling. Have you ever done it? If you haven't, you should try; and if you have, you know what I'm talking about. There is nothing to match a good ass-fucking. If you think a cherry cunt is tight, you haven't lived until you've tried an ass-hole. Even the loosest ass-hole in the world is tighter than a cherry cunt most of the time. There's something ecstatic about going into a bunghole.
She whimpered as I entered her. The whimper was in part the natural self-pity of a woman in the
English-speaking world regarding what she believes she is submitting herself to; and the other part of the whimper was her profound realization that a cock is a rather striking and delicious thing, despite its great pain, up one's butt hole. I laughed as she whimpered.
I enjoy a good fuck up the ass, and I like it to last awhile. In Alexandria and Cairo, pederasty is a big thing; you know, cornholing little boys. The men go after a little fellow, and ram it up their ass and go off like jackrabbits and zip their flies right away, done their pleasure. But I've never liked to fuck an ass that way. Furthermore, I don't really enjoy fucking a little boy's ass, although I've done it. True, their asses are so delightful and round and young and untouched. Just to feel their delicate softness, can send a thrill through you sometimes. But it's just not the same for me. I've fucked little girl's asses, and I don't really care for them. I've fucked men's behinds, and I must admit they're rather pleasurable. But there's something about fucking a woman's behind that simply carries me away.
I've tried to think what it is, and at times I fall into the lap of my fellow Viennese, Herr Doktor Freud, and sense that perhaps I am finding a way to demean them. Rather than give them my dick up their cunt, I am taking their ass-hole; that sort of thing. It's difficult for me to say; I only know that I enjoy an adult female's ass-hole more than any other kind of butt that I have fucked.
I've had many ass-holes. I like to look at asses. In fact. I consider myself a connoisseur of ladies' rumps. I've licked their rumps and kissed their rumps and gone up and down their ass cracks with my lips and tongue, and it's always been a great pleasure. And to screw an ass-hole is sheer bliss.
So I fucked Julie's behind. I eased my dick between her ass cheeks and poked at her butt hole and slowly inserted my long pole to that tiny brown passageway, and I forced myself farther and farther up that terribly narrow trail, feeling the pressure on my dick flesh as I went up her behind. It was painfully tight, and I said to her, "Have you ever been fucked up the ass before?"
She shook her head.
"I'm your first one?"
She nodded.
"I thought so. You're a cherry ass-hole." I laughed. And I thought to myself, "If I hadn't suggested this, would I have gotten it at all?" My mind took me back to the times of my youth, before I ever knew the joys of fucking an ass-hole, to the times when a kiss good-night was all right and I even would go home and play with myself while I anticipated "making it" with some little thing I was dating. The man's mind broadens in such an interesting way. Life is full, he soon realizes, of so many possibilities.
So I gripped her hips and pressed my belly against her can, and sent my spear as deeply into her bowels as I could go. I drove my spear high into her intestines, and it was very pleasurable indeed. "Julie," I said, shoving her skirt away from her ass and bundling it around her hips so that it didn't interfere with my action, "you've got the sweetest ass I think a man ever could know. You have a very exciting ass, Julie." And I looked down at it and got hotter just from seeing it before me. I actually salivated as I looked at those lovely white full cheeks, those alabaster globes between which I was penetrated.
All the while I intermittently played with her clit and tits. Her tits were ripe little oranges whose navels I plucked between my roving fingers, and her clit was an extended hard little nub that I waggled to and fro. And I kneaded her soft and fleshy hips and excited her too by playing along her belly with questing fingertips. It wasn't long before her ass rolls started coming, and she shuddered from the emerging good feeling she was starting to know.
Each time I withdrew down her tight track and got the flesh of my dick back, I was teased to drive strongly into her again. I was teased and tempted and went into her solidly again. And each penetration demanded a new retreat. Back and forth I went, up and down her gripping trail, and my cock was starting to send shivers through me. My balls were responding to my cock's salient messages. The home front was manufacturing the seed that would go into battle. My gut. was swelling from the ache of billions of sperm being made ready for the trip to the front.
It was a heady feeling, and I was being carried along on a mounting urgency. I was being thrust and driven by an inner propulsion that dominated me and controlled my every movements, all my feeling, all my emotions. I wanted to come. It was raging in me. The tension was increasing viciously, and I wanted to come.
But even as I moved towards my own come, she moved towards hers as well. Even as my gut swelled with pain, she began crying softly from her own pleasure and ache. And her ass rolls became convulsive as she drove herself harshly against me. And she cried out once, "Oh, I'm going to come," and it was like a ripping of words from her very bowels upward through her body as she carried my penis with it. She was wracked on the hook of her precious misery.
I gripped her hips now. I couldn't do anything else but grip her hips and ream her ass-hole. My breath was so short I barely could get air. My eyes were two narrow slits. Perspiration stood out all over me. I was blazingly hot. And my lips were in a harsh grimace as I held tightly her hips and drove myself deeply into her butt. I pulled and shoved, thrust and ran, drove and surged, again and again into her, forcing her, driving her with my prick, my brutal big lusting prick.
She whined and let out a scream and then terrorously cast her ass into a gigantic roll. I knew she had come. I could tell by everything in her that she had come. And when she started pumping in that way women have of fucking away their comes, the slipping away of a fuck, I was inspired to break loose my own mad come. And in a sudden harsh leap at that high point where there is no turning back, I ground my dick high into her hole and felt the tension collapse in my guts and knew the sperm rushed hotly from my balls and up my cock's long tight channel into her bowels, into her intestines in a run of fierce spurts. And I kept pumping and pumping, letting it all out of me. I spilled out my guts.
She whined and whimpered, moaned and sobbed, as we lost our fucks, as we slipped away from the tense emotions that had bound us. She cried softly in the pleasurable agony of blessed relief from all that had hurt her and held her. And soon we breathed again. Soon we gained back our sanity, and after awhile I withdrew my weak force from her ass, and we faced each other and embraced and kissed deeply and felt sweetly fulfilled.
I should note however that I was not necessarily a man of my word, though of course I also really had not given my word to her. Be that as it may, I did not hire Julie to be my representative in England. Oh I was sweet to her and kind to her, and I hope I took care of her reasonably satisfactorily. But you see, she really only fucked me to get that job, I feel fairly certain; and there are always so many who will fuck you or blow you or take it up their ass for a variety of like reasons. I suppose, as you might say, the matter of sex and servants really is a problem.
But it's such a delightful problem when one knows how to handle it.
CHAPTER FOUR
The rather callous view which Gerhart P. adopted as part of his stance towards those of the opposite sex who served him or desired to serve him is not without duplication in men's attitudes towards women servants elsewhere in the world. Even the Soviet Union, a land that once was viewed by some as an eventual Utopia where women would truly have equal rights with men, has long had its share of women abusers. And though the servant problem is not recognized to exist in a land where theoretically all are members of the same class and therefore cannot theoretically use another person's labor, yet it very much exists. And women as servants, whether they are called servants or not, are exploited sexually.
Boris J. is an ex-commissar now residing in Paris. He crossed the Iron Curtain on an agricultural inspection tour of farming methods used in
Western countries, and he applied for asylum in one of the nations he visited and subsequently never returned to the U.S.S.R. He is the primary source about information regarding the Soviet Union, sex, and the servant problem here to be related. His knowledge of the problem deals specifically with the collective farm practices as they pertain to the problem. This is his statement:
I'm a product of the Russian Revolution. I came of age after it was done, and I caught the first wave of Stalin's brainwashing. I belong to that generation which was indoctrinated thoroughly in the principles of communism at a time when they still emphasized humanity and not merely material gain. I belonged to that time when the old Marxists still had something to say about our educational system, and their high ideals infiltrated the classroom despite Stalin's despotism.
I suppose that's why I realized the plight of women early. For one thing, I had two sisters, Ida and Eva, and I saw what could happen even in the Soviet Union. We were poor farm laborers and we worked for the kulaks. I'm sure you've heard of the kulaks, whom Stalin obliterated. Well, we all worked for the kulaks, my two older sisters and my widowed mother, my father had been killed in the Civil War between the Reds and the Whites, and myself.
Then Stalin began collectivizing the farms. The kulaks began to be eliminated, at first gradually and then swiftly. And the propaganda people came into the villages and told us of all the blessings we would receive if we joined a collective farm. Pictures of tractors were shown to us and I was told that one day I would run one, and the girls were shown milking machines besides all kinds of imagine kitchen equipment which they would operate when they worked in the kitchens of the collective farms.
Now that latter point is vital to understand. In the first arrangement of the collective farms in Russia, everyone was really supposed to live together. After all, that was the commune idea. Nobody was supposed to own anything, not even the place where we ate. We were all supposed to live together happily.
Well, of course we children were very impressed. My mother had her misgivings, but she didn't know any better, we thought, and we were of the younger generation and the future belonged to us. So we prevailed upon her, and she willingly left the kulak we worked for, and we all went to a nearby collective farm which had been newly established. It was just as well, perhaps, because in a short while our particular kulak was eliminated anyway, and everybody who didn't come willingly when the propaganda people visited us all were ordered to join us anyway.
So we had a head start and perhaps that explains why I rose through the ranks rapidly and became one of the youngest agricultural commissars in my generation which of course is now a past generation. But too there were other reasons for my rapid rise, some of them very painful.
I am thinking of the way I learned to keep my mouth shut even when my heart ached when I saw what was being done to others on the farm. I am thinking of the women. I am thinking too of the young girls. I am thinking perhaps particularly of my sisters.
I was but a child, and they were in puberty. Ida was thirteen and Eva was fifteen. They were assigned to the community kitchen as helpers. Of course they were not designated as servants; we were all comrades in arms. I am being ironic.
But they were servants. And they served a big beast of a man who was the cook and was in charge of all kitchen preparations. Petrov was his name. He reminded one of Rasputin. Do you know of Rasputin? Petrov had the same diabolical cunning of the famous monk who controlled the Czarina. And in his way, Petrov controlled the woman of the farm, especially those of the kitchen.
I was but a child, as I have said, and I did not know yet what sex precisely was. It is strange how a child can see so much and yet not know what is happening. He sees action, but he does not understand the emotion. So it was that I saw Petrov take one of the women cooks in the pantry one day when I had been arranging sacks of flour on a far shelf.
"Come here, my little dove," he said, smearing his greasy hands on a soiled white apron. "Come here and let me make sweet music." And he laughed in his soup-drenched long brown beard.
"No, Georgei Mihailovitch," she cried, using the patronymic in diminutive as is the custom. "No, sweet sire, seek that not of me."
"Natasha dove," he whispered, "come and see what the good cook has brought you." And he laughed again, but with that he ripped wide his fly, hoisted his dirty apron, and unleashed a great and ugly force. Before that I had never seen a man's weapon, and it was strikingly large.
Natasha shrieked. She backed away. She clutched at her skirts and would protect herself against his advance. She neared where I hid behind the flour sacks in an effort to be free from him.
But of course she moved in the wrong direction. He followed her into that aisle and she was trapped. It was a cul-de-sac among the flour sacks. He leered at her. He was fiendish. And ever his great rod marched before him like the Kaiser's armies against us to Brest-Litovsk. And he held that proud red army in front of him as he came. It struck me between the eyes with its sheer size. I wondered if it was possible that anything, which with me yet was so small, ever could be so big.
And he said, leering ever at her as she hovered directly before me where I hid beneath the good Russian wheat, "You're going to feel it up your cunny, honey. Honey, do you want to feel it up your cunny." I use those words, "Cunny" and "honey" to simulate the Russian words which rhyme in the same pattern and refer to the same objects, one of endearment, the other of dear meat.
"No, Petrov," she now cried, calling him directly by his last name. "No, I won't take it. I won't take it. Please do not make me take it."
"Say you won't take my dick, sweetheart," he whispered greedily. "Speak those words, 'I won't take your dick.' Say it darling, say it."
She shook her head. She was frightened. She was sore afraid. Fear gripped her, and terror stalked her like a cat after prey in the mad full jungle. "No, Petrov," she finally begged, and fell to her feet before him, pleading with him and clasping prayerfully her hands together. "Sweet Petrov, violate me not. Violate me not, dear Georgei."
He laughed down at her. He wagged his great dick before her. "Lick it," he whispered, "and I'll think about the issue. Lick it and I'll decide what I'll do." And he shoved the prick at her mouth.
She hesitated and then was lost. She bowed before its majesty, and gently, slowly, ever hesitantly and yet surely, went down upon its head. I was shocked by what she would do. To me it seemed vile and ugly and horrible. But she did it. She did what he told her to do. She licked and kissed his ugly great dick while he held his soiled apron to one side and looked down at her and laughed fiendishly. Oh Rasputin, he.
Then he commanded her to take off her clothes. "I have decided to fuck you in a different way," he told her. "I have decided to give you a treat. Remove your garments." And he pulled her hair while she cried, and thus he raised her from the pantry floor.
Terrifiedly, she began to undress. She wailed and gnashed her teeth and turned against the wall. But she removed her clothes. She undid their clasps and allowed him to assist her in their removal. And soon she was bare before him, and I saw her great and pendulous breasts, and I thought upon my mother whose breasts once I had seen as she washed herself over a tub in an hour when perhaps she thought I slept. Natasha's breasts were great and heavy like the earth mothers', the fruit of the peasant Russian soil.
"Nice big jugs," he said, slapping them upward, cracking them with the flat of his hand to their undersides, making them flop up and then down. "Nice big soft pleasant Russian boobs," he said, laughing. "Yes, I like your boobs, Natasha darling. I always have liked your boobs. Even when you worked for the kulaks and I suspected they were sticking their capitalistic meat up your vag, and that you were betraying the cause of all our comrades in arms, I liked those jugs you carry. Oh, they are not so pleasant as once they were in the olden times, but they are yet satisfactory for my purposes. Come, Natasha, sweet, lie against the flour sacks. Rest yourself against the flour sacks so that I can fuck you on a straight run."
She looked at him and gasped. "What would you have me do, sweet Georgei Mihailovitch?" she begged. And her eyes were wide as he grinned at her. "What, pray tell, would you have me do?"
"Just lie against the flour sacks on a slant, on an angle, Natasha dove, and you'll soon see." He tugged at his sloppy beard, and nodded in my direction.
She backed towards me and did as he bade. "Is it right as I am?" she begged. "Am I as you would have me, sweet Petrov?" She obviously was very afraid.
"Fine, Natasha dove, fine." He now ripped away his apron completely and started to her. "Lower yourself, just a little, dove. Just a little." She did as he bade, and I saw him arrange his dick between her titties.
I was struck. What would he do? What was this he did to Natasha? And she too was astounded, for, with wide eyes, now she cried, "Oh Petrov, don't fuck my tits. Please don't fuck my tits. Fuck my cunt, but don't fuck my tits."
"Why?" he demanded, laughing hideously as he arranged his great meat between her milk factories. "Do you still pride yourself on your vaunted globes? Do you still dream upon the time when they were mighty, when they stood of their own strength and did not flop like great hangers? Why, Natasha? They are not worth saving." And he continued to laugh.
She broke into tears. In later years, I have come to realize that she wept for what once had been. His words cut her to the core, and she remembered a better time. Surely she saw herself in the glorious summer of her youth when, standing before a mirror, she looked nakedly upon herself and prided herself on the marvelous marble marvels that were hers to witness alone. Now she was broken, and her tits were barter in the market.
And she gave them to him. She yielded up her tits, and he went between them with that massive red rod. He speared the valley she formed when he ordered that she hold together her fleshy orbs for his penetration on the run between them. He went back and forth as she lay slanted upon the flour sacks before me where I hid in the far dark corner down that aisle. And his red knob kept thrusting itself towards me as he made every run down her tit valley.
He laughed as he fucked her. "You're a nice lay this way," he said. "Once I would have fucked you straight. Do you know that? Once when you were a kulak's whore, I would have fucked you in your precious sweet cunt. But that was long ago. Now I am your master in a system where we all are equals." That made him laugh perhaps at its irony. "Now, I am the party hack in the combine, and you are but a poor peasant comrade in arms. Now, it is different, and I may fuck you as I please. And sweet Natasha, if you do not like this fucking, report me to Comrade Stalin. I'm sure he'll be interested in your case at the next meeting of the party secretariat." And he laughed fiendishly as he speared her tit valley again and again.
She cried. Oh how she cried. She held her tits together for his fucking, and she cried. And all the while he laughed as he rolled down her valley again and again with that massive red ripe meat.
Finally he reached that point which, since puberty as all boys learn, I have long known that no man can stop himself. He reached that instant where time itself collides with Space and there is an eruption such as the world never knows in one man's life otherwise. He reached that moment when he drove further and recklessly more furiously and forced everything out of him in a belching tornado, a veritable hurricane of explosive violence. He unleashed his molten white fury and spilled everything over her neck and chest. He hit her chin in a sudden wild burst of hot come. And he exploded again and again all his steamy cream until everything was out of his balls and upon her chest and neck and chin.
And then he sucked air deeply, retrieved his senses, and suddenly, hideously laughed riotously again. Oh how he laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed.
That was the first time. Petrov was a villain. It was not the last time. One after another he took each of the women, whittling them down with his masterful rod. And soon it seemed as if none would escape his bludgeoning's bird's blows. Soon it seemed as if all would fall prey to his cock.
It was then I said to my mother, for my mother and Ida and Eva were still among those few who not yet had been taken by his great cock, an instrument which many times after Natash's fall I saw in crude cruel action, "Sweet mother, what is it with Petrov? What is it with Georgei Mihailo-vitch that he-likes so many women? I am but a child, and yet I wonder if it is good."
"Shhh," she said to me in the night as we whispered together in our corner of the great common bedroom where all the workers of the farm slept and loved and cursed. "Speak not loud. He is yonder."
"He is with Svetlana," I whispered. "She is new to the farm, only here recently, fled from the cruel kulaks afar. He takes her this night, doesn't he, dear mother?" And already I was realizing what "takes" truly meant.
"Speak not that word," she whispered in fright. "Say it not so, little one. Speak not lest it come to pass that..." And she let her words fall as one superstitious might do before the Great Curse.
I said no more, but in the morning, I watched Petrov as he brewed a stew. I saw him linger near my dear mother and by my sisters. And I sensed the imminent arrival of still the greatest and most shocking experience of all. And when I saw him stroke dear Eva's arm so familiarly, I whispered to Ida who was near me, "I'll kill him. If he touches Eva again, I'll kill the monster."
"Shhh," she said. "Shhh. Don't speak so loudly. He will hear you, and then it is finished for us all. Be quiet and let things pass that pass."
"But how can you say that?" I whispered harshly. "How can you say a thing like that. Do you not know what it means for you as well?" And I looked at her fiercely.
She nodded, but seemed truly unconcerned. I was surprised.
Then he called, "Eva, Ida, little mother." And he nodded to my kin. "Let us see what exists in the pantry. Let us check our larder." And he signalled that they should accompany him to the room where so often I saw so many succumb to his diabolical charms. And while they followed him hesitantly and yet obediently, I heard around me whispers of the other women in the kitchen. All knew what would transpire, and I saw them look to me expectantly.
I knew they watched me, and I ignored them, and I went away in such a direction that they might think I was unconcerned with the matter. Yet surreptitiously, I returned by another hall and entered the pantry through a narrow window that only I could reach up a narrow pipe which I shimmied before I slipped through the meagre opening and made my way down again among the flour sacks where so often I had witnessed everything. None knew I was there.
He was ordering my mother and sisters to undress themselves. He was out from his own pantaloons and he was stroking a great red hard-on and was playing with his nuts. He was ugly in every way, self-indulgent and mean, cruel and horrible. And he lounged upon the flour sacks, his back to me as they faced him now after a moment when, all turned away, I had slipped into the room.
"Please, sweet Petrov," my dear mother was pleading, "Take me if you would, but spare my lush young daughters this cruel fate."
"Ah yes," he hissed, "true it is when you call them lush. How lush they are." He smacked his lips as he eyed my sisters. They seemed so sweet, so tragically demure before him. And he added, "But they must learn to work for Mother Russia. It is a new time, and they must learn to serve the blessed motherland."
"You are a beast," my mother then said abruptly. "You hide behind the party folderol and prattle sweet slogans while you seize the day for your ugly purposes." And she glared at him.
"Spit fire," he said. "If I did not relish the thought of taking your lush young daughters' cherries, I'd spend the while fucking hell out of you. But since I want cherry cunt very much this day, I'll pass the opportunity to embroil myself singularly with you. Rather, I have other sports planned. Now undress, all of you, and be quiet."
My sisters began to disrobe. I watched them peel away their clothes even when my mother demanded that they cease their action. But Eva spoke for both my sisters when she said, "Mother sweet, it is our fate. Our tragic fate."
Petrov laughed at that. "You see," he told my mother. "They know what is necessary in the new Russia. They know the ways of our great new society."
"You make a mockery of the new society," my mother raged. "You exploit worse than the worst kulak. You are a capitalist in bear's clothing."
He laughed. "Be quiet, old lady, and strip too. I need you as well. I feel in need of a great work-out for the motherland this day. Strip quickly, old woman. Make yourself ready for my use."
She refused to undress. My sisters meanwhile were free from their clothes. They were beautiful in their youth. Eva was full and round and lovely, developed as is a girl of fifteen always. Ida was past the first pubescence and nearing the maturity of the young maiden's figure. She was exquisite, as a fruit newly ripe is precious. Together they were delightful specimens of what the good Russian soil could produce.
Petrov stood at an angle now from me, and I saw him lick his lips as he ogled my sisters. "Let me touch your precious young titties," he whispered, ordering them to him. "Let me know the succulent flavor of your excellent young orbs." And he waggled his two hands that they should go to him.
My mother blocked their path even as, in a strange trance perhaps, they moved on a line towards him. "No," she cried. "Whores, young whores. Give yourself no man merely for his asking. Whores and sluts, pride you not on your innocent flower?"
But Petrov slapped her aside. With one fell swoop, he sent her sprawling against the flour sacks behind which I hid, and I saw my mother's face flush crimson where he whacked her, and her eyes dripped tears of sorrow as, stunned, she lay momentarily only to witness Petrov kissing my sisters' titties.
Then she was off the sacks and was rushing at him. He swiped her again with a backhanded thrust and sent her sprawling anew. Yet she once more moved at him, and now she sought to knee him. "Oh ho," he roared, "one of those, are you?" And he grabbed her feet, flipped her so that she fell upon the sacks anew, and this time he ripped her bloomers from her flesh, tore wide her dress and petticoats, and rendered her naked before him. And he laughed fiendishly. "Hangers," he roared. "Lousy sunny-side-up eggs. Ugly things. Horrible things. Vile things." And he spat upon them in his disgust.
I was furious. Until then I had taken all. I had watched through so many times upon all that occurred and I had done naught. But now I was driven to leave my place of hiding, to emerge angrily, and to face him, straddling those very flour sacks upon which my mother, mortified and destroyed thus, lay in wracked agony as her daughters, my sisters, would be violated.
Petrov saw me. "What ho," he exclaimed. "Now comes the avenger. What ho." And he would swipe at me.
I ducked. He swiped again, and I leapt aside. Then in a furious dash at him, I grabbed his massive cock with both my small hands and would rip it from him. He howled in his agony. I clutched it wildly and yanked and yanked.
But then my sisters came upon me. "You idiot fool," the cried. "What would you do? You mad child. Would you destroy that which is inviolate? Would you ruin a good thing?" And they boxed my ears angrily.
I backed away. I was shocked. They had defended him. They had supported the man who would destroy them. They had called inviolate that which was destined to violate them. What madness was this?
And my mother cried out then, "See, son? You would avenge them. You would protect your sisters. I would defend them. But we both are wrong. They do not deserve nor want our defense and protection. They are whores and sluts. They want only meat for their cunts. They want nothing else. Their eyes are for his meat."
"But my meat is for the avenger's little ripe ass-hole," Petrov suddenly shouted angrily and yet strangely gleefully. "I want to rip his rosy butt apart for what he has done. I like the brave kind. They make the best ass fucks." And suddenly he gripped me. Rapidly in a swoop he fell upon me, twirled me about, gripped my hands behind my back, raised them as if to smash me so, and then unbuckled my kneebritches and dropped my drawers, and began spreading, with one hand wildly, my ass cheeks as I shouted at the immediate realization that something dreadful must happen.
"We'll hold him for you," my sisters cried, and they leapt upon me even while my dear mother, aware too what transpired, leapt anew into the fray in an effort to halt my sisters from their collaborative assistance to Petrov's fiendish cause.
But it was too late. I suddenly experienced the most painful slashing attack I have yet to recall in upon a high hook. My ass was ripped, reamed and ripped. He was into my bunghole, and I was screaming my agony. And he was gleefully shouting, "A cherry boy, a cherry boy. Why hadn't I ever thought of it before? The little fellow is a dandy cherry." And he plunged and soared up and down my destroyed ass-hole.
It was not long before he erupted inside me. I knew only the ache and torturous pain. I gritted my teeth against the agony of his terrible prick up my slender little bungy, and I cried wildly as I desperately would fight to be free. But he lasted within me sufficiently long to explode the contents of his balls up my behind. I felt the fire of his seed breach me and knew the hot searing blast of that great come. And I wept in my agony while again and again I clenched my teeth against the pain, gritted my teeth and gripped my hands into small balled fists against my terrible agony. And he ripped my behind repeatedly while he poured out my long life. In a driving sweep, he was up my ass-hole with his long red ripe rod, and I was splayed, his cream into my bowels.
Then he joyously yet tiredly pulled his rod from my hole and said, in a laugh, "So much for the servant class." He looked around. To my sisters he said, while they fought off my mother and ironically blamed her that he spent his first seed up my tail, "I'll be fresh in a few minutes, my sweet female buckoes. I have enough and more for all. The festivities have just begun. Count that an apera-tif." And he tousled my hair as I flailed him impotently with weak small fists.
Ida and Eva were pacified when he assured them he had sufficient strength to take them shortly after my turn had been completed. And they immediately began to vie with each other for first place in his affections. My mother cursed them and called them every vile name that might apply, but they ignored her and concentrated upon Petrov, seeking ever to gain his choice first.
Then Petrov said, "I'd like to have a little chain.
Mother dear, would you care to join a chain?" When my mother quite naturally refused, he turned to my sisters and, with a shrug, announced that he didn't think he would bother with them unless my mother was more cooperative.
Naturally those stupid girls demanded immediately that my mother show Petrov more kindness. They angrily denounced her for selfishness which ironically they claimed was incompatible with the interests of the new Soviet state. It was bizarre and yet they preached that.
And Petrov said, "Yes, it is bourgeois thinking that will undo all the works of Vladimir Ilyitch. It is imperialist claptrap which sunders the new motherland." And he ordered my sisters to persuade her to join them in the chain he proposed.
To that she cried, "Do they even know what a chain is? Do they even know?"
But my sisters quickly acknowledged that they did, and Ida even raged at my dear mother, "We've been licking each other's cunts long before this, dumb little mother. We've been feasting our mouths on our lovable cunts a long, long time already."
While my mother immediately fainted to those words, unable to stand the terrifying shock of such candor and such revelation, my sisters immediately turned to Petrov while he laughed loudly at my mother's faint, and they urged him to advantage himself of her brief and temporary demise in order that they all fulfill themselves at the fount of pleasure.
He acknowledged their suggestion to be a good one, but insisted that my dear mother be included, and he insisted as well that I be counted a member of the party too. When I angrily refused to join them, he told my sisters that he then would fuck my mother's mouth while she slept. I was horrified. He saw my reaction, and quickly added that he would reconsider his position if I was willing to join the pleasure.
In an effort to save my mother from such a fate, I agreed. But I never should have agreed, for next he placed upon me the burden that to this day I carry in my raging memory, a memory that haunts me down through all the years of my wasted life. He demanded, if I was to be a part of the festivities as he called them and was to prevent him from fucking my mother's mouth, that I should eat my own mother.
I wanted to faint. I cried and begged him not to make me do it, but he insisted that this be done. Though my sisters were themselves somewhat horrified, they, in their own private lust, agreed with his demand. And in the chain that ensued, I was assigned the task of eating my mother's box while my sister Ida sucked my dick and played with my pre-pubescent balls. Petrov licked Ida's vag, and Eva had the dubious honor of sucking his great dick.
To this day I live the horror again and again of the eating upon my fainted mother. Always I see her, propped against those flour sacks in that narrow pantry aisle, and I am between her legs cuddled to her great black vag, and I am tonguing her twat while Ida licks my little dick and gives me a strange pleasure. I am eating my mother's snatch and I am crying great tears and moaning in my agony. And Petrov occasionally is rearing his ugly head to peer upon me and to say, "Eh boy, how-tastes the old fish? Eh boy, what ho."
Sweet mother. I love you so even now in long lost memory. Dearest precious little mother who birthed me, why did I eat your cunt that day? Yet I did eat you out, mother dear. I did suck your juices, and I even, while you were strangely in that faint, caused you to spill fresh juices as you grew warm to my tongue's touch. In later years I was to realize the signs of a woman's erotic development, and I was to know upon every sexual experience the remembrance again and again that I once had made my own fainted mother hot, exceedingly hot.
Yes, mother, hot. You became hot. In that time I knew it not, but in later years I grew aware how hot that day you became even in your swoon. Your vag turned warm and then glowing hot from my tongue's touch upon you. Your cunt juices flowed, and you began to quiver. It's true, mother dear of my memory, you began to quiver in what another time I learned to know was the first pulsing rhythmic fuck jabs of a ride to a big come. You grew hot at my tongue's touch and I brought my own mother pulsingly towards a great come.
Meanwhile, my sister Ida worked on my dick, and I grew strangely excited in that childish way that knows no convulsive eruption but experiences nevertheless the brilliant small flashes of heat and erotic excitement. I knew the strange new joys of a pleasure much later to be known so well and so thoroughly. I knew what it was to want to fuck even if I could not fuck, even if I really did not know fully what a fuck actually was.
And Ida moaned while she sucked my dick from the joys that coursed her fresh new loins as a result of Petrov's own masterful cuntlapping upon her. She twisted abandonedly to his questing tongue at her vulva and when it speared her hot wet vault, she moaned and sighed while she licked my dick, turning to his every touch of tongue upon her clit and vulva and cunt lining. She moved towards the great explosion that would release her new-found tension.
Petrov, for his part, reacted to the probably inexpert and yet tingling touches of my sister Eva upon his massive cock and balls, and there was a moment when, taking his mouth from Ida's vag, he reared his head and wheezed, "Eva love, you are the finest young cocksucker in the entire Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. From the frozen north-land to the hot south, you are the mistress of the suck. From the Pripet Marshes to Far Siberia, none can match your emerging talent." And he gurgled his pleasure and returned with avidity to the licking of my sister Ida's cunt, an action doubtless newly re-inspired by my sister Eva's work upon his great dong.
So they rode to their comes. My mother heaved and sighed in her own wild state, and it is my only solace that she did not reach a climax. Perhaps I am selfish to say that. Perhaps I really should have brought her to one. But my memory is sufficiently sordid without being burdened further with such a terrifying thought.
Suffice it to say, the others all reached grand conclusions. They rushed to their comes like savage dogs in the Siberian snows. They leapt and gurgled and mouthed each other monstrously in their wild greed for their own pleasure. They climaxed like the guns of Borodino firing on the fiend Bonaparte. And Petrov's balls chimed with his fresh come like the bells of Tschaikovsky's great Overture. It was a brilliant, sparkling, fireworks laden come for one and all.
But now I pause. I have said so much. I started to speak of the servant problem in Russia, the way servant girls are exploited by those who would believe perhaps that they were nobody's masters. In a classless society there exists sexual exploitation, I would reveal. And in that revelation, I faced myself with the bitterest memory I possess. I see not only servant girls, my sisters in this case, who in a sense actually prostituted themselves for such exploitation, but I see myself being usurped and then committing that heinous crime of which I still accuse myself.
I am sure it is that memory which has haunted me down the corridors of my personal history, daily lingering with me and making my nights into nightmares; that memory which, despite my rise in the party hierarchy, despite all my obvious other fortune, finally caused me to flee the land of my crime, to seek refuge abroad and away from that world where once I committed such an act.
The mind is a strange phenomenon, is it not? A horrifically strange phenomenon.
CHAPTER FIVE
China today is another vaunted classless society. The mandarins are gone, and new mandarins are in their place. The air is one of equality, and all work diligently for the state. But there are those who tell another story of what happens in still another land.
Sun-sat-nen was a student in the Midwestern United States. He was a secondary source to an event which supposedly occurred in the shadow of the new leadership in Peking. As a secondary source, his account must be taken with the traditional distance always accorded to such relations. He was not there, but stated that, during an earlier time in Tokyo, he spoke with a young refugee of Red China who escaped while on a business mission to Viet Nam and made his way to Japan where he now is said to reside as a private citizen. Sun-sat-nen in turn migrated to the United States
I am not speaking against the new China. I want to assume university studies. It was there, in a small cellar room off the large campus where he was enrolled that he rendered the following account:
I am not speaking against the new China. I want you to know that immediately. You have encouraged me to speak about China today as I know it, at least by second hand, to be. In your attempt to encourage me so, you have related to me an incident which apparently occurred many years ago in the Soviet Union. Quite naturally, as I know you will agree, the incident is not necessarily representative of all life in the Soviet Union. It is restricted to the nature of one man's observation and clouded by the passing of many years since it occurred in a very impressionable young boy's life. By the same token, that which I will relate need not at all be indicative of conditions in the new China. I must emphasize that point. And I must state further that I merely relate the incident in order to fulfill your request for an account of life as it may possibly be in a land we all know so little about.
Now then, let me proceed to my discussion of the matter at hand. The girl's name, we shall say, is Chu-lei, and the boy's name is Lang-yen, and the supervisor's name is Mar-kei; Chu-lei, Lang-yen, and Mar-kei. The girl is twenty-two and very lovely in an oriental way. She is modest and withdrawn, and she is not sexually driven in the manner of the Western women who surround us with their unbridled egoism at all times. Rather she is sweet and demure, a flower of her land, a pride to her new nation. That is important.
The boy is twenty-five. He is young, virile, dedicated to the erection of a better world for everyone. He is learned in the teachings of the great Mao, and he knows them by heart, expressing their practicality at every occasion when they are deemed pertinent to matters at hand. He works hard for his wife and their future.
Mark-kei is a party functionary, similar in a sense to Petrov in the account you related to me of life in early-day Stalinist Russia. He preaches the teachings of Mao too, but you suspect at times that he is unrelated to that which he parrots. He is one of those who speaks perhaps in platitudes, knowing many, believing in none.
Now in the new China, you must understand one thing. Everybody serves the state. Each man and wife, though married, submits himself and herself willingly to the needs of the state. If the state requires a technician in a far away province and the technician is the wife, the husband surrenders her and submits to the time he will be removed from her. Vice versa is true as well. Always, the state comes first. That is most important to understand in the context of this tale.
Now it so happens that Lang-yen was such a technician. Never mind what his particular specialty was. Nor be concerned about Chu-lei's specialty either. Both had such, but they were for the state, and the state is all that must consider them. It is sufficient to note that on a day in June or perhaps it was July, for the bloom was on the lovely flowers of dear Peking and the air was bright and the days long, Mar-kei came to the couple in their small state-furnished apartment and passed to Lang-yen the order to depart for a distant province of the interior, far away in the reaches of Mongolia.
The couple was distraught. In the days before the order was to take effect, the queried together what should be done. Chu-Lei whispered in the night that perhaps a way could be found by which Lang-yen would not be required to fulfill the assignment.
Lang-yen shook his head angrily. "I know what you intend, dear wife of China," he whispered forcefully. "You speak against all the teachings of Father Mao when you utter such a profanity."
Chu-lei begged forgiveness of her husband. "I am but a humble creature," she beseeched him. "I know not. what I say. I would but hold him whom I love so dearly." And she sought physically then to hold him in the dark night.
But Lang-yen angrily broke away from her, and he cursed her infidelity to the state. "You blaspheme the new China," he told her in savage whisper. "You rage in your capitalistic greed against the new world that awaits Father Mao's teachings. You are against the China we love when you speak so."
"No, no," pleaded Chu-lei. "I, frail creature, never would work against our new China. The east is red, my love. The east is red and I would have it not otherwise." And she wept for her weakness.
On the morrow, Lang-yen departed. The time drew near, and, in view of his wife's blasphemy, as he saw it to be, he departed before the full expiration of his period yet at home. He felt it due the state that he leave and not be tainted by the temptation which his wife represented in that moment. And he left her tearfully even while she,-likewise with tears, yet stoically said not what most she would say, in effect that he should remain at least unto that final date when he was due to depart.
So they parted, and there was a last wave of hands, one to the other before Lang-yen withdrew his head into the westward-bound passenger train that slowly drew away from the Peking station. And when she turned to leave that station, when she would cross the street from it and make her way down the crowded narrow thoroughfares of dear Peking in route to the empty apartment she now would inhabit in the time that they must be parted, she and Lang-yen, she chanced to see Mar-kei waving to her from a nearby kiosk where he purchased the latest copy of the government journal.
Mar-kei smiled to Chu-lei and signalled that she should wait upon him. She did so, and he offered her transportation in his government-owned vehicle, an emolument to his position in the party hierarchy. At first hesitant, recalling that only short minutes earlier she bade her dear husband farewell, Chu-lei nevertheless accepted Mar-kei's offer and accompanied him in the automobile.
They spoke of many things. Mar-kei assured
Chu-lei that Lang-yen was serving the state in the profoundest measure imaginable. "He is a worthy youth," stated Mar-kei, "one of the finest of the young China." And he rested a comforting hand upon Chu-lei's where inadvertently she had placed it between them to the seat as they drove through the narrow and winding streets of dear Peking.
She saw that which he did, and she was sore afraid. She wished to withdraw her hand, yet would not offend him who saw her superior, who praised her dear husband, who through so long had been their good friend. So she suffered conflict for that which occurred but proceeded to let it continue to occur.
Then they became lost in the narrow and winding streets of Peking. Mar-kei fretted as they neared a park which she knew was considerable distance from her apartment building, and she could not understand how it came to pass that Mar-kei could be so mistaken in his choice of traffic route to her abode. Then strangely, as they would pass on the far side of the park as if Mar-kei had decided there existed a route there leading to her abode, he claimed the vehicle was without further fuel and could not travel any distance more. And she fretted when, as it approached dusk, he eased the vehicle off the thoroughfare and beneath a wide patch of trees away from the pedestrian crowd which began moving again towards the rest of Peking and perhaps to their abodes for another night's precious sleep.
"We must go a foot," said Mar-kei with a sigh.
"We must travel so, and in the morning I will send a messenger with gasoline for the vehicle. Come. I will take your hand and guard you against tigers." And he clutched Chu-lei's hand as he held wide her door and she stepped from the automobile.
Chu-lei was sore afraid. She did not know the particular area of the city wherein they walked and the night was now dark, and there were many trees and shrubs and few persons still along the thoroughfare.
Suddenly, Mar-kei called aloud, "Eiee, I have forgotten. A document lies in my vehicle which I must possess in the instant when the morning's business commences. Come, sweet and admirable Chu-lei, we must return quickly so that I may retrieve it lest tigers come in the night and usurp the valuable instrument. Come." And he clutched Chu-lei's hand and hurried along the thoroughfare returning to the vehicle.
Suffice it to say, no document was present, and Mar-kei fretted terribly. "Already there come plunderers upon the land," he raged quietly. "The new China is invaded by thieves. I leave but a minute and they fall upon this vehicle as upon prey in a vast capitalist jungle. Eiee, what they have done." And he sat on the seat which Chu-lei earlier had occupied and his door was open and he held Chu-lei's hand and mourned his fate.
So they tarried awhile, and Chu-lei became afraid in the night, and she urged Mar-kei to leave the vehicle, pleaded that he report the theft to the people's police upon his arrival farther in Peking, but that in the moment he leave and take her towards her abode.
It was then that Mar-kei turned to her, and he looked quietly and yet strangely eagerly upon her fair countenance in the dappling moonlight, and he queried, "But why are you afraid, sweet Chu-lei? Why fret you so? Know you now that you are safe from tigers when you are with Mar-kei? Know you not that I am your benefactor and protector?" And he smiled pleasantly upon her fair countenance in the moonlight.
Chu-lei protested that she knew as much and she was ashamed for her words and begged that Mar-kei understand their true meaning. "It is not that I would not tarry with you," she explained to him, "but rather that I must not indulge myself in the night thus. I owe it to sweet Lang-yen who even in this instant travels away to serve the new China on the far frontier."
"But of course," responded Mar-kei. "And you are not indulgent, precious Chu-lei. Rather, you in your way serve the new China even as does good and loyal Lang-yen who travels into the distance in this exact minute. You serve the new China by abiding with me, by comforting me in this moment of my maximum travail, comforting another who toils in the interests of the great society."
And with that he clutched Chu-lei's hand again and now drew her rapidly to him and before she perceived that which transpired, he rose from that seat, gripped her tightly, pressed his lips upon her lips, and twirled her about so that it was she who stood in a moment with her back to that seat upon which he only momentarily had departed. And in a subsequent instant, he pressed her back upon it, and she fell to it, and he fell upon her.
In the instant too, ever rapidly, he had high her fragile skirt, and ripped most quickly her precious panties away, gripping them most fiercely and tearing them from her frail loins; and all in that instantaneous explosion of maximum movement, Mar-kei had his weapon from his trousers and had Chu-lei's sweet wide thighs parted, and he placed his weapon with ripping thrust inside her body.
She cried aloud, and he stilled her instantly with a sharp hand clasped to her mouth. And he moved his force up and down her lovely opening, and he whispered, "Cunt. Precious sweet flowering cunt of the new China. Cunt that I have yearned for through so long. My dear and precious flowering lovely cunt of the new China. Feel you not the masterful rod of the new China in your precious sweet young box? Oh how long have I awaited this moment in time, dear Chu-lei. How long in the night have I stood before my bathroom mirror and watched myself draw upon myself and think I held you in my arms as now I do, see you again and regret that you would sleep with a dullard who never could know your infinite charms."
She looked up at him in terror, and her dark eyes were wide, and she felt his great force rend her small body, and she wondered that she might not bleed from his terrifying thrust into and out from her narrow void. And she cried within herself, and her wide eyes welled with molten tears as she knew the perfidy which she practiced upon her husband.
Oh true, she knew, she had not wanted it so. Yet, she suspected too, how could she truly deny that it had not been planned somewhere in the raging unconscious. Father Mao would say it was long planned. Father Mao would render it to an account of her capitalist past. Her earliest origins were returning to disturb her, and she, like so many, was falling away from the flock.
So she cried silently as he penetrated her, and Mar-kei whispered hotly, "Deny not a good cock, Chu-lei. Deny not that which transcends all that dullard youth you call your husband ever could render you. Mar-kei, I, I Mar-kei, party functionary Mar-kei have the supreme cock. Admit that fact, sweet Chu-lei. Admit that fact." And he forced himself again and again into her gradually-loosening narrow canal.
Ah, but that very fact, the fact of its gradual loosening, inspired Mar-kei and he whispered again hotly, "Chu-lei sweet, your juices prove whose cock is supreme. I rape you, and your juices prove that I am your choice. Tell me when your dullard husband ever provided you with such pleasure. Tell me, Chu-lei. Tell me."
When she did not answer him, though he released his hand from her lips in order that she utter to him a response, he slapped her face and called her a capitalistic fool. "Street urchin of capitalism," he hissed. "You fail the state when you admit not the beauty of the state's blessed ones. Street urchin of imperial dynasties, you fail the new China." And he spat upon her fair countenance, blinding her momentarily with his sputum.
Then he moved towards that flickering instant when the world stands still and all Time is caught in a brilliant explosion of Chinese New Years. He moved to that moment when the world is a bright candle and lanterns dance everywhere. He moved to that moment when he fiercely cried, "Chu-lei, I'm coming. I'm coming, Chu-lei, do you hear? I'm coming in your cunt? I'm a raging hot torrent in your steaming cunt. Chu-lei, you pig capitalist bitch, I'm coming in your hole." And he rammed his great rod again and again in her narrow channel as he delivered unto her all his molten seed.
Then they were done, and he lay awhile in her and let his force dwindle in the retreat of his stilled passion. And at last, he removed himself from her, wiped his rod upon her skirt, laughed in her face, went to the far side of the vehicle and entered and proceeded to start the automobile immediately. "Come," he then told her, "the gods of ancient China have provided the fuel. They are inspired at the sight of my great conquest and your secret ardent desire. Come, we go together in a vehicle powered by grand love." And away they drove.
In the morning, Chu-lei awoke from a deep dream of madness, one in which she ran through endless corridors escaping a great tiger that could not be lost, and she remembered again all that had transpired in the previous night, and was distraught. She would not visit her place of work, not wishing to meet Mar-kei, her superior. And yet she would not forsake the new China, and she blamed herself for her misfortune. So she went to their place of employment, resigned to her fate.
There she met Mar-kei who smiled benevolently upon her, and he invited her to join him behind closed doors in his office, and he reported that which he termed "good news," and he stated that it was possible a mistake had existed in the governmental orders which transferred Lang-yen to the far province. When Chu-lei became joyous, Mar-kei cautioned her to remain still, and he added that he believed it might require certain research on his part, but that he would keep her informed. Then he dismissed her and she saw no more of him that day.
In the night he visited her apartment and entered to speak with her of "further information" he said he had gained during the interim period from their last conference. He stated that he believed a certainty of chance existed that Lang-yen could be recalled. "But it will take time and effort on my part," he whispered. "And naturally I do it only for the new China. Therefore, in the interest of our great leap forward, shall we not do the same?"
His blatant arrogance and terrible hypocrisy and brutal pun on a grand design affronted Chu-lei and she recalled again that which ever had been with her from the previous night, remembering her sorrow and the terrible shame cast down upon her and her ancestors by the unmitigated terror Mar-kei had practiced upon her.
Simultaneously however, she was reminded of that which she was certain Father Mao would say of her own perfidy and long history into the traditions of her forefathers from whose blights she must be purged if she would know the blessings of the great society which she would love. And she thought too of the-likelihood that Mar-kei could bring back her precious Lang-yen, and thought then her burden might be ended. And she wept within herself for her frailty and told herself she wronged Lang-yen and the new China by submitting to such a temptation, by seeking selfishly to gain something for herself.
Yet, sorely in conflict with herself as she was, she yielded to Mar-kei's importunings that night and she permitted him to lead her to the chamber wherein so often she had lain with sweet Lang-yen whom she knew she dearly loved. She disrobed at Mar-kei's insistence, and stood mutely before him while, seated on the side of her bed where dear Lang-yen so often himself did sit, he admired her small body and clasped her buttocks and fondled her pubic hair and kissed her nipples and made her passionate for the lusts of forbidden love.
And she lay upon her marriage bed, spread her legs wide and raised her knees, and clutched her new-found lover into her body as he penetrated her deeply and said, "I love your sweet-smelling cunny, dear Chu-lei. I love everything about your lovely cunny." And he drove long and powerful and exciting strokes into her canal such as she believed she never had known with her dear husband.
And that realization, or suspected realization, troubled her, also.
So the night passed and when he had made love thus three times to her, Mar-kei left the bed and dressed and bade her good-night and told her kindly that he would have more to report on the morrow.
And the morrow brought another brief conference in his office and another night in her marriage bed with Mar-kei. And in that night, he told her, "Let me ram it up your vag, doggy fashion, sweet Chu-lei. Let me show you the beauties you never have known. Let us make passion as do the proud canines. Let us make lust as do the dogs."
She turned upon her bed, went onto her hands and knees, and he crawled between those lovely thighs, spread her buttocks gently and then inserted his hot long rod to her narrow small warm vault. And he gripped her hips and inserted his length fully to her narrow crevice. Then he fondled her breasts, played lightly his fingertips to her nipples and stroked next her clit.
Soon she became very excited, and she began to moan, and she cried out, "Oh, Mar-kei, I have never known anything so beautiful. I have never known anything so beautiful in my life." And she rolled and turned her posterior against his hard abdomen.
Then he said to her, "Say it as you feel it, sweet Chu-lei. Do not hide behind a veil of shame. Say it as you feel it. Say, 'I like to fuck you, Mar-kei. I love to feel your dick in my hole. I want your cock all the way into my cunt.' Say it, sweet Chu-lei. Do not deny yourself."
At first she hesitated. But as he continued to play lightly his fingertips to her breasts and nipples, to cause them archly to swell, and to play equally so upon her gentle clit, there rose in her a thrust of voice which she feared was not even her own as she cried suddenly loudly, "Oh, sweet Mar-kei, I love your long dick. I love your powerful cock. My cunt throbs with your prick inside me. I like the beautiful feeling of this grand fuck, and my twat aches to hold you forever."
Mar-kei laughed and moved towards his orgasm.
So time passed, and night after night Mar-kei made lust with Chu-lei. By day they also copulated. In the nights, they mated upon her marriage bed, and by day they lusted in Mar-kei's office. And the time passed so.
Then suspicion grew among the others of the group as to what transpired behind the closed door of Mar-kei's office whenever Mar-kei and Chu-lei were together there. And soon a quiet investigation ensured, and neither Mar-kei nor Chu-lei were aware of the investigation. Quietly the information was gathered and passed through all the hierarchy of the party unto Father Mao, himself. And then in a profound act to benefit the new China Father Mao revealed to all, from his superior wisdom, as he perceived all that had been unfolded to him, that the diabolical one, the cold and ruthless Mar-kei, was an agent of the enemy, was not in fact a true member of the party, and long had served the cause of insidious capitalism.
Father Mao revealed that it was Mar-kei's mission to destroy a poor flower of the new China, to corrupt an example of goodness, to willfully work wrong against the future of the people's republic. Mar-kei, with malice aforethought, had seduced Chu-lei and made her thereby a servant of the nefarious capitalism. By teaching her all the lustful practices of the decadent West, he caused a great breach in her heart so that she lustfully then in her marriage bed and in his office became the willing tool of capitalistic lechery.
A servant girl of the new China originally, she was exploited by a malefactor of capitalism who posed as a member of the worthy party. Seduced because of the weakness of her own flesh, in her desire to possess Lang-yen again, she descended into the dark regions of the heart in her abandonment to her desires. And thus, once a precious flower serving a great society, she became a sad poor example of capitalism's rank-and-file, servants all to the lusts of the human heart. She failed her land and her people.
Yet Father Mao was benevolent. When with his superior wisdom, he contemplated the condition of Chu-lei, he knew that Lang-yen had been sent to the far provinces by a false order of the capitalistic pig agent, Mar-kei, and he promptly rescinded that order and returned Lang-yen to Peking. There, in proper atonement for her wrongs against her fellow man, Chu-lei humbly awaited him. And Chu-lei thanked Father Mao in her heart for the chance to serve the new China again with her dear husband. She thanked Father Mao in her heart very much.
CHAPTER SIX
The problem of Negro servants in the Old South has long been a matter of historic concern. Tales are told often of the wiles and ways with which white masters seduced and traduced colored maidens in the time before the War Between the States. The many mulattos and octoroons are said to be testimony of the white man's perfidy and vile use of the black woman's sad flesh.
Abraham B., a descendent of a slave grandmother, recounted in Chicago in the course of an interview a strange and fascinating tale of early life in the Deep South as known by his kin. It is included in this volume not only for the further light it sheds upon the problem of sex and the servant but also because of its unique revelation of a situation perhaps hitherto unknown to historians. It follows here:
First of all, let me point out that I'm a black man and proud of it. I wouldn't have it any other way. You can take all your white trash and shove them up your ass. If I seem a little down on the economic ladder here on the south side of Chicago, it wasn't always so for my family; and that's exactly what I'm talking about.
Do you know anything about the Emperor Jones, the thing Gene O'Neill the playwright did back in the early '20s? Well, one of my ancestors was an emperor in his own right, I suppose you could say. It happened during the Civil War; or as they say in the old country, the War Between the States. And it happened in, of all places, the sovereign state of Mississippi. That's right. Let me tell you about it.
Have you ever heard of Sutpen's Hundred? I'm buggering you with literary minutiae, but anyway I'm referring to Thomas Sutpen and his hundred acres of land carved out of the wilderness in northwest Mississippi as mentioned in William Faulkner's novel, Absolom, Absolom. Thomas Sutpen was a white man supposedly who came out of nowhere to the frontier land of Mississippi in 1835. Where his wealth came from, nobody knew, but that he left briefly and returned with a hundred slaves to build his mansion was a well-known fact in the mythical Jefferson, Faulkner's literary town near which was located the acreage where Sutpen settled.
Now, to make a long story short, I want to tell you this: it is my firm belief, from all the records I have studied of my family, that Thomas Sutpen and my ancestor were one and the same man. That's right. It may shock you, but I believe it is the truth. I am a scholar of sorts and I have gone back to the old country at great personal risk and have investigated myriad courthouse records there, have studied documents left in my family wills and testaments, handed down from generation to generation; and it is my firm belief that William Faulkner modeled the fictional character of Thomas Sutpen after my ancestor.
First of all, my ancestor's name was Thomas Sutpen; yes, that. Faulkner did not even change the name. Oh it is true that sometimes my ancestor signed his name as Alonzo Sutpen, and sometimes spelled the family name as Sutpin and on a few occasions, even Suttpinn. But his name again and again appears as Thomas Sutpen in innumerable public records.
Why then did William Faulkner, a literary immortal, use my ancestor as a model for his literary creation? I do not know. It would be presumptuous of me to even state that William Faulkner knew of my ancestor. Such, I am sure, is not necessarily true at all. Rather, I suspect, Faulkner had heard the legend but never investigated it fully and never did find out that the hero of the legend was a black man.
How could a man as well-versed in the legends of his area not know that Thomas Sutpen was a black man? Simple enough. Faulkner's own ancestors would long have dropped that fact from their consciousness. After all, how can any white Missis-sipiian accept the fact that one of the greatest defenders of the Southern confederacy was none other than a black man? The very idea is monstrous to white Southern sensibilities.
Yet that is a fact. Thomas Sutpen, my Thomas Sutpen, was an arch defender of the Confederacy and slavery. Oh yes, Thomas Sutpen, the real Thomas Sutpen, my ancestor Thomas Sutpen, was a slaveholder, and a very important slaveholder too. And though Faulkner credits his Sutpen with possessing a hundred black slaves, apparently brought to Mississippi from the West Indies at the time of Sutpen's work on his mansion, my Thomas Sutpen owned several hundred and was one of the largest slave-owners in the entire Old South.
It is not for nothing that Confederate General Nathan Bedord Forrest, also of whom Faulkner had written, was a close acquaintance of my Thomas Sutpen and also visited Sutpen's Hundred, the real Sutpen's Hundred, many times before, during, and after the Civil War, right down to Forrest's death in 1877. In fact, for weeks at a time, Forrest dwelled there at Sutpen's expense.
Let me leave that miscellaneous fact though and dwell upon an incident that Faulkner recounts for his fictional purposes in another way from the actuality upon which he perhaps based it. A major part of Faulkner's novel concerns itself with the marriage of Sutpen's daughter Judith to Charles Bon. a friend of Judith's brother, Henry. Henry and Charles serve together in the war, and Henry even sponsors the love between Judith and Charles until he discovers that Charles is really his half-brother, son of his own father and a black girl from the Indies. He then kills Charles in order to prevent the incestuous relationship from developing and also perhaps because it affronts him that his sister would marry a black man. The incestuous part of the story can be found in a Biblical tale involving Absolom, son of David, and is the source of Faulkner's title.
But there exists a full measure of truth behind Faulkner's tale save that it is vastly inverted from the narrative account which Faulkner gives. In reality it was Henry who was killed, and it was Charles who did the killing; and it was Henry who made love to Judith, not Charles. Let me tell you the full story.
Henry was a northerner who went South after Sumter and joined the Confederate cause. He was a yankee with a rebel's heart. He believed in caste and class in the tradition of the Old South, and he identified with the slave-holding class of the Deep South. He despised Negroes and considered them an inferior people. Because Charles and my ancestor Thomas Sutpen were as light as he was, he was not aware of their black blood. He assumed they were as he believed he was, and he never spoke of the race issue with them.
Now it so happened that when he visited the Sutpen mansion, its owner was often away to battle beside Forrest or one of Lee's other lieutenants whom Thomas Sutpen assisted materially and intellectually. Therefore Henry was never made to realize that Judith was Charles's sister. He saw her as a slave member of the household and thought no more of it. You see, Judith was much darker than
Charles or Henry, and her mother was dead and she seemed to possess no direct connection to the family. Charles, perhaps sensing Henry's feelings about Negroes, never had mentioned that Judith was his sister. Furthermore Charles perhaps wanted to win Henry over to an affection for the black race, and therefore believed Henry's interest in Judith was worthwhile to that purpose.
But of course Henry's interest was only sexual and he wanted simply to use a beautiful black girl as a receptacle for his lusts. Perhaps he even believed that Judith was his servant during his stays at the Sutpen mansion, and he intended to use her services accordingly. Certainly he used them sufficiently to give her a child. But let me not dwell on that now.
Let me rather reconstruct a scene as it has been told to me many times, a scene in which Henry, arriving at the Sutpen mansion, goes to the room he regularly occupied there; and he calls for Judith, the lovely black girl who regularly serves him whenever he is in the mansion. "Judith," he says to her when she comes to him, "pull off my boots, won't you?" And he situates himself in a deep chair in his bedchamber, kicks high a foot and offers his boot to Judith. And she goes onto her knees and begins to pull away the boot.
He looks at her. She is a lovely wench, he thinks; well worth a tumble in the hay. He sees her big black lovely tits rising high in the low-cut, tight bodice of her crinoline dress. He sees her proud hips, and he thinks how beautiful they would be to hold naked. It would be good to knead her flesh. It would be the best thing in the world. And already he can see her big black lovely pussy and her lovely dark and smooth belly, the chocolately hue of her soft and vibrant young flesh. "You're a very beautiful girl, Judith," he says to her. "Did you know that?"
She blushes, and he enjoys the way her chocolate flesh takes on a crimson color and becomes a kind of dull and mottled vermilion that fascinates him. He-likes the way her breasts swell when she becomes excited at his compliment. And he thinks again how much he would like to fuck her. And that is when he says, knowing the frankness of the darkies and taking a chance on her bent for candor, "Judith, do you like to fuck?" And he tenses from the excitement at his own use of that word.
Judith blushes again. She swallows suddenly. She doesn't know what to say. And yet she has wanted his dick for a long time. In the nights when Charles and Henry were on the front in Virginia, keeping their watch on the Potomac, she has lain in her Mississippi bedchamber and has played with herself regularly, thinking of Henry's dick up her vag. The very thought of it always excites her intensely, and she inserts three and four fingers to her cunny and fucks herself wildly, crying out in her joy, "Oh Henry, Henry, I love to fuck you. I love to fuck you. You are the most wonderful fuck I think I ever will know."
Now he has propositioned her. Yes, he has as much as propositioned her. He has asked her if she-likes to fuck, and that is the same thing as a proposition. And she suddenly sees her chance to get him into her cunt, and she nods to him feverishly when he says that to her, and she says, forcing herself to say the words even as already she knows the wonderful consequences they will have, "Yes, Henry. I like to fuck very much." And, as she removes that boot, which has been her task to pull away, she smiles to him gently, inviting him thereby to possess her body if he would.
And of course he says to her, "Well, Judith, I certainly would like to fuck you. I damned sure would." And he strokes the great prick that has already arisen inside his uniform breeches. He strokes it and thinks of sending it all the way up her cunt.
She begins to remove his other boot and she glances idly, and yet not so idly, to his soft and freshly-made bed, the bed upon which she had hoped even at the advent of his coming, to fuck with him. And he gets the message and says, "Judith love, get that boot off damned fast and let's get out of our rags. Let's fuck, sweetheart. That's what I want to do more than anything else." And he waggles his foot at her even while he unbuttons his fly and yanks out his great dick and lets her see it.
She is transfigured by the mere sight of it, and she hurriedly rips away his other boot, stands quickly and begins rapidly pulling away all her fettering garments. She is terribly excited just from the thought of that great dick being in her. And quickly she pulls away all her clothes and stands naked before him.
He looks upon her even as he rids himself of his uniform, and he sees those big proud wonderful chocolate tits before him and looks upon the strange great dark caps that mount them. Her saucers protrude from the surface of her proud tits, and her nipples in turn protrude from her saucers. Her tits are like cones, marvelous and spherical cones. Her tits are lovely and beg to be nibbled.
But that is not all of her. He sees too the soft and yet firm smooth flesh of her perfect belly and sees her mysterious navel and sees the strong sure and wide thighs and perfect calves. And he sees most of all that utterly glorious black bush which is her Venus mount. "What a marvelous thing," he says. "Your pussy is exquisite." And, as he throws off the last of his uniform, he slips to his knees, holds her ass cheeks big and round and warm and tight in his hands and he licks her curly crisp dark tabby hairs. His dick is throbbing from all his excitement.
And she gently holds his head while he licks her pussy, and she looks down at his work upon her, and she feels beautiful inside herself from the pleasure of what he does to her. And she whispers, "Henry sweet, don't eat me out. Let me feel your dick in my hole. That is the important thing, sweetheart. I want to feel your dick in my hole." And she tousles his fine dark hair and pulls it and signals that he should take her to the bed.
He does. He rises and they embrace, and she shoves her belly against his cock and rolls her big hard nipples against his chest and presses her perfect tits forcefully against him as she wraps her arms around his neck and yields her tongue to his tongue in a very deep kiss. While they kiss so, he eases her backward until the backs of her knees touch the edge of the bed; and then he presses her onto it as he falls directly onto her, their bodies never parting as they go onto that bed.
She spreads for him. Already she anticipates that marvelous great cock up her hole. Already she yearns to take it as far into her as she possibly can. She spreads her legs and raises her knees and humps her pelvis and awaits his entry. Oh beautiful and lovely entry.
His cock acts on its own. It needs no help. It seeks out her warm moist waiting cunt lips and it enters her hot wet hole on a straight line even while they maintain their torrid kiss. He digs deeply into her and feels sublime. It is a heady feeling, and he loves it.
She tears her mouth away from his now to exclaim, "Oh Henry, Henry, it's wonderful. Your dick is the most marvelous thing I think I shall ever know. I love your dick in my hole, Henry. I love your dick in my hole." And she kisses him feverishly all over his face and neck and shoulders. She is exceedingly grateful to take his big white cock in her hot dark cunt. It is a beautiful bird, and she is grateful to capture it.
He fucks her on a straight line. She is so perfect and wet and ready and right, that he pulls his dick completely out of her and starts a new run down her hole in order to feel the perfection again and again. She is everything any man could ever want in a screw.
Yet he thinks to himself, "She's a nigger. I'm fucking a nigger. How about that? I'm sending my pork into a chocolate honey. I'm dicking black stuff. I'm fucking a slave."
Now Henry, a victim of Northern propaganda in the Abolitionist press and by word-of-mouth in the time before his rush South to join the Confederacy, has been filled with lurid tales of white Southern exploitation of colored girls; and it excites him to identify with the aristocracy of the South and to humble a black girl in the moment. So he fucks her harshly now with the good knowledge that he is her master.
But that very act triggers something in Judith which she has sometimes fantasized in the times when she has played with herself in the nights. And she suddenly feels even more exhilarant than theretofore. And she cries out loudly, "Oh fuck me, you bastard. Fuck me. Send that sterling big prick of yours as hard into me as you can. Send it all the way up my vag and crush me with its force."
Her words stun Henry and yet tease him exceedingly. She is behaving, he knows, exactly as her primitive heritage demands that she react. She is returning to the jungle, and he is overjoyed at the pleasure of taming a savage beast. It is exactly what he wants, and he is prompted to fuck her with a savagery to match her own savagery. "I'll fuck you, you bitch," he shouts. "I'll fuck you like you've never been fucked in your life. I'll send my dick into your lungs and crush them. I'll reach into your neck and choke you." And he penetrates her with his lance as hard and rapidly and savagely as he can. He drives his force high into her and he bludgeons her with his cock.
"Oh you sonofabitch," she shouts exultantly, feeling his great dick beat her cunt to death, "you're wonderful. You're the meanest, crudest, greatest fucker that ever will exist. Fuck me harder and harder, ever harder, you sonofabitch. Fuck me until I can't fuck anymore. Kill me with your weapon. Destroy me with your great gun." And she rocks her ass in enormous fever at what he does to her.
So they fuck fiercely and madly. They thrust and lunge, lurch and soar, smash and force their animal ways against the stars. They fuck fiercely and madly and seemingly unendingly. And they cry out their savage ecstasy as they pound their wild loins smashingly against each other. They fuck with an absolute terror, a startling immensity of fanatic purpose.
And finally they start to roll down the line to their comes. Finally they reach that effervescent instant when time itself is dissipated in the craving rush of lust's demands; they reach that nadir point convulsed into apex when the racking thrust of gargantuan animal appetite is upon them; and they desperately try to breathe as they hurtle themselves against all the physical properties of the universe in their mad raging vicious rush for fantastic comes.
Suddenly they erupt. Volcanically they surge into the cataclysmic abyss which opens before them in the maddening moment. They come. They plummet and soar, they hurtle and explode, they erupt and cascade. Their nerves spew out in brutal frenzy. Everything in them archly breaks loose, and their bodies are convulsed in tyrannical surrender. They tremble and shake and clench and distend, spasming insanely in wild convolutions of nerve endings spewing out their tension.
He spills his seed into her. High in her hole, he snaps loose all his white hot sperm. He floods her with his flow. He sends it high into her and smashes it against the top of her cunt, released it to the final place where Creation assumes control. He gives her everything that is in his nuts and deposits it deep in her innermost vault. He splatters her with his come and sends it into her womb.
She screams her joy as she feels his torrent of torrid sperm flood fully her innards. She clutches him wildly and sends her cunt against his cock as if in salient attempt to confiscate that proud treasure and deposit it with his seed high inside her hot flesh.
Then they melt away their fucks. They pass away all that is in them, splay out the last frayed nerves, and collapse into that blessed peace which comes in the arching moment of last release. They rest together, Henry in Judith's hole, spent inside her, depleted and defeated in his glorious victory, victorious in his surrender. And they kiss from the good feeling of it all, and do not see him who has seen all.
For Charles has witnessed everything. Charles would go to the room wherein Henry was, but intruded upon that fuck, and so stood without, peering in embarrassed and yet rivening fascination at what transpired in that chamber, witnessing the monumentality of that searing fuck. And only when it was done, could he break himself away, move from that door where he stood and go down the hall to his own chamber wherein he rushed to grapple with his own loins and to pull his dick wildly as he remembered his sister's beauty in the time he watched her fuck his friend.
And he cried out to himself as he jerked his dong, as he stood with legs tightly together and breeches around his ankles, "Oh Judith, sister, I'm fucking you. I'm committing incest with you, can't you tell? I'm fucking the shit out of you." And he whacked his meat insanely as he tensed and tensed until he shot his load over the chest of drawers before which he stood and cracked full with semen the mirror in which he watched himself.
And afterwards he was terribly ashamed of himself, and he wished it hadn't happened. He wished none of it had happened, and he cursed himself for being so weak. He wiped his dick on a towel and put it away and cursed himself for being so terrible.
Yet he could not prevent himself from going unto his sister in her room that night in the dark and when she was abed. She asked who it was, and he murmured his name, but she immediately mistook him for Henry, and she welcomed him to her bed. He went to her with a huge hard-on. He felt heady and wild and he couldn't retreat from that which he would do, and he went into his sister with the fierceness of the damned. He kissed her titties in the dark, and he slipped his great dick into her cunt. And he was most pleased when she told him that his dick felt better than it had felt when first she fucked him; or thought she had. He felt pleased and proud and turned his cock therefore even more joyously up her hole.
They exploded together and he too, sent his wash high into her cunt. He too released his seed deep into her vault. He too placed his sperm where it would do the most good.
So it happened that twins were born to Judith within the year, and the twins were not identical but were of two eggs. And it was then that Charles killed Henry, and it happened in this way.
They went to the North in the stolen uniforms of Union troops, their purpose to do destruction behind the enemy lines, to visit Boston or someplace in Massachusetts which was Henry's home and there to wreck havoc upon the enemy. And while they were there, they met Henry's mother or the woman who said she was Henry's mother. But the woman who said she was Henry's mother had a friend, an old crone, a dissipated tart who, in alcoholic oblivion, took Charles aside and probed him drunkenly of his past. She would know of Mississippi and of his home and of his father, of everything about him. And her questions never ended until one night she told him she had gone to bed with his father.
He could not believe it, yet she could describe everything of his home even better than he could, and she was able to mention certain landmarks of which he hadn't spoken at all and some of which long had been destroyed. "Yes," she said, in alcoholic oblivion that night "not only did I fuck your old man. But I had a kid from him as well. And of course the kid was Henry."
Then she said she had returned to the North because she "couldn't stand the damned South," and besides she had been a whore in New Orleans when she met Charles' father and had been there only because she was adventurous and didn't feel like whoring all the time in the North. So she went North again and that was where she had Henry. And she deposited Henry with the woman Henry had learned to call his mother; and though the two women were close friends, and the crone had seen Henry grow to be a man, the crone and his supposed mother never had told him the truth.
So Charles took the knowledge into his heart, and there he brooded. He thought upon it, and he brooded. His own brother had fucked his own sister, he suddenly knew. And he too had fucked his own sister. Together they had fucked their own sister. And it was wrong to fuck one's own sister.
That was why he killed Henry. Charles lived in agony at his knowledge of having violated Judith, and when he knew she was with child, he was sore remorseful. This remorse was heightened when Judith, thinking the expected child was Henry's, wrote to Charles and begged him to convince Henry to marry her. But Henry laughed when told that Judith would have him wed her, and he said, "What? Me marry a darkie? Me marry a slave? You must be crazy? You must be insane."
Charles could not bring himself to tell Henry that Judith was his sister; nor, when he learned that Henry was his brother, could he tell him that either. So he continued to brood until that day when he received a letter that Judith had birthed two little girls, twins by two separate eggs. And then he was sure that he was guilty for the fertilization of at least one of those eggs, and when he told Henry of the births and Henry laughed triumphantly and believed that he, Henry, had caused them both, Charles knew that he must destroy his brother.
So it was when they were upon another secret mission, bound anew for enemy territory, that Charles betrayed Henry to the yankees. And he didn't care whether he, himself, escaped or not; though he did escape after he saw Henry hanged. He escaped and was glad that his brother was hanged.
But the death plagued him even as did the remembrance of his night with his sister, and for years after the war he was damned by his memories. Then, shortly after Nathan Bedford Forrest's death, which had a profound effect of Thomas Sutpen, the elder Sutpen, superstitiously fearing his own departure from the world, admonished Charles once again as he had so often after the war for not marrying and providing an heir to succeed him in his own death even as Charles would succeed Thomas Sutpen at Sutpen's demise. And it was then that Sutpen suggested that Charles wed one of Judith's two teen-aged daughters.
Charles was shocked. He argued with his father and cursed his father for such a suggestion. But his father only laughed and said, "What the hell are you talking about? Your mother was my half-sister." And it was then that Thomas Sutpen revealed that he had bought his own half-sister as a slave for his plantation. "I'm not sorry," he said. "I wanted to keep the blood pure. It was part of my grand design." And he laughed fiendishly.
That was when Charles killed his father. In a story that William Faulkner wrote, called "Wash", it is a man by the name of Wash Jones, a meager man on Sutpen's estate, who kills his employer when Sutpen gives Wash's teen-aged daughter a child and then does not marry her because it is a girl child and not a boy child who would inherit his Hundred. In reality, as I know reality to be, Thomas Sutpen, my colored ancestor, was killed by his own son, Charles, when the father made the suggestion which I have just mentioned.
Charles, plagued by years of guilt, could not stand it anymore. And his father's crude suggestion triggered the mechanism that released all the aggression that for years he had bottled up within himself. His anger at himself suddenly exploded in his anger at his father. And he murdered his father in his raging torment.
Well, what am I saying? And what is this all about? I am simply saying that here was a case of the exploitation of a servant; at least Henry believed Judith was a servant, and he exploited her as a servant. It is an example of the exploitation of a servant in the Old South. Yet it is not the story of a slaveholder's abuse of a servant. It is the story of a northerner's abuse. And the girl was not a servant at all, but simply had adopted the role of servant to be with the young man whom she loved, a young man who himself simply had adopted the role of a slaveholder as he thought a slaveholder's role to be. Nor was it the exploitation of a black woman by a white man, though Henry surely thought he was a white man, even as there must be Mississippians today who believe the prototype for Faulkern's Sutpen was a white man also.
Life is full of so many ironies, so many devious paths and turns. And any one problem, even that of sex and servants, is fraught with myriad confluences of divergent impressions.
CHAPTER SEVEN
One of the most abominable chapters in human history regarding master-servant relationships deals with the Nazi attitude towards the Jews. The Nazis considered the Jews to be untermenschen, or "under people," inferiors. Alfred Rosenberg, the Baltic-born prophet of National Socialist racism, built his theories upon such respected nineteenth and early twentieth century authorities as Houston Chamberlain. It is difficult for persons living in the Western world today to realize that it once was quite fashionable to believe that all races other than the Caucasian race were biologically inferior races. Yet that belief did prevail in learned circles, and the United States Immigration Act of 1922, restricting the flow of persons from Eastern and Southern Europe and the peoples of Asia to the United States was an outgrowth of the then-still-current thought; and that act, as amended by the
McCarran Act of 1950 is little changed at this time in the U.S.
Yet the Nazis practiced racism with a vengeance. Millions of people were eliminated and millions more were scheduled to be destroyed when the Nazi juggernaut finally ground to a halt, defeated and itself destroyed at the end of World War II. Its heritage though is a host of cruel tales, one of which could be considered to be the following account rendered by Leah R., a resident of New York City today and a daughter of refugees from the Nazi atrocities:
You are seeking examples of the sexual exploitation of servants by their masters or others. Let me tell you one that has been told to me. It takes place in the village of Auschwitz, that inferno where so many were destroyed. It involves a vicious Nazi scientist and three very lovely and beautiful Jewish women. One of the women was thirty, another was twenty-five, and the youngest was twenty. They were most attractive in the fashion of their kind. Their breasts were the exciting breasts that only Jewish women can have, and their hips and bellies and legs and behinds were the same. They had dark hair and it was lustrous, and their dark eyes smoldered; their sensual lips excited any male who saw them; and everything about the women spelled the beauty of their sex.
The Nazis saw it too. Don't worry; the Nazi pigs might execute millions, but they never stopped drooling when they saw an exciting Jewish woman.
And if it was possible, they delayed the executions of such lovely creatures. In fact, the Commandant of Auschwitz, a beast who was the long-time friend of Martin Bormann, Hitler's Nazi party chief, himself had a Jewish mistress. The woman was obliged to live with him and fuck him or else be sent to her death. She sought in her humble way, by sleeping with him to save at least a few poor Jews' lives. So it was not unusual for the Nazis to look for Jewish women to sleep with them.
The doctor, a beast of a man who considered himself a great scientist at the expense of millions of persons, liked Jewish women too for his own private purposes. Oh, he said he merely wished to experiment with them privately. He disdained to mention the fact that he wanted to go to bed with them. Everything was supposed to be in the interest of science, even his long dick up their cunts.
So he took the three women, Rachel, Ruth, and Hannah, and he would have them live with him at his villa on the far side of the village of Oswicim, or Auschwitz, away from the stench of burning corpses. And there he took away their clothes and burned them in his coal stove. "You are naked now," he told them then, "and you will remain here until I have fulfilled my experiments." And he then stripped before them, threw his own clothes aside, and twirled his cock, which was already large, and paraded back and forth before them.
"Do you like it?" he said, smiling meanly at them. "Do your Jewish cunts juice themselves for my Nazi big dick? Hmmmm? Do they?" And he pulled back his prepuce and revealed his cock's red head. "I'm not circumcised like your Jewish men," he said. "I hope you won't mind." And he grinned meanly at them.
They stood before him in a row, their lovely bellies flat and perfect, their thighs full and wide, their buttocks firm and their breasts high. And they were afraid of this madman before them. They wished they were not there, and they were only there because they were his prisoners. They were obliged, against their will, to let him do with them what he wanted. It was awful.
So he went to them and played with their titties. He walked up and down before them and plucked their titties and bent to suck their nipples. He played with their cunts and stroked their pussies. And he was their master, and they were at his mercy. And he said to them, "You have excellent boobs, you Jewish whores. And you have nice cunts too, hot and wet. You're ready to fuck. You know that, don't you? You're hot to fuck this very minute." And he laughed cruelly.
The women begged him not to fuck them. They did not wish to be violated. They would rather perish than be violated, and they begged him not to fuck them. "Oh, have no fear," he told them. "I have other things planned before I intend to fuck you. I have many other things planned."
And that was when he ordered them into his cellar. It was not really a cellar; it was a dungeon. It was something left over from DeSade. It was full with instruments of torture: racks and wheels, levers and pulleys. And a whole wall was lined with whips and lances and spears and daggers and riding crops. And there was even sealing wax available and a small fire in a wall furnace for the melting of the wax. The place was indeed a horror chamber.
The mad doctor saw their eyes widen as they perceived all the instruments of destruction, and he laughed loudly then and stroked his dick and balls even more. "Good, good, good," he said wildly. "You like it, don't you? I can see by your gaze how much you appreciate everything. Wonderful. I am grateful to have those who appreciate things. It makes my task so much lighter." And he flicked his hard cock pleasurably.
Then he strung them all up to chains which hung from the ceiling or were bolted to the floor. He locked their hands and legs in chains, positioning them in a row one next to the other and with their legs spread. And he proceeded to look among his whips and lances for the biggest bullwhip he could find. He found it and returned before them to crack the whip several times at the air, snapping and cracking that great black snake of a whip with a ferocity that frightened the women dreadfully. And Hannah, who was the youngest of the three, cried out, "Please, Herr Doktor, beat us not with that whip. Oh please, Herr Doktor, beat us not."
The mad doctor laughed. "What a sweet voice you have," he said, "And I love the inflection with which you speak. Let me see how you yell, my dear. I wish to know the exact pitch and treble of your screams." And he instantly smashed her tits with a searing strike of that horrible bullwhip.
She bled, and she screamed horrendously, and the mad doctor laughed fiendishly. He laughed and pulled his dick with his free hand while he cracked that whip again upon the poor young girl's lovely great breasts. And he said, "Yes, you have a perfect treble. I am not pleased with your volume; it is a bit too loud. But your treble and pitch are excellent. You have a marvelous tonal quality, my dear." And he cracked her lovely tits again, watched them bleed as he cocked an ear and played with his meat with his free hand.
Then he turned to the other two women and asked them if they had anything to say. When they mutely shook their heads in wide-eyed terror, he laughed again and flicked his dick anew, and he said, "Did you know that whipping can excite some persons? I, for instance, become most excited when I whip a person. Look." And he pointed to his big dick. It throbbed. He laughed. "See?" he said. "I soon will come just from the joy of whipping you. Aren't you pleased?" And he walked about the room, letting them watch his dick throb as he merely struck that great whip at the air.
After that, he began beating them across their backs. "I would not destroy all of your tits yet," he told them. "What I have done to the screamer," and he indicated Hannah who had been beaten on her breasts, "was merely a lesson to all of you not to beg me to discontinue that which I love so well. But I do not prefer whipping tits at the outset. Rather, I pleasure myself upon beating backs and particularly rosy ripe asses that flush so beautifully from the sting of a mighty whip." And he beat their behinds and drooled as he watched fascinatedly their asses flush scarlet from the beatings he gave them.
It drove him insane, more insane than he was already. He began shaking all over. He wiggled left and right and jiggled up and down from the pleasure it gave him to see their behinds beaten. And he began playing with himself wildly, then suddenly went in a leap at one after the other of the three lovely women's rumps. He leapt upon one and began fucking that one's ass while she screamed terrorously at his sudden penetration into her dry bunghole. That was not enough. He rushed from that one to the next. And so he proceeded one after the other, dicking each for a few strokes and then leaping to the next in his wild mania. And they screamed terrifiedly at what he did to them.
That was not sufficient though to please him and next he lowered the chains that bound their hands and he obliged them to bend forward while he speared their cunts now from behind, once again leaping at their rumps, but sending his big dick into their cunts as do the little dogs one to another. And that excited him enormously, and he gripped their hips and rammed his dick savagely into their cunnies so.
But that still did not pleasure him sufficiently, for next he went before each of them and demanded that they lick his dick, one after the other, as he marched back and forth before them. They begged that they shouldn't be obliged to do such a thing, but when they protested, he whipped them severely, and they were constrained to perform the act upon him. One after the other, they licked his dick while he whipped the next one whose turn it would be. He flailed one with the whip while he patted the head of the poor woman who blew his dick in the particular moment. And the dungeon was rent with screams and sobs as each was obliged to do her duty.
Yet he was still not satisfied, and he demanded that they should enjoy what he did to them, too. "It is not enough that I pleasure myself," he-raged at them. "You too must find it exciting that I do all these things to you." And he was bestially angry with them, shouting that they were not at all as ardent as any German girl would be. "Why, I have whipped dozens of German girls in my time," he exclaimed, "and they love it. They come all over the place. They enjoy it immensely. They think it is the most perfect thing they have ever experienced. We Germans love punishment. We love to give it and we love to receive it." He laughed. "We are the perfect sadomasochists," he proclaimed. "The German is the best of all sadomasochists." And he laughed loudly.
It was then that Rachel, the oldest of the three women, said to him in a meager voice, "Herr Dok-tor, perhaps we could please you by whipping you." She looked at him kindly through tear-stained eyes.
He stopped suddenly and scrutinized her. But he said, "Yes, you may be right. What you say may be true." He mulled the thought. Then he shook his head. "But not yet," he said. "Not yet. Rather, first I must be sure that you are pleasured by what I do to you. When I see that, then perhaps I shall think of other matters." And he grinned slyly at the women and went back to whipping them again.
After awhile, Rachel, the oldest of the three women, began to whimper and to moan and to cry aloud, "I'm coming. Oh Herr Doktor, I'm beginning to come."
The mad doctor, who was amidst fucking the air from his own good feeling derived from beating the women, scrutinized Rachel again. He watched her initial pelvic gyrations and noted the imbalance of her position, saw the contorted grimace of pleasure and pain on her wracked face, and noted the texture of her nipples. And he nodded pleasedly to himself, then said aloud, "Yes, Jewish whore, you reveal the condition of a bitch in heat. You are moving towards your climax." He licked his lips. "Well, fine. Then I shall beat you further. Since you enjoy it so much, I shall beat you more." And viciously he applied the whip across her blistered shoulders as he watched her writhe in her agony and apparent ecstasy.
It was not long before, with the whip intermittently also applied to her flesh, that Ruth, the second of the three women in age, began to turn and twist ever slightly on her chains too. And she cried out in pitiful small whine, "Oh Herr Doktor, I'm starting to come. I'm starting at last to come."
Once again he examined a victim, and he saw her pelvic movements, noted her contorted face, watched her constricted breathing, and saw the crimson flush of sexual passion spread from her tits and fan out across her body. And he nodded pleasedly. "Yes, Jewish whore pig," he said, even while he flicked a hand over his cock's head, "you too are moving along for your climax." And that pleased him much, for he said next, "You Jew bitches thought you couldn't come, didn't you? Oh, how you were mistaken. When the great doctor works upon a woman, she falls eventually. She never fails to fall." And he lashed the three women triumphantly as he fucked the air before them with his enormous cock.
Finally Hannah, the youngest of the three, she who had seen her tits beaten at the outset, began to roll her ass and to cast back her head and to close her eyes and to whine pitifully. "Oh Herr Doktor," she whimpered and whined, grotesque in her apparent ecstasy and true agony, "I'm coming. Now I'm coming. At last I'm coming." And she fucked the air slowly, grindingly, as she mounted the scales of an apparent come.
The mad doctor was overjoyed. He leapt about the room with pleasure. He danced a small jig. He was delighted. And all the while, crazily he ran about fucking the air as he cracked his whip upon the three beautiful but much-abused women. He whipped them viciously, and fucked the air as he ran around his horror chamber, exultant at what he had apparently wrought.
Now suddenly he lowered their hand chains and stretched the chains that held their legs in place, and he demanded that each lie on her back to the floor. An when they had done that, he fell upon each and began fucking their cunts; one after the other, he rushed into them and began fucking their cunts, not completing an ejaculation with any of them but simply going back and forth among them, one after the other.
But that was not all. Next he fell upon their tits and began fucking their boobs. He leapt on Rachel first, and started running his long dick down her valley, demanding that she hold her tits together while he rushed along the path between them. From Rachel he went to Ruth and obliged her to hold her tits for him too while he fucked her so. And from Ruth he turned to Hannah, making her his next victim and enjoying himself delightedly as he fucked her where blood from her tits spilled across the once-smooth proud white surface, the lovely flesh that he fucked.
All the while the women exclaimed of their comes. All the while they writhed and turned upon the cold floor and rolled their asses and gasped for breath and whimpered of the good feeling that apparently increasingly was coursing their bodies. One after another, they cried out of their joy, exclaiming the beauty of the feeling that was upon them.
And the mad doctor was increasingly delighted.
"I'll fuck you in the mouth then," he told them. "I'll send my big prick down your throats. That will really set you up for great climaxes. You'll love my big bird in your mouths." And he quickly began fucking each of their mouths. One after the other, he went into their mouths, obliging them to close their lips tightly on his tall dick while he speared them forcefully in their narrow mouths. He straddled their faces and sent his long prong into their mouths, and he thrilled as he watched himself dig his dick deeply into them.
Yet they still hadn't come, and he hadn't come either. And he wondered aloud why they all were so delayed. Then he announced that he would fuck them as he wanted to fuck them from the beginning. "It's the way I've always wanted to fuck you," he said joyously. "Ever since I first saw you, I've wanted to screw you so. And now I'll do it. I'll do it at last."
So he stretched the chains still farther and he ordered them to pull their arms tightly together, so that their armpits were closed and their arms were against their bodies. And then he leapt from one to the other, fucking their armpits. It was madness, but of course the doctor was mad. And he fell upon each of their armpits, six armpits in all, and ran his dick into each armpit, and fucked each armpit wildly. "I love armpits," he shouted. "I love armpits more than anything else I have ever loved. I could fuck armpits forever. I could fuck them till the end of time." And he madly leapt from one armpit to the next, taking six armpits in a row and going crazy from the wild headiness that his fucking them gave to him.
Finally he came. The armpits were too much for him, and he came ferociously. He gave up his whip, even, feeling the joy of what he did. He simply buried his dick to each armpit even while he bent low left and right and smelled the previous armpit to the armpit which was to follow. In each direction, he bent low and smelled an armpit even while, in that particular moment, he fucked an armpit.
And he became ecstatic. Soon tension in him mounted feverishly, and he moved towards his come. He began rapidly to fuck those armpits even as he might screw a cunt. And there arrived that point in time when he could not retreat from the screwing he did, when he could not withhold the pleasure that was upon him. He reached that instant where no point of return exists. He had then to ride out his fuck all the way.
It was in Hannah's armpit that he came at last. He had just finished fucking one of her armpits and then he had leapt to her other armpit, and he was insane with mad desire, was crying, "I'm coming; at last I'm coming; at last I'm discharging," and he was fucking her madly, insanely. And in that minute, Rachel, the oldest of the three women, gripped the whip that was beside her where, in his first ecstasy at armpit-fucking at the time he was atop her, the insane doctor had dropped that whip. So Rachel gripped it and she wielded it upon his naked flesh. She beat the mad doctor with his own whip in that time when he fucked Hannah's other armpit.
He howled as she hit him, but his howl was blended with a wild cry of joy as he splurged the first full rush of semen into Hannah's armpit. And when Rachel whacked him again, he again howled but once more, he might have howled as well from the come he was now amidst. So it was with each of her successive strikes upon his flesh. He howled to each crack but howled simultaneously as she spit more and more fluid white and hot into Hannah's armpit.
Finally he collapsed exhausted upon Hannah in such a way that his legs were to her but his torso was beyond her, and he was joined to the girl only where his dick lay spent in her come-filled armpit. And all the while, he flexed and spasmed his buttocks with every crack of the woman's whip upon him. He spasmed and reacted to each whip strike Rachel wielded on his naked and now bloodied flesh.
He rolled away from Hannah after a few minutes and positioned himself on his back at a distance from Rachel so that she could not reach him with the whip, and he held his cock and looked around the room and seemed engaged in deep thought as he fondled his cock lovingly. Gradually a smile crossed his face, and then he looked to the three women again, and now he said somewhat maliciously, "But whatever happened to those grand comes that you all were about to achieve? Whatever happened to those comes?"
It was Rachel who said immediately, "You were too selfish. You were too interested in yourself. As a result, we never got the full pleasure of those comes we wanted to much to happen. You became engrossed in your own fulfillment, and you forgot all about us." Ruth and Hannah quickly agreed.
The doctor studied them. He nodded to himself about something. Finally, looking to the ceiling as he twirled his limp cock and slowly made it large again, he said, "How would you like to whip me? Would that do you any good?"
At first they did not answer him, but again it was Rachel who said, "Well, I got some pleasure from beating you. Of course, you'll probably send me to the gas chamber quicker, but I don't care. Yes, I got some pleasure from beating you."
He turned on his side and looked at her. "I am more interested in experiments than in seeing you dead, yet. Soon enough you'll get to the chamber. Meanwhile, yes, I think I shall let you whip me." He nodded to that statement as if it were a decision he was announcing. And he said further, "I think that would be very interesting." Then slowly he got off the floor and went to them and loosed the chains that held them and he made them free in that dungeon.
Nor was he done. To each of the other two women, he gave whips that matched Rachel's whip in size and strength, big black things that were like great snakes. And then he stood before them. "Go ahead," he said simply to them, "beat me. You have the whips. Now beat me."
Rachel looked at him, and so did the other two women. Then suddenly she struck him. With a fierce swiftness, she suddenly lashed his face with her whip. She smashed him across the eyes, and he was blinded. And in the same moment, the other two women pounded him furiously too with their whips.
He screamed. He gripped his eyes and screamed. "I'm blind," he suddenly wailed. "I'm blind and I cannot see. I'm blind." And he groped towards them but did not know his way and stumbled and fell to the hard cold floor.
They were upon him. They beat him furiously. They whipped him with great sweeps of their black snakes. They pounded him unmercifully. But even as they struck him, even while he crawled on his hands and knees to escape their blows upon him, even while he wailed of his blindness, something happened within him, and he began wildly to fuck the air. Even as he crawled away from them, he began to fuck the air in his mania. And he shouted, "Its working. It's true. It's working. I'm starting to come again. I'm starting to build for another come. I'm a masochist. I'm a masochist. I'm starting to build for another come." And he was exultant.
But then it occurred to him that they should be coming, too, perhaps; for he said to them, ever the scientist, ever seeking answers to the riddles of the universe, "Are you coming, too? Jew bitches, are you coming too?" And he looked blindly around at them even while they newly beat his head and shoulders, and he would seek to know if they also were transported on a flow of pleasure from what happened.
But Rachel answered him, saying, "You fool, did you really believe we were coming from the beatings you gave us? Did you really believe we were what you are, a sadomasochist? You're mad. Herr Doktor, you are insane." And she flailed him perhaps commemoratively when she uttered those words.
He seemed appalled when she told him that. Yet he was engrossed in his drive for a come, and he did not linger long upon any sense of shock. Rather he settled himself to the floor, placed himself flatly to it, and he began to fuck the cold floor; he began to rub his dick rapidly back and forth against the cold hard floor.
And he said, between shorter and ever shorter breaths as he became torridly excited anew. "It doesn't matter. I don't give a damn. You'll never get out of here alive. When this is past, when this beating is done and I've had my come, and know how much a masochist I am, I'll flog you all and then pour sealing wax hotly upon your many wounds. So enjoy yourself, my Jewish bitches, for in the end you will die." And he laughed maniacally as he increased his fuck to that cold hard floor.
But it was then that the women raced to the wall loaded with weapons and brought back two sets of chains and a lance; and while Ruth and Hannah pounded the mad doctor's head with the chains, Rachel began to fuck his ass-hole with the lance. And the doctor screamed in terror as the great lance fucked his bunghole. But even as he screamed, he also was jubilant, and he maddeningly pounded the floor in the wildest insanity imaginable, shouting, even while he cried at the pain that penetrated him, "I'm coming. I'm coming again. I'm coming better than last time. Oh, I'm coming. I'm coming, coming, coming." And he spilled seed wildly to the floor. He unleashed seed furiously and as if forever to that hard cold floor.
But even as he did that, there occurred the moment when the rain of blows to his head plus the lance up his ass overpowered his consciousness. And at a point which might be the final diminution of his fuck drives to release himself, he collapsed into unconsciousness and was unaware of anything more that occurred.
And the women said one to another, "He is done. The Nazi pig dog is done. Leave the lance up his ass, and let us get out of here." And they rushed from the dungeon and hurried into the rest of the house, locking the dungeon door behind them to insure themselves that the mad doctor, perhaps regaining consciousness soon, would not pursue them immediately. And then they bathed their horrible wounds quickly, bandaged themselves with ointments and cotton and gauze from the doctor's medicine cabinet, and proceeded to plan a means of escape.
What they did was daring; but they did it. They pinned up all their hair first of all, then dressed themselves in caps and uniforms which stood in the doctor's wardrobe. Then they took three of the doctor's civilian suits from peacetime and gathered them into three suitcases together with other small items and particularly money they found among his belongings. Quickly then they rushed from the house and made their way to the railroad station, and left the village on the next train out.
They traveled from Auschwitz to the Swiss border, and there they changed clothes, taking up the civilian garments that were in their luggage, and they slipped across the border in the night. In the morning, they presented themselves to neutral authorities, and were guaranteed safe passage out of Switzerland to England where they provided the first major information about Oswicim, or Auschwitz. And their information went all over the world and made the public aware of what was happening behind the German front.
My mother is Hannah, the youngest of those three women. The other two, Rachel and Ruth, are my aunts. Today they are nobody's servants. And except for the fate of a whole people, they would not have been anybody's servants then either. But of course, in the end they were nobody's servants. It was the case of the servants exploiting the master, at least once; and very appropriately.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Perhaps the most famous of the servants in modern times are the geisha girls of Japan. The geisha is a young woman who has been trained all her life to please men. This essentially is her sole function. She learns the art of singing and dancing for that purpose, and everything else she learns is for that purpose too. She then enters one of the establishments on the Ginza in Tokyo or elsewhere, and she begins to practice her art. Men come to her and she sings for them or dances for them or sits with them and drinks tea. It is her career.
For years, the intimate life of a geisha girl has been unknown. They have been a mystery and an endless source of fascination to the Western observer. In their day, they have taken on aspects of the stereotype of the "inscrutable Oriental." Yet with the end of World War II, and the subsequent United States occupation of Japan, millions of
American men come into contact with the geishas, and a widespread belief followed that geishas were "nothing but whores," a common view expressed by many returning servicemen. Thus mystery was confronted with cynicism, and the American public still was not fully aware of what exactly was a geisha.
Yet the development of communication between the U.S. and Japan following the Second World War made possible the arrival in the United States of large numbers of Japanese as students and emigres. Such a person is Chukua, or Susie, a third-generation geisha who, at twenty-and now employed in a Japanese restaurant in San Francisco, can recount tales of herself, her mother, and her grandmother. Here is one such tale:
It pertains to my grandmother and takes place before the First World War. It involves also an American naval officer, and there are times when I have become convinced that my grandmother was really Madame Butterfly. Oh, I am making jokes, because I know that Madame Butterfly was not a real person. But you have told me the interesting story of Thomas Sutpen, of whom I have read in Faulkner's works, for Faulkner is very loved in Japan, and I cannot help thinking that Madame Butterfly was real, and that perhaps my dear grandmother was the prototype for that famous character.
But let me go on with the story. My grandmother worked as a geisha girl in a very elegant establishment on the Ginza in Tokyo in a time when the Ginza also was very elegant and not garish and common as it is today. My grandmother was very proud to be a geisha, and of course in that time geishas were very respected.
Let me pause here to say that some words against the geishas are true. That is, it is true that some of them are whores. This is not so because the true geisha is a whore as such, but rather that circumstances have made geishas of whores, not vice versa. In other words, when the American men came to Japan after World War II looking for geisha girls to fuck, those who did the most fucking in Japan, the whores, paraded themselves as geishas so that the American soldier could fuck them and think he was getting a geisha. After all, a wise woman has always known that a man's imagination controls his sex life.
Perhaps that is why Pinkerton, I'll call him Pinkerton because his name is lost now in the passing of time, thought he could do what he tried to do too. I suppose the geisha has always been the subject of male attempts at seduction.
Be that as it may, he met her when he was on shore leave in Tokyo many years ago. He arrived in the company of two other naval officers in the establishment, or house, where she worked; and together with two other geishas, my grandmother, whom I shall call Butterfly if only to be literary about everything, and I am making another joke, entertained the officers. The geishas sang soft
Japanese ballads for them and plucked the tiny instrument which you've seen so often and which may remind you of a toy guitar or banjo. And they danced small steps for the officers and made those movements with their hands which, as with their counterparts among the hula girls of Hawaii, have a significance in meaning. And then the officers and geishas sat together on straw mats at low long tables while the girls poured tea to the tiny hand-painted porcelain cups; and together they all sipped tea and nibbled Japanese cookies.
It was a thrilling occasion for my grandmother, of course, for she never had entertained a foreigner before, and naturally too the uniform was exciting as uniforms so often are to impressionable girls, and their visit left her heady. Although she had often entertained Japanese warlords and wealthy Tokyo businessmen, nothing could match her excitement at serving Pinkerton and his fellow officers.
Therefore you can imagine her astonishment and further excitement when Pinkerton visited her on the following day. She was thrilled and amazed, and when he said he came especially to see her, she was truly delighted. She blushed and cast her eyes downward and she looked as if she never would breathe again; so happy and tremulous she was.
He asked her if he might spend the day with her alone. She was ecstatic. She nodded softly. "Yes," she said in the English she had learned through many years at school. "Yes, you may stay with me the day." And she nodded sweetly again.
According to tradition, as you probably know, the geisha may occupy a separate room with her guests in the teahouse. There she pours for him whatever herb he wishes to taste, and together they may sit so long as he desires to pay for her time. If he wishes to take an entire day with her, and he is willing to pay for that day, the day then belongs to him, and she is his servant throughout the hours he is there. They may merely sit together and not speak a word. It is his time, and she is with him always.
So Pinkerton and Butterfly went to a room in the teahouse. It was a lovely room with a view of a wide garden that fell away past a pleasant tiny stream behind the house. And there was a little bridge and there were colored lanterns and miniature figurines everywhere in the garden. It was a pleasant place, and everything about the view was romantic.
"You are very sweet to spend this time with me," Pinkerton said, and he smiled nobly. He was quite handsome, tall and well-formed, and his uniform was precisely cut and it clothed his frame perfectly. His eyes were such as to strike a chord of deep trembling in any young girl, and his smile was fresh and inviting. He was a remarkable specimen of gallant manhood, and my grandmother thought he was the handsomest man she ever had seen.
She returned his smile, though hers was shy, and she nodded when he praised her so. She understood his English perfectly, and she was thrilled with their communication. She shivered slightly, but controlled herself so that he did not witness what occurred. And then, on her knees before him in the flowered long kimono she wore, she poured for him the special tea he had ordered, poured it to his cup and to hers. And she gently set the teapot on the tiny tray upon that long and low teakwood table.
They toasted. He said he wanted to toast their friendship. "In all Tokyo," he said, "I don't think I ever will have such a wonderful friend again." And he clinked his cup to hers.
She smiled happily. She liked being called his friend. It made her feel wonderful. It was a nice thing to say, she thought, and she repeated his words to herself as she touched her cup to his and looked beyond the cups into his eyes.
Then they sipped their tea, and Pinkerton again told her how beautiful she was. He said she was truly the most lovely girl in all Japan. His words were heady things to a young and impressionable girl, of course. And what he said had the weight of an atom bomb, long before atom bombs were invented. He was wonderful, she thought; truly he was the most wonderful guest she had ever served.
So when he asked her to sing a certain little ballad which, on the previous day, he had also requested her to repeat after the first time he had heard it, she sang it with the voice of a nightingale. She weaved the words of the ballad with the most precious possible intonation, developing the melody with exquisite perfection, giving to the song every art and artifice in the matter of delivery she ever had learned. She wanted him so much to love her song.
Then he would have her dance for him, and she rose to do that task, rose so willingly, so eager to please him. All her years of training in the art of pleasing men, surrendering herself as she had been taught, giving herself for the man's singular pleasure, all, all were telescoped into the single instance of that sublime little dance. She performed with all the grace of which she was capable, working her tiny feet carefully, exactly as she had learned each step through years of practice. And she moved her hands and weaved her fingers with a consummate delicacy to illustrate the tiniest nuances of meaning to be attributed to the song, to be part of the passage of that music and that rendering, that infinite small act of communication.
He was delighted. He clapped lustily when she was done, and he cried, "Encore, encore." And he urged her to repeat her performance. She did. She was ecstatic. She felt he was the most wonderful guest she ever would serve in hr life.
Then he urged her to sit with him again. But now he would have her beside him, not across the small table nor even at one corner. Rather he would have her directly beside him, and he brought her down, touching her hand lightly, taking her to him. At first she was hesitant. It was not often that men desired so much of her. Usually they were content to have her company, to listen to her songs, to watch her dance, to study the movements of her hands in those dances, and simply to sip tea with her and enjoy her presence.
At the same time, too, she knew she experienced with the handsome young American naval officer a strange new feeling she never had known with any of the other guests she served. And that feeling also caused her to hesitate to seat herself beside him.
Yet she did as he bade her to do. She seated herself on the bamboo mat at his side; and when he placed his hand gently to hers as she raised her cup, she tensed but let him do that also. "Perhaps," she told herself, "that is the American custom. I do not know the customs of his land, and it would be wrong of me to refuse him otherwise. It would be an insult, and a geisha never insults anyone. After all, he is a guest in our house, and we must respect his wishes in all matters."
So she let him hold her hand even when she had again replaced her cup to the teakwood table and when she had folded her hands to her lap, she let him squeeze her hand and hold it, and she said nothing; she only smiled to him and nodded pleasantly and listened to his words about her beauty. After all, if nothing else, she was heady from his words.
Then he did something for which none of her training prepared her. He placed his hand on her bosom. Yes, he felt a tit. She was stunned. Instinctively she started to move his hand away. But he looked at her curiously, and he said, "Is it not a custom in your land?"
She stopped her action, and his hand remained. And she said, "Pardon?" Was he speaking of customs? Only a minute earlier she had been thinking of customs, and now he was speaking of them. How interesting that they should be considering the same matters.
And he said, "In my land, it is a custom to touch another when one cares for that person. Is it not so with your land?" And he squeezed her tits, first one and then the other, gently plucking her nipples through the crude brassiere and petticoat she wore beneath her flowing flowered kimono.
She shook her head. "What an unusual custom," she thought. And she said, "In our land, we only do that at a certain time." And when he asked her what time that was, she said, "After a wedding."
"But of course," he exclaimed. "How interesting that our customs should be reversed. "In my land, we do this," and he tweaked her titties again, "before a wedding. In fact, it is a sign that we wish to have a wedding." And he tweaked her boobs again.
She shivered from his work on her jugs. But at the same time, she was excited by the thought of what he said to her. After all, girls today, even I with the experience of two worlds, become excited at the hint of marriage. It is what we live for, don't you think? So naturally my poor innocent grandmother was smitten by his verbal attack upon her. And she blushed profusely.
"In our land," Pinkerton continued, slipping his hand inside her kimono now to feel her tits directly, "these are all signs that we wish a wedding." And he reached inside her petticoat and played directly at her crude brassiere.
She shuddered openly now. "Oh," she said, and gasped, "this is not so in our land." She sucked a breath, and tried to control herself. Never in her life had she felt so excited. "No, we don't do things like that before a wedding," she wheezed. "We don't do anything like that before a wedding." But she did not stop him from doing what he was doing.
And he continued to do what he was doing. He unfastened her kimono and he began to raise her petticoat. It was then she suddenly begged him to stop. "No," she cried nervously, "your customs and my customs are different, and we mustn't do this. No, please." And she fought his hands away.
But he became insulted. Or she thought he did. He looked at her offendedly, and he said, "But sweet Butterfly, why would you deny me? We are friends, are we not? And I have told you that all this must be done before a wedding. Would you not believe my intention?"
"Your intention?" she said. And she immediately was thrown back to the wild thought of a wedding. He wanted to marry her. Yes, it now was a matter positive. He was saying it flatly to her. And she said, to confirm her wildest sudden dreams, "You would wed me?" And she looked at him with wide innocent eager eyes.
"But of course," he said. "That's been my intention from the first minute I saw you yesterday, my dearest Butterfly. I have never wanted anything else. It is all I ever shall want."
She shuddered again from his words, and she did not stop him when he moved his hands now up her legs. She could only think of the wedding and of America, a land which in her wildest dreams did not seem attainable. Yet she said to him, like a little girl wanting to insure that Santa Claus knows about her, "Are you sure? You would want me to go to America with you? You would want me to go with you in your land?"
"But of course," he said. "That's exactly what I want. I want exactly that, sweet Butterfly, and nothing else. You will be my wife and I will be your husband." And all the while he moved upon her cunt with his fingertips.
Yet she had misgivings. Somehow, strangely, she had felt it wasn't so. Somehow reason prevailed in a dark corner of her fevering brain, and she would shove his hands away. "No," she said, "no. I could not be your wife. I am a geisha, and my life is to serve men. I could not be your wife."
He paused and did not pursue her with his hands now, and he said most reasonably, looking directly at her, "But tell me, how do most geishas find husbands? That is, whom do they marry?"
She hesitated, and he pursued her, saying, "Do they not marry someone they have met while they were a geisha? Is it not common for a geisha to marry well because she meets a guest in the teahouse? Tell me, is that not so?" And when she meekly nodded agreement to his words, he immediately said, "Then what is this except the same thing, dear Butterfly? What is the difference?"
She knew he was right, and yet that strange sense of reason which had emerged from the dark comer of her fevering brain made her say, "But we have only met. We do not really know each other. We-"
But he interrupted her to ask if she did not believe in love at first sight. He said, "Would you tell me that no geisha has ever met a man she loved immediately? Would you tell me that, sweet Butterfly?" And when she hesitated, he continued, "Then is it wrong if a guest in the teahouse should also fall immediately in love with the sweet geisha who loves him as well?"
His reason overpowered her reason, and he went back to work on her clit again. But then as she grew increasingly excited to his touch she made a last-ditch effort to stem the tide of his advance, and she whispered hotly, "But not here, sir. Not here in the room. Please, sir, not here."
"Call me Pinkerton," he said, "or Pinky. Do not 'sir,' me. Where then? Where can we do it before a wedding." And he looked around excitedly, and his breath was short and his face flushed.
She thought quickly and then was sure she could escape her fate, for she suddenly feared what he would do to her and suddenly did not want to break her custom in favor of his custom, and she said, "The bath. Let us go to the bath."
"The bath?"
"Yes, the bath. Come." And she hurriedly rose, fastened her kimono, took his hand and led him from the room, down a small and wide flight of stairs and then through a hall and past long swinging doors and into a wide room full with water in the fashion of one of your swimming pools. I am sure you have seen pictures of Japanese baths.
Nobody was there. She was shocked. She had been sure at least one of the other girls would be there with a guest, and she then would feel safe. But nobody else was there, and now he was saying, "Do we just go in and take a swim? Is that the idea?" And he already was peeling away his uniform.
She said that they were not supposed to swim, but that she would wash him, and she started from her kimono, and removed her undergarments. He was out of his uniform quickly, and together they went into the water, and she began to rub a sponge over his back. But of course she had seen his gigantic hard-on when he was out of his uniform, and though she stood behind him in order not to look at it, she found herself moving to either side of him, pretending to be interested in sponging his arms, but in reality stealing peeks at that lovely great cock.
Finally, when he turned to her and grabbed her quickly and thrust his lips to her lips and inserted his tongue to her mouth, she could resist the temptation no longer. She shoved her belly against that big bird of the West, the proud bird with the red head, and she knew that she was willing to do it before a wedding. In fact, when he bent his knees and started to come up between her legs, she spread her legs for him and even bent herself backward sufficiently so that he could rip her vag nicely.
They fucked in the bath. It was a beautiful fuck. They stood in the wide pool alone, the deep water high around her shoulders and his chest, and he had his dick up her cunt. In fact, she was riding on it, He cupped her ass cheeks and lifted her high, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and she rode his tall dick. "Oh," she gasped, "it is like a big bar that is so perfect in my little hole. It fills me and makes me feel so perfect. It is the most beautiful thing I know."
"Sing that song for me, baby," he whispered hotly to her ear as he sent his dick up and down her vag. "You know, the one I like so much. Sing it while we fuck." And he speared her again.
So she sang the song, and they went to town in that bath. She lightly sang the song he liked so much, and her voice and rhythm and melody reflected her heat. Gradually her singing became shorter and more strident and wilder as she grew more intense with the fuck they were in.
He dicked her beautifully. He gave her a series of wild runs that sent her off her nut. She was crazy with his cock inside her, and she was going frantic from its goodness. He kept sending that dick solidly into her hole, and she was all over his body trying to hold onto it. Finally she cried out like a firebell in the night, "Oh, Pinky, I'm coming. I'm starting to come, Pinky. I'm starting to come." And she churned madly her little Japanese cunt on his tall American dick.
So they moved down the route for their comes, and Pinkerton rammed Butterfly powerfully with his huge cock. He beat her mercilessly with it while he cupped her ass cheeks and bent low to nip her nipples beneath the water. He drove her insane and started moving speedily for his own breakthrough.
She rocked him wildly and that set him off. In her own grand come, she brought him all the way, and together they blew out their brains. She destroyed herself in a furious sudden release, and he sent loads of hot sperm up her flaming cunt. He powered all his force into her and broke out everything from his balls, spilling his white lava up her vag. He gave her everything, and she screamed from its hot feeling in her cunt.
So they rocked away their fucks, spent down their tension, relieved themselves fully with a series of last jabs to blow out all their nerves, and he poured the last of his liquid into her, and left her limply resting on his limp dick. Both of them were at the point of total collapse and she barely could hold onto his neck with her arms and his waist with her legs.
But in her mind was the wonderful feeling that this would happen again and again. Her Pinky loved her, didn't he? And this would happen again and again. She even told him that when they were done and when they had climbed from the pool. She said, as she toweled him, as she went onto her knees, dipped a hand to the bath and brought water up to wash his dick perfectly clean before she toweled that, also, "Someday in America, we will do this all the time after the wedding, won't we?" And she knelt before him and looked up at him eagerly as she toweled his dick and balls.
For a minute, she thought he looked vaguely at her, and then he said, "Oh sure. Sure, Butterfly. We'll do this all the time." And though she smiled and was glad that he said those words, yet something about them bothered her, and she didn't know what it was.
But she licked his dick when he told her to suck it, which, he said, was almost an American custom "before a wedding." And she tongued his cock perfectly and wondered about the strangeness of the American who did everything before a wedding. What did they do after a wedding?
He blew a second load in her mouth, and she swallowed it eagerly, and washed him down afterwards anew, and then helped him dress, and together they went back to the tearoom where she thought he would remain. But he didn't stay. He said he had other things to do, and that he mustn't be late, but that he would see her again soon to discuss the wedding.
He did not return, however, and my grandmother did become big with child. She cried when he did not return, and she wanted to kill herself when she knew she was pregnant. But she did not kill herself, and she gave birth to the baby, a delightful little girl with big round eyes and a pink complexion. And my grandmother called the little girl Pinky, in part for her complexion and in part for something else. And she trained her little girl to be a geisha, but with reservations.
My own father was a Tokyo clerk, and then I became a geisha girl and met my own Pinkerton who was fool enough to marry me and bring me to the States where I promptly divorced him and went to work on my own. After all, what family can believe in butterflies forever?
CHAPTER NINE
The closest American counterpart to the Japanese geisha is the taxi dancer, the dime-a-dance girls who sell their services for the length of a song. On Collins Avenue in Miami Beach there are several of them located at the seedy end of that magnificent thoroughfare which elsewhere sports the most lavish hotels known in the Western hemisphere. The girls who work there are not decrepit individuals down on their luck; rather they are often fast young models often on their way up. Some work at taxi dancing for the experience, many work for the easy hours and fair pay, and most perhaps work for the chance to meet wealthy men who, vacationing with their wives at the big hotels, sometimes take a night off to slum awhile.
The girls, as a rule, do not sell themselves. That is, if they go to bed with a man, it is not necessarily for money. Usually they want only the contacts.
They know that most of their clientele is down from Manhattan for a vacation, and they try to please somebody who might be in show business or the advertising world. That is what their life is all about.
Marty, a very pretty young redhead with a striking figure, described an experience from that life in the following account:
Actually, I want to make clear to you, that the places where we work are not necessarily billed as taxi halls. In other words, they could just as well be the little fleatrap bars, and a lot of us could probably pass for bar girls. But we're not bar girls in the usual sense; I'm talking about B girls. We're legitimate all the way, and most of us are known by word-of-mouth, which makes "legitimate" sound ironic, doesn't it? But what I mean is this: we're available in the bars if a guy asks us for a dance, and the price usually is a buck a dance, which is a long way from the old dime-a-dance deal that everybody still calls us by, huh?
Anyway, the little fleatrap where I work could be any of a hundred Beach bars, the tropical effect, potted palms all over the place, indirect orange and red and blue lighting, some beach scenes painted on the walls, a long bar with a mirror loaded with bottles and polished glasses, heavy imitation leather booths, and pretty girls in short skirts serving the table. A couple of us sit in far corners and sip drinks, and we're available if a guy comes our way with fat dollars.
Not to fuck, you understand. Nothing like that.
I mean, after all, we're decent girls to begin with. And if we're going to sleep with a guy, it's usually because we want to sleep with him, if you know what I mean. No prostitution is involved.
But hell, let's face it. Prostitution is always involved in any relationship between a man and a woman, if the woman is dependent on the man. And how many times is a woman not dependent on a man? Even when a gal is lucky and runs into an alimony situation and gets herself out lucky, she's still been a whore probably, fucking the guy for years till she built up enough time for the alimony. It's that way.
So it influences every woman's thoughts, you understand, if she's on the make. The only girl who can afford to be snotty is the one who doesn't need the guy who's trying to make it with her. So if you're in the market like we are, looking for contacts all the time, you're real sweet every time a guy comes to your booth and starts a conversation with you.
That is, you're sweet unless he looks like an absolute ass, and even then you've got to be careful. Which brings me to this guy that I'm going to call Tex because, like all the other guys called Tex, he comes from Texas. Dallas, to be exact. Big D. Dallas and Ft. Worth and that big pocket of money around there.
Okay. So I'm sitting there one day, sipping a creme de menthe, when this guy that looks like a total ass and also looks blotto comes in my direction from the pisser and he says to me, "You're a good-looking doll. What's your name?" And he leans, cruder than hell, on my table and stares at me and blows alcohol on me in waves; if I lit a match to it, we'd've had a napalm blow-up.
But I said, "Marty? What's yours?"
And he said, "MARTY? I'll be damned. I'm Marty, too." And like that admits him to the church, he slides in beside me, gives me his leg along mine and even grabs my knee for a quick feel.
"like, where have you been so long?" I told him and brushed his hand away.
But he was the persistent kind and came right back next time on my twat. "like, hey," I said, "get the hell out of here, will you?" and I lifted his hand and put it on his own lap.
But I shouldn't have done that, because that's exactly when he plunked my hand under his own smack on his hard fly. And I do mean hard. like, he had a rock cock in there waiting to plunge. And if it had been fire, I would have scorched my hand.
He laughed when I jerked away from him fast, and he said, "Surprise, baby. What more do you want?"
"I work here," I said, "in case you don't know it." And when he gave me the eye, I said, "You hear that music?" The jukebox was blaring about my sunshine gal. "I sell you three minutes on that empty floor for one hundred pennies. Can you stand the gaff?"
He fidgeted. "A buck for three minutes?" he said. "like suppose a guy's broke?"
"Good-bye, Mr. Chips." I waved my hand at him.
"Look, honey," he said. "I'm just in from Texas, and I ain't got a cent to my name, and ... well. . . I mean, could you..." And he left it there.
What a ass. I should inherit all the bums of the universe. Me, I'm trying to land a contact in Manhattan and get myself the hell out of the Beach, and I end up getting tapped for a hand-out by a bummer Texas ranger. "Uh-uh," I said, and I gave him another wave of the hand to get him the hell out of there.
He left. I was surprised. I thought I was going to have to call Joe, my faithful bartender whom I pay ten percent of all I make just to sit in that booth. But Tex left, and he told me I'd be sorry. I told him I hoped I wouldn't be. And we parted as good enemies.
Then a couple of New York types came in, and they eased my way and took me on the floor for a string of dances that made me twenty bucks in sixty minutes before they settled down to some long talk about how they were going to make me a star overnight on Broadway. Meanwhile Tex was drinking sullenly at the bar and eyeing me, and I wondered where the hell he suddenly got enough money for booze.
Anyway, to make a long story short, nothing came of the Manhattan types, but plenty came of Tex. And this is what came.
I had been there all afternoon and it was early evening and still light in the middle of summer when I went home. With two other girls, Patty and Diane, I shared an expensive beachfront pad that was breaking our cunt hairs to keep up; but when fame is just around the corner, who the hell gives a damn. You know; that sort of thing. Anyway, on that particular night, nobody else was there because Patty and Diane were working two other places at the time. So I had the pad to myself and felt groovy and stripped right away and got into a sexy pink bikini that goes well with my hair and boobs and ass and belly and all the other things a good bikini is supposed to go well with.
And I'm padding around my pad barefoot in the park, not giving a shit, when all of a sudden I get the damndest feeling that somebody is watching me. I look around me and that's when I see, bigger than life, ugly sloppy Tex standing outside the sliding screen doors to the kitchen and he's saying, "Mind if I step in?"
He doesn't wait for an answer though and he's already inside before I can say, "How the hell'd you get here?" And when he says he followed me, I say, "Do you make it a habit to follow girls?"
He nods his head, and he says, "Sure, I do. I follow them all the time. I've been following them all my life. Every time I see a pretty girl, I follow her and find out where she lives. You'd be surprised what it does for morale."
"Hers or yours?" And I was ready to lift a skillet and hit him with it.
"Both. It starts out being a boost for my morale as I watch a nice pair of hips in action all the way home. Sometimes if I follow one like you that's wearing a bikini, I actually drool all the way to her pad. Of course, you weren't wearing a bikini till now, but I'm ready to drool anyway. And I'll drool even more in the minute I get it off you."
That's when I picked up the skillet. It's a Teflon thing, and really very pretty. I hated like hell to hit him with it. I like Teflon a lot.
But I didn't get a chance to hit him. That sonofabitch overpowered me before I even had the skillet two inches off the range. I didn't realize he was so quick. He was like a tiger. And he knocked that skillet away, grabbed my wrists, clapped my mouth, flipped me somehow and dropped me to the kitchen floor and was on top of me before I knew it. "Baby," he said, "like I've raped more broads than you've fucked guys. So don't pull that shit on me. I'm too fast for you."
And before I knew it, he had off my drawers and was ripping away my bikini top. Those two strips of pink just fell away like so much excess baggage. Here in one minute, gone in the next, those two pretty pink little strips of cloth just disappeared into his fat holding hand. And in the minute, my big red pussy and lovely full tits were bare. They just popped out, large as life.
He drooled. He rolled off me and looked at my pussy and looked at my tits, and he drooled. "like wow," he said. "Did anybody tell you, you were built." He licked his lips. "You've got absolutely the most beautiful pair of tits I ever hope to see. And that big red fiery bush of yours is too perfect for comment." He licked his lips again.
Then he fell to nuzzling my titties. And man, could he nuzzle. Those big lovely orbs seemed created just for his loving lips and tongue. All of a sudden, their big pink wide haloes just were made to fit his taking mouth. And he took them, all right. You never saw anything like it. He took them perfectly. He went up and down and all around them, loving every millimeter of them, giving them his tongue and lips until my nipples were so damned big and hard that I actually wanted to scream from the joy he was putting through me.
And every time he sucked lovingly on those nipples, drawing one or the other back and forth with his lips and tongue, rolling each of those long thick bullets around and back and forth in his hot tight mouth, my cunt spasmed. It reacted to every lick on my nipples, and it contracted and expanded and delivered a vanfull of juices to lubricate me so that I could take a couple of armies. Did I ever want to fuck. I hope to tell you I did. I wanted to fuck more than anything else in the whole world.
And it wasn't long before I was moaning and groaning under him, and I was begging him to stick his big rod in me. "Stick it to me, sweetheart," I was whispering, frantically clutching him, trying to bring him into me. "Stick you big ripe pork into my aching hole. Please stick it to me."
I had hold of his beautiful long wide cock. I had zipped down his fly and yanked out his rod and I held it in my hand, trying desperately to get it into my fevering cunt. I wanted that pork badly, oh so very badly.
And he laughed. "Not yet, lover," he said. "I've got other things to do. When I rape a broad, I like to give them the full treatment. So I'm not done yet." And that's when he turned so that he could mouth my muff. He went for a dive and started hunting pearls. I thought I'd go through the ceiling; in all my life, I never knew anything could be so good. His lips and tongue on my cunt were unbelievably ecstatic. He worked my hot and wet vag with an artistry that makes the greatest connoisseurs of cunt look pale by comparison. He kissed and loved my pink slit with a beautiful art, exquisite touch, precious care. I loved him and loved him immensely.
To show my love, I grabbed his cock and began nibbling it. I couldn't help myself. I'm not a natural-born cocksucker, but what that guy did to me was too much and I couldn't refuse his great dick. Oh, he didn't even try to insert it in me; I just grabbed it for myself. I took that powerful long monster and I held it with both hands lovingly, and I wrapped a tongue around it and nibbled it with tight lips. And soon I wanted to stuff it down my throat, take everything into my guts. I wanted that dick so much that I thought I would die from hunger for it.
Then he pulled away from me. "Okay, baby," he said now, going onto his back, spreading his legs and curling his hands behind his head, looking at me on a slant, and grinning at me. "Now comes the best part. I ask all the broads I rape to beg me for it. So start begging. Onto your knees, lover, and start begging me for it." And he chuckled to himself.
I didn't hesitate for a minute. I flipped off my back and went onto my knees and clasped my hands together and begged him for it. "I want your great dick up my hole," I whispered. "May I have it in my snatch? Please. Please let me feel your great rod in my cunny. I want it badly. You'll never know how badly I want it." And I clasped my hands together tightly and shook them at him urgently in my wild fever to feel that powerful dick in my vag.
He chuckled to himself. "That's the way I like to hear it," he told me. "I always follow broads, and I always make them end up begging for it. I follow broads in bikinis, for example, home all the time; fifteen-year-old, sixteen-year-olds, seventeen-year-olds; it doesn't matter. I follow any broad anywhere whenever I see her. And not one of those bitches has called 'Rape' on me yet. It always starts out being a rape; but before it's done, everyone of them does exactly what you're doing. Everyone of them ends up begging me for it." And he laughed loudly, and folded his hands oppositely behind his head, and licked his lips while he watched me beg for his gigantic dick.
And I could understand why a girl would beg for that monstrous cock. I could understand why any girl would end up forgetting about being raped and just start wanting that precious prick. After all, every girl secretly wants to be fucked more than anything else in the world. And although she may make a beef about being followed by strangers, the truth is she wants it up the vag in the worst possible way. And she's damned glad when she gets it there. She never can deny that her sole ambition in life is to be fucked; and when a guy comes along who can do just that for her, she wants it in the worst way.
Besides, girls unconsciously and yet with a secret desire that they might not even know about, lure guys to follow them. They want cock so badly that they dress in skimpy little bikinis, for instance, and wander up and down the streets, thinking or pretending they're just going to the store to get a fudgsicle or something; when in reality they're unconsciously hoping they'll attract a guy to follow them and maybe get him to rape them. It happens all the time. Broads want to be fucked.
So I was glad he followed me home. I wanted nothing better than to be laid. I wanted that stiff long weapon up my hole as far as it could travel, and there I was begging him for it, making it damned clear that I wanted nothing better. And I even went with my nose to the floor when he told me to crawl for it. I went with my lips and nose and chin to the floor to prove to him how abject a servant I would be for his great cock. And I pleaded over and over again how much I wanted that tall cock up my vag.
Finally he said, "Fine. I'll give it to you. I'll fuck you in grand style. I'll give you what you want. But stand up. I feel like taking you in a different way. Stand up and bend down and hold onto your ankles. I want to shove it up your tail dog-track awhile. And then we'll go for something else."
I would take it anyway he wanted to give it to me. If he wanted to spear my vault from the rear, fine with me. I only knew that I wanted that perfect meat in my cunny. So I stood and bent over the kitchen table and rested my arms to the table and then rested my head to my folded arms. He came behind me. I spread my legs. He stepped between my legs. He pressed his belly against my can and I could feel him aiming his prick on a run between my legs, nestling his big bird in my red nest.
Then he stroked my vag lips awhile with his rod, and he reached around me and plucked my nipples. "You're driving me insane," I cried. "Oh, lover, stick it up me now. Now, lover; stick it up me now." And I wriggled my ass at his belly, trying to insert my vag over his magnificent cock.
He laughed. "Let me play this monster at your cunt lips awhile," he whispered. "I want to have you so juiced that you'll think you're the Mississippi in floodtime."
"I do already," I said. "I'm the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Ohio, the Wabash, the Mononahela, the Thames, the Tiber, and the Nile, all in one. I'm the Dnieper, the Don and the fjords of Scandinavia. Oh, lover, I'm all the rivers and seas and bays and oceans of the world. I'm wet in every possible way, lover. I'm wet, wet, wet, tremendously wet. I'm every bit of moisture known in the history of mankind."
He laughed. "That's the way I like to hear 'em tell me," he said, laughing. "Okay, maybe I'll give you an inch or two. Maybe." And he chuckled to himself.
I knew I would be lucky and grateful and glad to get anything he offered to me. I knew I would appreciate anything he might give me of that good cock. I knew I would be eternally happy for his smallest offering up my torrid hole.
But when suddenly in a grand driving rush, he leapt high into my hole with his full force, I screamed from the terror. He smashed my cunt with the ferocity of the demand. He leapt into my vault with apoplectic embrace. He seared my hole with a driving cock. And I almost fainted. Never in my life had I felt so tremendous a dick inside me. It split me in two parts and left me like so much butchered meat, ready for the hooks. It was the greatest single lunge I had ever known.
But I reacted pleasurably to it immediately. Even while I screamed, I was happier than all get-out. I was the happiest girl in town. And I started yelling, "Oh send it to me, Tex. Send it to me again and again. I love it. I can't get enough of it. Send it to me all the way up my hot vag. Give me everything you can give me, lover. Never stop. Just keep giving it to me all the way."
He laughed. "You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you?" And he speared me again with his tall cock.
"Oh, you bet," I cried. "I want nothing better. In all my life, this is the greatest thing that's ever happened to me." And I wriggled my can at his gut, trying to grab even more of that prime cock than he already had given me.
"Tell me you're glad I followed you home," he said hotly. "Tell me you're glad I raped you."
"I'm glad," I cried joyously. "Oh I'm more than glad you followed me home, sweetheart. I think every girl should be followed home the way I was followed home. If more men followed more young girls home the way you followed me home, America would be a happier place for the sexes. That's the trouble with the country," I said. "Not enough men follow girls home. They should follow them more often. It should be a regular thing. I'm in favor of it happening all the time." And I kept pounding his gut with my ass the whole time I raved.
He laughed. "You're a wild bitch," he said, chuckling. "But they all turn out the same way. If it was up to their moms, for instance, and this is especially true with the younger ones, guys like me would be sent to the pen all the time. But the broads themselves know exactly what's good for them, and that's why sooner or later, if it's necessary, they make arrangements so that Mom doesn't see them when they're taking it from me. And besides, I often end up fucking their old ladies too. I end up fucking their old ladies and their girlfriends and their sisters and their aunts and nieces. I end up fucking every broad connected with the broad I followed home to rape."
"Oh you could fuck my entire female lineage," I exclaimed. "You could fuck every girl in my family straight down from the Pilgrims. I don't give a shit how many you fuck, lover. I just know that you're the greatest thing that ever happened to me." And I whirled my can at his great cock.
Then he lifted me off that table. Don't ask me how he did it, but he picked me up and walked me around with my cunt on his cock. He carried me in front of him, and I had my legs up in a crazy position, and all the time, my cunt was deep on his cock. It was a wild way to go, and I loved every minute of it. And all the while, he played with my boobies at the same time. I was going mad from the joy of it all.
That wasn't enough. He sat on the kitchen chair, and I went down solidly on his great yang. I started wriggling in all directions, feeling that proud big bird up my tail. I maneuvered left and right and all around from the wonderful feeling it gave me. And he humped my cunny at the same time. It was the wildest.
That still wasn't enough. He pulled me off his cock and he went onto the floor, and he told me to straddle him and go onto his cock that way. I did, and it gave me more freedom of movement than ever, and I wriggled left and right and went crazy from the terrific feeling it gave my hole. I was flowing and flowing, and I couldn't stop fucking or flowing even if I tried. "Oh Tex, lover," I cried, "you're the greatest thing that ever happened to me."
"It's all how a guy handles himself," he said. j "You'e got to handle yourself right, and cunt is always there." He chuckled as he lay back and let me do all the work.
I knew he was right. I knew that every man should consider following broads home. I knew that was what women really wanted more than anything else. I knew that though a woman might pretend not to be interested, she was, in her secret heart, more than interested. After all, women get
I so few chances to meet men, and what better way is there to meet them than to be followed home. Besides, it gives them a chance to get free cock right away too, because few women ever get enough cock. Plenty of times they'll see a guy they want to fuck, but they don't get the chance, because a woman isn't supposed to do anything about it. So the best thing that can happen to her is to have a guy follow her home and attempt to rape her. She'll do the rest, don't worry.
Then somehow he managed to raise himself up, and he had me still on his cock, and I wrapped my legs around him and I started hugging him for dear life, and he was walking all around the pad with me humping crazily on his big prick. It was the wildest, and I loved the way he nipped my nipples at the same time I jumped and humped wildly on his powerful rod. It was the greatest thing in the world.
Finally he took me to my bedroom and dropped me to my bed, and went on top of me and started giving me the jazzing of my life. He went onto his knees, my legs still wrapped around him, and he started fucking me on a straight line, mainlining my hole, giving me the beeline treatment. He was in and out beautifully with long sure hard strokes. I gasped. I cried my joy. I yelled and frantically screamed my pleasure. Never in my life had I been so taken, so wonderfully fucked. It was the most precious and lovely feeling I knew I ever would know.
And he dicked me with a grandeur that belonged to the gods. He sent his powering dick in and out of me with a splendor that never has been matched in all history. He twisted and turned that powerful cock like a thing from the greatest and most wonderful time in the history of mankind. He went deeply inside me and pulled all the way out, back and forth, magnificently up and down my aching torrid steaming wet cunt. He gave it to me beautifully.
"Oh, lover," I cried, "I'm going off the cliff. I'm heading for the top of the mountain and going off the cliff. Lover, I never knew anything so grand in my life. Lover Tex, I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm coming all the way."
And I started humping his cock like crazy. If I ever humped a dick madly in my life before, I humped his cock more madly, more insanely, more wildly than I ever hope to hump another dick so long as I live. I pounded his dick with the greatest intensity in the world. I smashed his cock with a brutality I know never will be matched again. I went at him in a wild hot violent fury.
He laughed. "You're bringing me off just with your action," he said, stopping his cock when it was deep in my hole. "You're taking my rocks off, just from your work." And he settled into me, his cock's head against the roof of my cunt, and let me handle the movement.
And handle it I did. I went up and down, left and right, back and forth, on and off with him with the most maddeningly powerful drives I've ever known in my life. I clasped his ass cheeks and held on terrorously and gave him all of myself over and over again. I climbed to the stars on his great and wonderful, glorious and grand, huge and magnificent, tall, tall, tall dick.
Then I was at the moon, and rocketed away. I blew out my head. I let everything in me loose in one wild wonderful awe-inspiring scream. I struck terror into all of Miami Beach, I'm sure, with the most blood-curdling great scream of which I ever have been capable. Oh how I yodeled. You'll never know how I yelled. I simply screamed to eternity.
And it was out of me. Then I could rock away the rest of my come, and it was grand. But at the same time, I drew off his own heat, and he exploded madly in my hole. High and deep into me, he broke away his flood, and I yelled again and again as I felt the cream smash me, as I felt everything hit me in a whirling dash of strange wild good great white come. He blasted me with his tremendous lava, and I felt it spread through all of me. It was grand.
So together we spent ourselves one against the other in those playing-away minutes. We fucked ourselves out, and let everything that ever had held us disappear into the void of eternity. We gave up ourselves completely. We left nothing in us remaining. We just humped away all our passion, all our lust, all our craving.
And when we were done, we collapsed to each other, and sucked breath again, and laughed wildly, headily, from the good feeling of the greatest fuck that mankind ever has known. We laughed and kissed and shoved our tired bodies together, just laughed and loved and were so damned happy.
Well, what else can I say? You asked about things like sex and servants. You want to know my experiences. I tell you that one. And why do I tell you that, Well, maybe I want you to know that there really might be some good in the whole idea of exploitation. I know it sounds odd, sure. But think of it this way. Let me go over the picture again with you and do a little recapitulation for your benefit.
I'm just a doll who serves guys, right? I work for a buck a dance and try to make contacts. Okay, along comes a total zero, or so I think, and I pass him off and want to forget about the whole thing. But what happens? He's the persistent kind and he follows me home. Okay, so how many gals don't get followed home at sometime or other by the smart boys? Plenty, I tell you. But how many guys make the pitch? Not too many. Why? Because we're to blame, ourselves. We're always crying "Rape" and scaring guys away that could do us plenty of good. I don't blame them for going elsewhere. They don't need us. Sooner or later, a smart gal exists somewhere who more than wants their good meat. And they stick it where it does the most good.
But here's a guy who wants it everywhere, and he personally doesn't give a shit whether we cry "Rape" or not. He knows what he's after, and he takes it at any age if it's available; and he knows it's all more than available. So what happens? I get fucked, and get the greatest fuck in my life.
What else, In this case, it just happens that he's a Texas millionaire, that's all, with a wealth in oil-wells. And he helps me out on my career. Well, I don't need help when I have a cock like that, and I frankly told him as much. He said, "Baby, take it and run. I won't be laying you forever. I've got too much interest in other snatch, snatch wherever I see it. So take it and run."
I cry when he tells me that, because I'd give up a million of my own if I had it just to keep his dick high in my hole. But I know he's right; so I grab what I can and it launches me in joytown as the saying might be. I've profited from a helluva happy following-home.
Okay, so what's it all about again? Just this: I was a servant, and I sure as hell was exploited. I was given the works in exploitation. But was it bad? Hell no. It was the greatest thing in the world. I can't say it's the same for every other servant girl wherever she is. Hell, I wouldn't say that at all. But I just know that for me it was terrific.