The long, shrill wail of the steamer whistle blasted across the bay and echoed back from the ridges and promontories that lined the shore. The rays of the midday sun slanted downward through the luxuriant, tall plane trees and black cypress, bounced off a speck of golden minaret to end up bathing merrily on the crisp and sparkling water.
I leaned forward from the railing and waved farewell to a turbaned sultan and the group of unusual people who surrounded him. They waved back, scarves and handkerchiefs bidding me bon voyage. Some were perched on a limousine painted in an outlandish manner which drew fascinated stares from the onlookers.
The steamer swerved slowly into the current, and the city began to drop away, fusing into the blinding haze of light and distance. The little group faded away from sight, and a pang of nostalgia went through me as the last strip of land slid away to the horizon.
I thought back to the many crowded events of the past months and already they began to take on the aura of unreality, of a long, adventurous dream.
Until the day my aunt had run off with a patent-medicine man, my young life resembled that of thousands of other young men raised in the same milieu. As I was an orphan, and she my only guardian, her fight put an end to my sheltered life. I was forced to leave school and find work to support myself. The only occupation readily available for an inexperienced fellow was that of soda jerk. I answered an ad for a drug store in the downtown section of our fair-sized New England city. They put me on the night shift, to work the fountain alone, and a homely-looking guy, named Charley, was in charge of the drugs.
We got to know each other pretty well, and took to stopping in at a nearby bar after work. Over beer and rye whiskey, which he drank indiscriminately, in quantities that would have pickled a full-grown horse, he gave me the high points of his life. He was constantly in debt and trouble, but he had a fatalist's view point and never fell into maudlin weeping about his fate.
The way he got married was typical. He used to play the horses up at Narragansett, and one night after a party, took some woman along for the next day's races. It looked right, except that when he was getting dressed the following morning, she said to him, "Honey, before we go watch the horsies, let's you and I trot over and see the parson." She gave him the depressing proposition of marrying her or going to prison for violation of the Mann Act.
"What'd she want to do that for?" I asked. She didn't even know you!"
"She was knocked up by some prick," he answered, "And was looking for a father for her little bastard."
Charley had a lot of priest friends from the Seminary around the corner. Not that he was religious or anything, but perhaps their professional mourner's look eased him inside. They drank a lot of Cokes, and a few were frequently behind the drug department downing expensive Bourbon on Charley's good nature.
There was also a former follies girl, well into her fifties, who would show up around ten-thirty or so, for a Bromo-Seltzer (for the morning after), a bicarb (for right away, because her stomach was on the ass), and a pack of rubbers (for a little later, in case business was good). If any of the priests happened to be there when her frowzy furs, reeking Five and Dime perfumes, blew in their noses, they would turn on their heels and stalk out in the silence of Damnation. Charley was a lot easier on her, and, as a consequence, absorbed a lot of woeful sob stories, recounted with much doctoring of her lips and rouge and powder. He said her bitching made him feel he could have done a lot worse.
* * * *
The pharmacy was located on the ground floor of a ten-story building called the "Lacewell Building." On the first four or five floors there were business offices of all kinds: brokers, lawyers, doctors, dentists, specialists of one sort and another. On the floors above it was all private apartments, and some were occupied by the same business and professional people whose offices were below. I was kept busy running errands, bringing up Cokes, sandwiches, or medicine, all over. Soon there was hardly a nook or corner of that edifice which wasn't familiar to me.
On the tenth floor there lived a certain Mrs. Mallone, who was a good forty-five years old, and her daughter, Tessie, about twenty or so. The mother had her hair died a deep red, almost crimson, but Tessie was a natural blonde, who indulged in the imagine of having a dark streak died through a lock of hair. She had a taste for flamboyant crucifixes, which hung like warnings around her neck. In the winter they wore the same type of fur coats and short skirts, and from the back it was hard to tell them apart, except for the hair. Mrs. Mallone had as shapely a figure as her daughter and kept herself in good condition with mud baths, massages, and a hundred odd jars of assorted beautifiers. They would sometimes stop in for a short Coke, just before we closed. Mother and daughter went out a lot together and always came in with a faint smell of alcohol sifting around them. They drank a lot, often calling down several times in one night for whiskey quarts. When I'd bring up the bottle, there generally was a man friend somewhere in the apartment.
One time I was sent up with a quart of Johnny Walker, and only Mrs. Mallone was home. It was about ten o'clock, and she seemed a little blue. But it wasn't that which bothered me. When she opened the door, I saw she wasn't wearing very much in the way of clothing, a pink negligee, very short, and so transparent I could practically make out the color of her dimples. It's true she had a house-coat thrown over her shoulders, but she left it hanging loose and I could see her bubbies bouncing when she walked. Her breath smelled halfway across the room as if it had as much alcohol as the bottle in my hand.
"Come on in," she invited, perking up at the sight of the bottle. "Have a seat while I go get some money."
"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Mallone, but I have to get back downstairs right away."
She gave me a look like a cat, as she bent down over her purse. I could see her tits against the lamp, sticking out in profile, two luscious silhouettes. She had some kind of a strong smelling perfume, which, though it felt raw on my nostrils, I found exciting.
"How much is that exactly, sonny?"
I told her the price, and added I didn't like the "sonny boy" part.
"Oh?" she said, looking at me peculiarly, "so you're a great big man, are you?"
"No," I answered, "I ain't a great big man ... but I certainly ain't any little boy."
"Well now, isn't that just ducky? Here I am all alone in this big scary building, and not feeling so very good. It sure is nice to know there's a man around."
She sat down in a plush armchair, neglecting her purse, and opened the whiskey. She crossed her legs so I could get a good look at her thighs. They looked creamy-white, and soft, and seeing them didn't help my determination to leave.
"In that case," she went on, "why don't you have a little shot before going back to your fountain?"
I couldn't very well refuse because it would look like I had just been shooting off my mouth with all that "man" talk. I took the glass she offered and downed it in one gulp. It was pretty strong stuff, and I nearly choked on it, but I forced it down and wiped the tears away before she could see.
"I've noticed you a lot," she smiled, "You're kinda cute ... What's your name?"
She was getting hot, and I knew it. It did funny things inside me, and I was a little scared as well. I felt like a stray sheep caught in the wolf's lair, but I had to go on making believe it was all old stuff to me on account of my rash words. She uncrossed her legs, put down her whiskey, and said, "You know, I like you, you shouldn't stay so far away." The movement of her legs left her lap visible, and through the flimsy garment I could see a large triangle of black hair. I had never seen a grown woman's cunt before, and it actually frightened me. She beckoned me over to her, and I had to go along with the act. She didn't wait for me to sit down but literally pulled me down, knocking the glass out of my hand. Before I knew what was going on, she pressed me tight and took one of my hands and placed it flat on her tit. If felt good, it was firm, and very warm.
"How do you like that for a tit?"
"Yes'm," was all I could answer.
Next thing, she spread her legs really apart and took my other hand and put on her bush. I found that it wasn't so terrifying to the touch.
"And that?" she asked again, working her tongue over my ear, and breathing into it so that I felt flames shooting through my head.
"Mmmmmm!"
She laughed, softly, undid my fly, and pulled on my pecker a little. He came up hard, and she stopped kissing me to look at it a moment, and then grinned at me.
"It's real fine, Big Boy. You're right, you're gonna be a real big man some day!"
I played with her pussy a little, though I wasn't sure about it, diffident, hesitant. But she was working hard on my prick, and began playing the head closer and closer to her snatch. She pushed my hand away from there and rubbed the penis well into her bush, massaging herself and letting her head fall back while she enjoyed the sensations. Suddenly she had enough of excitation and took hold of me with her thighs, holding my waist firmly, and pushed my cock into her cunt.
"Oh," she gasped, "you're built real good ... real good! Come on in ... Come on! ... Haven't you ever fucked anybody before? What the hell, you're not a virgin:
That kind of talk, plus my aroused senses, wouldn't stand for anymore fooling around. I grabbed her waist and pushed into her all the rest of the way. She began moaning and cursing.
"Oh Christ, man, push on it, push on it! ... Oh it's so maddening! ... Oh shit, fuck me, I love it, I love it!"
I didn't mind it so much either. Once I got inside her all my shyness left me in a flash. In fact, I wasn't even thinking about myself at all. Mrs. Mallone was a real sexy female, and it didn't take me long to get the hang of things. I didn't do too badly on that fuck, even if it was she who did most of the work.
I held on to her ass real hard and she kept saying, "That's right honey, that's the way ... oooh, it is good ... "
I'm sure my cock grew several inches. Her cunt literally sucked it into her and stretched it, and pulled on it. When we finished, and I took it out, I saw it was hanging down a lot lower than it ever had before. I was proud as hell of it, and as if to prove I was right, she bent forward and took it in her mouth and licked off the little ring of sperm and lingered on the head.
"Oh, baby," she said, sighing, "Let's have another. She sucked on it with gusto, and I was flabbergasted to see it start to rise again.
"Ah," she whispered, "I was sure you had temperament, a lot of it!"
I told her I never knew I had so much temperament. But before she had a chance to stick him in again, we heard a key turning in the lock.
"Quick, hide!" she whispered. "It's Tessie. I'll put out the light and make believe I was dozing off, that will give you a chance to sneak out when she comes in here."
I got off her reluctantly, with an erection sticking way out of my pants which made my movements awkward. I tripped over a stool just as the light went out. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Tessie could be seen in the small glow of the hall-light, removing her coat.
"Mamie?" she call out, "you there?"
Mamie emitted a loud artificial snore, which almost made me bust out laughing. Tessie took it for the real thing and believed her mother was asleep. However, Mamie's plans were a little upset, because Tessie stayed in the hallway, where the clothes closet was located, and began undressing right there. I was crouched behind a chair, with a penis that wouldn't go down, no matter how I concentrated on it. I even hit it with my hand to make it lose its appetite, but the stubborn organ had a mind of its own and remained as rigid as a pole, and almost as long.
From where I was, I could see Tessie perfectly, and what I saw wasn't helping that erection down. She slipped out of her dress gracefully and revealed all of her charms to me, which in the low light were accentuated deliciously. Her tits were smaller than her mother's, but were much firmer, even more projecting. She was wearing black-lace panties, and they fit snugly over the curves of her buttocks, so much so I could apprehend every nuance of roundness, of the inviting crack between the two globes. My prick began throbbing, hitting against the chair leg with loud emphatic thumps. Mamie heard it, guessed what it was, and she couldn't help sighing with regret. Tessie heard it too, but she didn't have any idea what it could be, except, perhaps, her mother stirring in her sleep. The vigorous thumping of my young organ was like a love call to the inflammable Mamie, she couldn't stand it anymore.
I have to admit, that woman was damned clever. She was dying to get my cock back inside her and hit on an ingenious device. I don't know what it was she stuck in the light socket, but suddenly there were bluish sparks which shot out of it, and the light in the hallway went out. The apartment was plunged in darkness. Tessie gave a cry of surprise, and I heard her trying the light switch, again and again, without success. Mrs. Mallone slunk out of her armchair and crawled across the floor to my hiding place. Tessie started calling her, but it wasn't Mamie's intention to give away her position. Instead, she came up behind me and reached her hand round my waist until she felt my throbbing cock. Electric sensations shot up my spine at her touch, and in the dark I didn't have any problems of a mental nature. I crawled right over her back and found her dripping cunt in the dark. It was heaving with lust, her big lips unfolded in anticipation of my entry. My cock went in easy and rapidly, and dog-fashion, I fucked her, behind the chair. Tessie, in the meanwhile, went stumbling through the room calling her mother. Mamie came, in a big gush of warm liquid which bathed my turgid cock so plentifully that I shot into her like a rocket. She groaned with ecstasy and fell to the floor. Tessie heard her and suspected the cause of her moans, but was absolutely baffled by the darkness and mystery. I pulled out my cock from Mamie's flapping labia and discovered it was still, unaccountably, erect. I desired more coition, but the prone woman lying beneath me in the dark was incapable of taking me in a third time. The rapturous vision of Tessie undressing taunted my awakened animality, and I crept from my hiding place to stalk her naked body in the dark. It was simple to track her down, because she was unaware of my presence, and was totally preoccupied with solving the light problem. I advanced slowly, cautiously, following her, breathing like a cat. There was a strange, overpowering excitement in the dark room, with our two bodies moving, like lost planets, in an ever decreasing orbit. My erection was an infallible antenna, and I felt it brush against warm flesh which slid by it in the black. I heard a half-choked gasp, and Tessie's voice spoke out, a few inches away from me.
"Mamie?" she whispered, "Mamie, is that you?"
Her hand reached out, and the first thing it met was the penis pointed straight at her. As if it had been a deadly serpent, she drew back her imprudent hand and bounded away.
I heard her anxious breathing, as I pursued her into the bedroom. Her mother began to stir, but was still too groggy to comprehend anything. Tessie was backed against some kind of furniture; she sensed someone moving up on her and waited with bated breath. Her first sample had given her a pretty clear idea of what was floating around with her in the dark. Ever so slowly, I inched forward until my prick touched something soft. I stopped and waited, letting him rest there, as light as a bird. She didn't budge. We were standing in the dark, face to face, no further away than the length of my penis. I began moving the tender head around the navel of her belly. She breathed even faster, but remained where she was. Taking courage, I began a more interesting exploration. Kneeling slightly, at about what I figured was the level of her pussy, I inched him forward, and sure enough, I felt the brisk, wiry touch of her hairs.
It was like chasing a phantom in a dream. She disappeared without warning, though I knew by her hot breath that she was fully aroused by the mysterious male body hunting her in the dark. The smell of warm, naked flesh floated lazily about the room. I decided on another approach. I heard where she had slipped to, and getting down on my hands and knees, I crawled toward her like a beast stalking its prey. What I didn't know at the time was that Mamie was also on her hands and knees, making for the bedroom. I was amazed how in the space of a few minutes, I had received an education worth years of patient study. Mrs. Mallone had helped me into maturity by taking me between her legs. Now I was hot after her daughter, and she was once more crawling in search of me. I had to make it to Tessie before Mamie caught up with me.
Tessie wasn't very far away, that I knew by the now familiar odor of pussy hungry for cock. It was a smell I was to learn to love and appreciate, an odor to which I became extremely sensitive, and which was always infallible in leading me into new cunts. I made right for the unseen bush begging for male intrusion. I poked my tongue out, and it slithered through her slightly parted labia. She shivered in delight from the moist acquaintance and this time stayed rooted to the spot. I played my tongue all around her lips, and her tiny clitoris sprung erect, anxious also for its share of manipulation. Mamie was getting closer all the time, so I grabbed Tessie's naked buttocks and lunged forward with all my strength. She fell in a heap, losing her breath from the blow, and instantly I was upon her and striking away with my cock for the hairy aperture. The warm mucous membrane furled around my staff as it sunk deep into her vitals. She grabbed my ass with her hands and began to fuck as vigorously as her mother.
Mamie was almost upon us. She heard her daughter's voluptuous cries and she boiled with jealousy. I picked Tessie up in my arms and carried her out of the bedroom, avoiding Mamie adroitly, and fucking her daughter all the time.
"You little bitch," Mamie screamed in the dark. "Where the hell have you gone off with my boy, I'll teach you to steal my friends ... I thought we had it out once for all with Mr. Rameses. You'll pay for this, you two-timing, filthy trollop."
Tessie was busily engaged with shoving her ass forward and backward as hard as she could, because now she and I were on the verge of shooting for bliss. Mamie's anger fell on deaf ears; we spilled on the floor, the two of us, losing our strength with the sexual flood which poured from our organs.
When Mamie heard the dull thud of our bodies she was on the point of smashing all the furniture with her fury. She lost her way in the dark, stumbled over something and crashed against the dresser. Tessie was frightened out of her wits and begged me to do something to calm her mother. There was only one ' thing I knew would calm her for sure, but my prick had by now given an exemplary demonstration of its formidable potential. Considering its as yet unripe condition, it would be unreasonable to make any more demands. Still, it was impossible for me to leave the household in such a turbulent state. Somehow, I had begun to take on a certain sense of responsibility toward these two females.
I crawled to where Mamie lay, soothing her bruises, and gingerly posed my hand out in space. I felt her big thighs immediately, and, not waiting for more information, I slithered along her like a snake. She began whimpering and feeling for me, calling me her own "dear honey lamb." She herself brought my penis where it belonged, and her hips started rolling and waving an erotic rhumba on the floor. But Tessie, when she heard how quickly Mamie's anger had subsided, grew hot with rage in her turn, and began abusing her mother with language that made my ears burn. She called her everything under the sun that is repugnant, degraded, debased and the like. But Mamie fucked tranquilly on, absorbing every last bit of pleasure she could from the hot rod in her hole.
Nobody walked anymore in this house. Tessie was crawling toward us, in her turn, and she came up against my ass with her head, forcing me back in her mother when I was just coming out. The smell of my ass hole drugged her, and she stuck out her tongue and began lapping my swinging balls. Mamie and I came together with Tessie's nose in between, her mouth swallowing all the overflow.
Mother and daughter were now reconciled and they snuggled me between them, murmuring sweet nothings in my ears and both holding lovingly onto my cock. Reluctantly, I remembered the drug store and my duties. Poor Charley, if there was a crowd down there he would be going mad trying to handle everything himself. But Mamie and her daughter made me promise I would come back so the three of us could play some really nice games, not on the floor, but in their large, accommodating bed.
Somewhat groggy, but physically soothed and happy, I returned to the fountain. Charley nearly had a fit when I walked in. He forgot himself completely, and swore at me, and right at the other end of the counter were sitting a couple of his priest friends. They made believe they were absorbed in their hot cocoa, but their ears were poised like a pointer's tail on the scent.
"What the hell have you been doing? Did you drink the liquor yourself? You look plastered ... "
I didn't answer him, first, because he was entirely justified, and second, I was too happy to give a damn. After that, every time I went up on an errand, he would give me a dirty look of warning, and a box of rubbers.
TWO.
On the ground floor, next to the pharmacy and separated by the main entrance, was another shop which used to be occupied by a cleaning and dying establishment. The store remained empty for several months and then one evening when I came to work I saw a huge moving van pulling away. The empty store was filled with many crates of different sizes, and I saw two women busy unpacking them. Charley told me that the shop was now rented by a Miss Charlotte Macline, who was going to open a ladies' underwear and corset affair. He had seen her and told me she was a "damned fine beauty," and so naturally my curiosity was aroused.
Miss Macline didn't lose any time in setting up shop and a few days later the window was already blooming with seductive finery of all types and shapes. There were several rows of piquant little brassieres, with reinforced tips, for smaller ladies with not much in the way of mammary construction. The sizes went up to grades of heft I didn't think existed. Next to these were the corsets, and some of them were the thinnest and frailest bits of lacework imaginable, just barely making the distinction between what you could call clothing and downright nudity. In the rear of the shop was a discreet violet curtain which screened off the dressing rooms from inquisitive eyes. A thick carpet hid the floor and gave an elegant note to the interior, which was as close as you could come to making a boudoir a public place. Miss Charlotte herself wore her own articles as if she was part of the display. Her bosom was always trying to break out of an insufficient and provocative bra. When she had a customer, she often used her well-proportioned chest to show off the allure of her wares, inducing them to buy after such a convincing demonstration. With others, she would go with them to the dressing room and fit the brassieres on them personally. She did that service only for the prettier girls and young women, and didn't hesitate to compliment the beauties on their natural charms, often with significant caresses of a wayward hand. None ever objected, because every woman adores being admired, as much by another woman as by a man. Her business thrived well, and if anyone noticed, they might have been surprised at the quantity of underwear some ladies needed, coming week after week to procure another little dainty. Miss Macline furnished her shop with a radio to play soft music and sprayed a delicate perfume in the air which would have worked marvels in a harem.
Her helper was several years her junior, her dark hair contrasting favorably with Miss Charlotte's blonde curls. She was a very tall, thin woman, with graceful curves which were well mounted on a pair of long, healthy limbs. Her name was Elizabeth Corral, and she was regarded as a strong rival of her boss in the matter of affectionate attentions of the clientele.
Each time I would enter the rear door of the shop and smell that perfume and see the profusion of ladies' under things, as if a brothel had undressed all together in one room, my prick would become irritated, and if Charlotte or Elizabeth happened to be in the back, it would be even worse, because they had a way of letting their buttocks roll on their haunches which suggested a lot of hidden talent. Sometimes we would smoke a cigarette together, reclining comfortably on a deep, large sofa. If Charlotte was in an exceptional mood, she would open a little cabinet and serve me a drink of Scotch or whiskey.
One evening, as I was reclining on the sofa finishing a drink while they were occupied with some customers, a strange woman entered and, paying no heed to me, burst into tears. Charlotte followed a moment later and tried to comfort her, making her sit down and patting her hands.
"Come, come," soothed Charlotte, "it's not as bad as all that. I understand your feelings perfectly."
"I'm finished," cried the woman. "He hates me ... I know he does. But what does he see in her? Oh, to think it could come to this."
I gathered that the weeping woman had discovered her husband was playing around with another woman. In fact she had made the discovery only a few minutes before. Charlotte was doing her best to console the unhappy woman, but she was desperate to go back in the shope because there was a good-sized group of women waiting to be served.
"Eddie," she asked me, "do me a favor, will you? Stay with Mrs. de Silva while I handle the rest of my customers. I won't be long."
Before I could answer whether I could oblige her or not, she disappeared into the shop, and I was left with the sobbing Mrs. de Silva.
"Look, lady," I offered, wondering what the hell I could say that would give her comfort, "I don't know your husband, but I'll bet he isn't worth shedding all these tears."
"Oh," she whimpered, "I'm so miserable ... I did my best, I kept the house beautifully, I cooked for him, slaved for him ... and this is the thanks I get ... "
"He must be a boor," I said, "to leave you, such a nice-looking woman."
It was true, she wasn't bad-looking at all, even with her eyes red from crying.
"I don't understand," she went on. "Where did I fail him?"
"Maybe," I suggested, brutally, "you don't excite him any more ... Though you seem to be built pretty nicely."
I was looking at her legs, and they were the very model of perfect calves, extending down to small ankles, and all encased in sheer stockings which enhanced their charm.
She dried her eyes and got up, without answering me. She had been touched by that part about not exciting her husband. After a moment's reflection, she turned around and looked at me. A look that seemed to say, now what would a young whipper-snapper like you know about a woman's being exciting or not.
"Don't excite him? Well, of all the nerve! I don't say I'm any Marilyn Monroe, but I know what I got!"
"Maybe, it's just that you don't know how to season what you got."
"Young man," she said "you are most impertinent ... If it weren't for your green years ... What do you mean, season f
I was saved by the reappearance of Charlotte, but only momentarily, for the woman told her everything I said and was getting very indignant. It called for a lot of tact, and Charlotte was equal to the occasion.
"Mrs. de Silva," she said, "sometimes one hears pearls of wisdom from mere babes. Now, let us face the facts. Look at yourself," indicating the large mirror in the corner, "now what do you see? A potentially beautiful woman, who has let herself go, has lost the knack of keeping herself in fighting shape."
Poor Mrs. de Silva. Charlotte's words made her even more unhappy. But she had a method, and soon she was explaining the defects in her dress, carriage, and so on. Mrs. de Silva was listening quietly, like a studious pupil, taking everything in.
"But what can I do now? It's too late to remedy anything, all is lost."
"Not by a long shot," exclaimed Charlotte. "We will start from the basic and work upward from there."
"And what is the basic?" asked Mrs. de Silva curiously.
"Your foundation, dearie. Come here," and she led her into one of the dressing cubicles. "Now, you take off everything, and we'll see just what it is you lack. After that, it will be the simplest thing in the world to make you over into a 'Femme Fatale'. "
She had so calmed the anxious woman that I thought Mrs. de Silva was going to start cooing like a dove. She was thrilled to her marrow at the idea of being made over into a dangerous woman. Charlotte came out of the booth and drew the curtain while she undressed.
"I think," she said to me, "that you can go now."
"Oh hell," I grumbled. "Just when it's getting interesting."
"No doubt," she laughed, "but this is strictly a woman's affair."
"Maybe so," I said, getting up to go, "but I take notice all this is being done on a man's account. Seems to me that the best judge of your results would be a man."
Elizabeth stuck her head around the big curtain and called Charlotte away. Acting quickly, while she had her back turned, I ducked through the curtain which was shielding Mrs. de Silva from view. She was bent over, half undressed, engaged in pulling her dress over her head. The first thing that came to view as I entered the little booth, was her ample buttocks, which, jutting forth from her half-bent legs, were simply begging for a male tool to cut them in two. I lashed my pecker out, and stepping forward boldly, rammed him where I figured her cunt must be hidden. I overshot the mark and plunged into a different hole. Mrs. de Silva froze like she was, her skirts wrapped around her head and arms outstretched. But I wasn't waiting for her to recover from the blow. I jimmied my cock into her bowels, figuring that after all one hole is as good as another, just so long as the size is right. I was a little troubled by the thought of getting some shit on my stick, but that was a minor problem. The mesmerized Mrs. de Silva didn't move a muscle while I kept planting my rod in and out of her bung. Outside, I could hear Charlotte and Elizabeth in conversation. I kept hoping that they wouldn't stick their heads in the booth before I finished.
Mrs. de Silva began to take a strong liking for the ass-hole treatment. She suddenly came to life and removed her dress, beginning the while a small, nervous wiggle of her buttocks. We were going along fine when Charlotte threatened to spoil the party. Mrs. de Silva heard her coming too, and took command of the situation. She swung her buttocks, and me attached, around in a half-circle, so that I was hidden from view behind her ample frame. The next instant, Charlotte parted the curtain, and found herself face to face with the happy Mrs. de Silva.
"Aren't you undressed yet?" asked Charlotte.
"Mmmmmm ... almost ... I, uh ... never was very fast at this."
"Aha," said Charlotte, shaking her finger at her, while I was shaking my cock in her, "you'll have to learn to undress faster than that. Men hate to be kept waiting."
"Yes," agreed Mrs. de Silva, "they are., impetuous ... sometimes ... uh ... aren't they?"
The curtain closed again, and Mrs. de Silva recommenced waving her ass in that booth until it began to get dangerous. She was hurling me from side to side, and I had all I could do to hold on and not get slammed against the thin partitions. Charlotte heard the noise of our libidinous struggle, and returned a moment later to see what Mrs. de Silva was doing, making all that racket. When her head reappeared, I was just loosing my flood of sperm in Mrs. de Silva's tube. The good woman was herself letting forth her love juices in a trickling and sputtering down her thighs.
"Is anything wrong?" asked Charlotte nervously. "OOOhh," shrieked Mrs. De Silva. "OHHH NNNooo!"
Charlotte withdrew her head in a hurry, stupefied by the strange behavior of Mrs. de Silva. No doubt she suspected the woman was on the point of losing her mind; her grief, and all that. She would have stayed there, wiggling her ass, even after having come all over everything, but I shoved her out, dripping like dishrag, her face red as a beet, hair all tangled and disheveled.
"Whatever in the world ... " I heard Charlotte exclaim. "Well, Mrs. de Silva, it's no wonder if your husband doesn't find you attractive! I never saw anyone perspire the way you do!"
"Oh, fuck him. What do I give a shit what he thinks ... "
Charlotte gave a gasp of surprise.
"Why, Mrs. de Silva!"
"You heard me ... Fuck him."
"But I don't even know him, Mrs. de Silva!"
THREE.
Mrs. de Silva took a great interest in me after our first meeting. She considered it necessary for me to change my habitual milieu, saying that I was only limiting myself, leading the life I did, and that I had many natural gifts which were worthwhile developing. Myself, I figured my natural gift was doing pretty well, even in my limited environment. She was a big society woman, and entertained the most prominent people in town. Twice a month she gave a musical soiree, where, amongst others, her daughters, Amelia, Anita and Francesca, assisted in the performance.
Whenever a visiting dignitary showed up in town, Mrs. de Silva lost no time in sending out invitations. She had a special fondness for Europeans, whether they were members of a run-down aristocracy, ministers of state or theatrical people. Her taste in these matters was extremely eclectic, and based solely on the fame of the individual. It was into this company she wanted to introduce me. In preparation for such a worldly encounter, she had me come to her house twice a week, and provided me with a French tutor, a piano instructor, a master of literature and a dancing teacher.
She spared no pains for a worthwhile education on my behalf.
I was put through a rigorous schedule and would have found the experience intolerable if it weren't for the charming company of her three daughters, who helped me in my efforts to become a man of the world. Charley followed my progress, at first with a lot of jokes at my expense, but later developed a more respectful attitude as my accomplishments became apparent.
"Here comes the soda-jerk with a pedigree," he would announce gravely, when I showed up for work. My prestige soared upward with the Lacewell society , and Mrs. Mallone and Tessie were downright obsequious, continually giving me invitations to come up and share their bed. Charlotte became suddenly interested in my affairs and allowed me free rein with her whiskey. Everyone wanted to know when I was "coming out" in society.
Madame de Silva, (as I now called her), came to me one day while I was practicing a Boogie step with my dancing instructor, a charming negress, Sophie by name, come all the way from New York specially for me.
"Edward," she said, "at five this afternoon I am having an informal tea, and I think it would be a good thing if you would come. You are almost ready to make your appearance, and these little teas are invaluable in giving you the necessary poise and behavior."
"That's fine, Madame D., " I answered, pressing my partner boldly in an intimate part of her anatomy. "I shall be delighted."
"Excellent," she answered. "You have an hour more to go with your dancing, but don't go overheated ... "
"Great lady," I said to Sophie, when Madame D. had left. "A real great dame."
"Uh huh," answered my partner vaguely, eyeing my wandering hand with apprehension. "Shall we go on with the Boogie or would you rather try something else?"
"Yeah," I answered, observing the cleft of her bosom, "I'd like to try something different for a change."
We went into a slow fox-trot and then a tango, and the swaying of her hips, our bellies rubbing close together, gave me a burning in the groin which resulted in a first, class erection. She couldn't fail to feel the rod that was troubling her pubic area, and she was growing nervous and unsure of herself. Once when she went to change a disc, I unbuttoned my fly, enough to let my cock out. I went up behind her so she wouldn't see it, and we began another dance. This time she could feel it, like it really was, a strong male member, pressed against her light dress, which was so thin it was almost like having it against her skin. The dancing went on like that for some time, a regular, sustained friction which was generating a lot of mutual heat. The next time she went to put on a new record, I noticed a large moist spot right over her crotch, and she was perspiring profusely all over. The time was ripe to trip her over and get at her panties. She came back to resume dancing and saw the aggravated penis swinging in the air. Her eyes grew wide with terror and she started to back away from me. Before she could escape, I had her in my arms and one hand went exploring under her skirts, finding the fragile lace guarding her treasure, liberally treated with the juices our movements had provoked.
"No," she cried, "Don't ... Don't touch me ... "
Her dark, ebony flesh, shining with running rivulets of perspiration, trembled under my hands. Her skirt flew away from her thighs exposing a delicious spot of pink underwear to which was attached a rose-garter. I put my hand full on her mound with one finger strategically running along the slit itself. She shivered and shook with the thrills that shot through every thirsty pore of her sex. The finger ran back and forth on the love-opening, and the silk panty was caught in between, running with lubrication. The next thing, I placed my cock between her legs, running its powerful meat between her tender thighs. She gasped, as if she were about to faint. I seized the frail panties and tore them down to her feet, and squashed the head of my cock into her hairy rift. She gave me one wild look, and then shut her eyes tight with pleasure as the ferocious penis ran up her kindled vagina. The phonograph was playing a wild tango and I led her into one dance she didn't have to teach me, probably the most tempestuous tango of her career.
Her enthusiasm for the dance knew no bounds. She kept egging me on, crying, "Faster, faster!" until her ebullience rose with the paroxysm of our swinging buttocks, and clamping her pussy tight around my shaft, loosed her whipped up cream in long, heavy bursts, over the eruption of my own organ streaming its flood of sperm.
"Oh," she sighed happily, "man, was that good!" She stroked our coupled organs which were still pulsating and dribbling in the rest of their warm bath.
We tried out a few other dances, like a rhumba, a mambo, the Charleston even, but this last was incompatible with fucking or at least, I hadn't yet acquired sufficient proficiency to be able to keep my prick lodged in her cunt while kicking my feet around.
The hour passed quickly, too quickly. I was just preparing another assault, when Francesca, the youngest of the de Silvas, entered the room. I didn't have time enough to shove my prick back in my pants, and she saw it head on, the swollen knob bobbing a greeting to her. Sophie adjusted her skirts hastily, and I struggled to put the unmanageable weapon out of sight. I would have expected a young girl like that, she was hardly twelve years old, to be overcome with fright at such a vision, but with that look of candor which only children have, she stared at it thoughtfully, then announced that it was time for me to come to tea, and left immediately.
"My God," wailed Sophie, "I hope she don't go and tell her mother what she saw! She could be the ruin of my career!"
"Don't worry," I said, "I'll fix it up with the old lady. But Francesca doesn't look like the kind of kid that goes around blabbing." I had no idea in reality, what sort of a child Francesca was, but Sophie thought I knew the family well, and it calmed her down. I gave her a squeeze on her strong little ass, and kissed away her anxiety. "See you next week," she promised and dashed off to change her clothing.
I had to stuff and wad my cock in as best I could. It was all afire to push its nozzle up a female funnel, and I walked out of the room with clumsy strides and a prominent bulge stretching my trousers. The last place in the world I was fit to enter was a roomful of genteel ladies sipping tea.
The effect was as I had feared. A sudden, penetrating hush fell over the conversation of the dozen or so ladies seated around the room, balancing teacups and saucers on their knees and laps. Every head was turned my way, and not a few were focused on the treacherous protuberance below my belt. My cheeks flushed crimson under the withering battery of female ogling and I was convinced that my social climbing had met a quick and fatal end.
Madame D. came to my rescue, nearly as red as I from the spectacular exhibition, and advanced on me so as to conceal me from the majority. It was of course only momentary, but a reassuring look from her, mixed with a good dose of desire, re-established my failing self-control. I was led around the room and introduced in turn to the ladies present. I could only with difficulty manage to bow to each member of the gathering. As I took their hand, they dropped their eyelashes with modesty, though I thought I detected a furtive glance, beneath those lids, at the pronounced cylinder in my pants.
I was introduced to a Lady Bottomlley, the Duchess of Snipesly, a South American beauty called Juanita Rodriques, an oil heiress by the name of Qualen, a movie actress, whom I had never seen in the cinema, a certain Gertrude La Mazonne, and others, whose names I failed to grasp. They regained their social manners in a minute or so, and resumed their interrupted talk, though I was continually receiving rapid glances from one part of the room and another.
Madame D. placed me between Miss Rodriques and the actress. I was very grateful for the cup of tea she handed me, for it enabled me to hide somewhat my embarrassing condition.
The actress engaged me in conversation right away, asking me what I did. As I had been previously coached by Madame D., I answered that I was a Bachelor of Arts.
"Oh," exclaimed Gertrude La Mazonne, "how perfectly wonderful. I suppose that you will be giving lectures soon, or are you going abroad?"
"Well," I answered modestly, "I won't be giving any lectures for a while ... perhaps sometime in the fall."
"Of course, when the university has begun the school year."
"That's right," I smiled, stirring my tea cautiously, wondering if the saucer was going to keel over.
"Oh my," she went on, in a forced falsetto, "I do hope you'll invite me down."
"Why, sure," I said, "just leave your address with Mme D., er de Silva."
The South American didn't want to be outdone in the way of cultural advantages, and in answer to her request, I promised her also an invitation. The others, though they were chattering away like a noisy hen-coop, had one ear cocked on our conversation. Soon I was giving promises left and right, everyone could come to my lecture. No one thought it necessary to ask what I was going to lecture on, which was a helpful omission. Bachelor of Arts meant whatever you had to say was worthwhile listening to.
Miss Rodriques then asked me if I indulged in horseback riding, which was her favorite sport. I told her that my many studies forced me to lead a very sedentary life, which I regretted intensely.
"Oh," she remarked, "I should hardly think you were so sedentary, you have quite an athletic build."
At the mention of the word "build" my pants were once more the object of general attention, accompanied with certain murmurs, whose meaning escaped me. The teacup tipped precariously, and was about to fall, when the alert La Mazonne reached forward to restore its position. At the same time, Miss Rodriques grabbed for the cup and saucer, and both held a rim of the delicate plate, glaring at each other.
Mme. D. laughed lightly, and said something about the difficulties that men had trying to balance a teacup.
"Naturally," intervened Lady Bottomlley, rolling her big blue eyes coquettishly, "they may be stronger than we, but they are far more clumsy."
Miss Rodriques came to my defense, saying that one ought to be lenient with men because they were sometimes subject to an inconvenience unknown to women. I thanked her with my eyes, and she smiled back and gave a nasty look at Gertrude. They still held on to the saucer, which began to totter again because they were putting unequal pressure on it. Most of the ladies were by now wholly intrigued with the singular game of trying to balance the porcelain on top of the bulge, I was not prepared for the next disaster, which took me, and everyone else, by surprise.
The long-suffering penis, strained as it had been for so long, without reward, was irritated beyond endurance by the lily-white hands poised so close. Its blood vessels swelled prodigiously and the topmost buttons of my fly gave way beneath the strain. The head ripped through and knocked the cup and saucer to the floor, and the livid, swollen organ shot boldly into view. In concert, all the ladies gasped, shocked out of their wits. Miss Rodriques turned pale as a sheet, Lady Bottomlley fainted dead away in her chair, dropping her cup as well. Miss La Mazonne had the presence of mind to attempt covering up the offensive object by grasping it with both her hands and trying to push it back where it belonged. Needless to say, her pulling on it only added to its formidable strength, and the head got bigger and uglier.
As for me, I was struck with horror at the social faux-pas, and gave myself up as lost forever in the higher world.
Madame D. rang for a female servant to administer the prostrate Lady Bottomlley. Several of the more level-headed ladies regained their presence of mind when the first shock wore off. They talked rapidly amongst themselves, offering possible solutions to the vexing problem. It was a critical moment, and only people of the highest breeding could conduct themselves with such aplomb. Nevertheless, for all the good intentions, their ideas were ineffectual, unrealistic.
Matters began to take a wholly different tack suddenly. A subtle change had worked over the group, as if some carefully concealed part of their natures was now breaking through the hiding place, altering circumstances radically.
The insatiable curiosity inherent in the female nature proved to be my rescuing angle, and, what, in the most ordinary situations, would have been looked upon as a serious affront, even more, an outrage, and enough grounds to bring down the wrath of society, not to mention the inevitable prison sentence, became in a moment a badge of authority, an object of respect, of adoration even. They crowded round, to get a closer look, the bolder natures wanted more than that, they wanted to touch and feel. Someone pulled away Miss La Mazonne's hands to make room for her own, and she in turn was brushed aside for another eager spectator. Miss Qualen, the oil heiress, was very vociferous in her admiration, saying she hadn't seen anything to compare with this pump since she had left her father's oil fields near Okie City. In the rear of the room, I noticed the revived Lady Bottomlley, her head waving to and fro, as she tried to get a glimpse between the crowd, of the devilish apparition.
Madame D. was beaming with outright satisfaction, her tea was well on the way to becoming the most talked-about, the most original and, therefore, the most successful of the season. She caught my eye and her triumphant gleam thanked me mutely for having so well justified her belief in me. Her female-servant was by her side, staring at me pop-eyed, her jaw hanging down in the crude manner of a peasant. The contrast between the bewildered, gaping servant and these others, aristocrats, who carried themselves with grace and dignity, showed starkly the difference in breeding.
Madame D. almost divined my thoughts, for she shot me a look which seemed to say, "Pay no attention to her, she's a simple Moujik."
Someone, I think it was the oil heiress again, made the perspicacious remark that it was all well and good to touch and feel such a fine specimen, but that it was a damned shame to let it go at that. She was an opportunist, like her father, and hated to see a good break go to waste. Her ideas found sympathetic supporters, and this radical fringe besieged Madame D. to take advantage of the unusual situation.
"After all," one sighed wistfully, "who knows when we shall ever come across another one like this ... if ever!"
Madame D. knew from personal experience what the young lady was talking about, and that generous woman would never keep from her friends whatever she herself enjoyed. Sparked by the advanced heiress, and the tacit condescension of Madame D., the idea gained ground rapidly, and spread like wildfire through the crowd. Everyone had now gotten it into her head that she had to get that cock into her pussy.
Temperatures rose rapidly, eyes shone, faces grew pale then red, and a nervous fidgeting communicated itself like lightning bolting from pole to pole. Even the servant girl fell prey to the mass-stimulation. A movement was pressing forward around me, like a gathering storm, risking at any moment to break out in uncontroled fury. Each was responding to her emotions according to her nature. Some were giggling like silly ninnies, others gave vent to short bursts of nervous laughter, while a few kept an almost stony silence and advanced on me determinedly. It was these latter who caused the fight which broke out when one of them attempted to straddle me, fully clothed. The others tore her off, calling her a pig, and stupid to boot, since how did she expect to get that thing inside her with her gateway blocked up. Another one clambered on trying to lose her panties at the same time, but she twisted an ankle from sheer incompetence and fell to the floor, wriggling in her entangled garments. A third grabbed the hem of her skirt and tossed it up in the air, revealing a pair of juicy white thighs framed in sheer black stockings and white-lace panties, like the can-can dancers. I guessed that she was banking on provoking me by her sweet bait to leap up and drop her panties for her, but I knew damned well that would be the worst diplomatic blunder I could make, and prudently kept my place. It was Gertie La Mazonne who showed to all the special advantages and skills one acquires in the cinema art, for she lifted her skirts and every one saw she was wearing no panties at all, and with an alacrity gained from her parts in westerns, she leapt upon me, crying "Hi Oh Silver, AWAY!" and her great bushy cunt came down with unerring accuracy on my giant prick. An exclamation of wonder and awe came from the mouths of the astonished females. Madame D. began applauding in the polite manner of the well-bred, and she was joined by her guests who watched our performance eagerly. In three great heaves Gertie brought her wonderful cunt to its climax. When everyone saw the fluid which ran out from her vagina, a fresh burst of applause broke out, and Gertie stood up on her haunches and took a great, theatrical bow. She was carried off in triumph by three or four of her admiring friends, and Miss Qualen, the heiress, was the next to make the assault. She had availed herself of the interval to disrobe completely and propelled her lithe body like a torpedo in a maneuver that was the equal of La Mazonne's performance, eliciting a round of applause in her turn. But she took longer than the volatile screen actress and everyone began counting the pushes. At fifteen she suddenly gave a start and a jerk, wiggled her rump, lifted up on the shaft and splattered down on it with a full gallon of orgasm. She collapsed immediately, but was applauded again for the formidable quantity of juice she had ejected. She was carried away in her turn and reclined on the sofa next to Gertie, who was being served hot tea and biscuits by the servant-girl. While they lay there flushed, exhausted but exhilarated, Miss Rodriques was stepping out of her undies, eyeing me lustfully. She was a dark-complexioned beauty with long, dark eyelashes, and quivered all over as she crawled up on my groin Her pussy was dotted with a large triangle of short, wiry hairs which extended down and around to her ass-hole and up in front of her navel. When she squeezed her fiery stomach flat on mine the hairs gave me a tingling, tickling sensation. Her approach was not acrobatic like the others, but had a certain finesse of movement which can only be called serpentine. She was a perfect incarnation of the classic 'vamp' of the silent films. Her manipulation was much slower but infinitely more voluptuous, and the rest of the watching ladies were brought to an unbearable pitch of excitation by her seductive charm.
The good Lady Bottomlley was hovering all the time on the edge of the crowd, eyeing the proceedings with rather a strange, melancholy air. Madame D. sought her out and wanted to know if anything was wrong. Her ladyship suddenly started to weep, inconsolably. It turned out the unfortunate woman was wearing a sanitary napkin, being in the middle of her monthly, and was absolutely heart-broken at having to deprive herself of the intense pleasures her companions were enjoying. Madame D. soothed her bitter tears by promising to intervene in her behalf at a later date, when her tube would be clear and ready for sport.
In the meantime, I decided it would be good to vary the routine jumping on by a game of another sort. I told them my idea and it met with instant approval. All the ladies, including the revived Gertie and Miss Rodriques and the indefatigable heiress, formed a circle in the middle of the salon, facing outward. At a given signal they took down their panties and bent forward leaving me in the middle of the corral with a wall of luscious buttocks, ass-holes, and outspread legs. Gazing on that paradisiacal vision I almost swooned with delight. I walked round once, just running my hand across the endless rumps, smacking some, patting others, tickling and fingering, eliciting a chorus of girlish titters and screams of pleasure. After that I introduced my prick into a proffered hole, wriggled it, watched it wriggle back, then extracted the shaft and repeated the performance with her neighbor. I went like this around the room, giving to each in turn a solid shove and a bit of a dance. Round and round I went, faster and faster, shoving in and out, fucking the entire company one by one. The excitement grew and the giggles and laughter broke into a wild gaiety. The ring of buttocks was like a weaving wall of flesh with many holes. It crossed my mind what a terrific sensation it would be if I were fitted round my girth with a dozen cocks and so bring that carnal ring around me, pushing me into a dozen different orgasms.
I noticed one plain skirt among the crowd and suspected the servant girl had cleverly slipped herself in on the receiving end. However, her social status in no way prejudiced her forms which were as well developed as the Duchess bent over by her side.
Half the ladies came when I had made no more than four or five visits to their bungs and vaginas. I eliminated those whose legs were running with cream and in the next three turns brought all of them into their culminating spasms.
Madame D. then straightened up and proposed that everyone get down on their hands and knees, one behind the other, and crawl round the floor while they licked the hanging lips of their neighbor ahead. Everyone happily dropped to the floor and began immediately the new game. Some laughed so hard they fell on their faces, and the lady behind would run headlong into the cunt ahead. Finally so many fell down the rest of us followed suit, slid and wallowed across, over and under, tangling in skirts, brushing on sticky cunts, literally swimming in a licentious whirlpool of flesh. Several times I had my nose up an aristocratic cunt, my hands plunged in two others and my feet pressed between two pairs of massive buttocks.
Miss Qualen, lying atop the Duchess, had my penis in her big mouth and was sucking viciously, humming "Alexander's Rag-Time Band" softly to herself. The Duchess was making an elaborate examination of her ass-hole with a heavily bejeweled finger, streaking the sparkling diamonds with shit. Once Miss Qualen let go a tremendous fart, right in the Duchess' face. She sniffed it in luxuriously, smacking her lips, and her appetite now whetted, pulled her finger out of the shit-hole and burrowed her nose into it with gusto.
Gertie La Mazonne had to make pipi, and, standing off at the edge of the human heap, spread her legs apart and washed the floor with her urine. The servant girl caught half of it on her face and the rest in a teapot she found near-by. I believe that Gertie's piss had a greater success than the orange-pekoe Mme. D. served with the biscuits.
For the coup de grace, Mme D. brought out her famous red chest which contained the world's most complete collection of dildos. It included rare historical pieces, dating back hundreds of years, amongst which was a real beauty once belonging to Marie Antoinette.
She put one on made of ivory, carved with elephants, in the style of eighteenth century India. Miss Qualen sported a modern nylon and plastic model with a Lucite tip. It was fully charged, capable of being worked by a tiny button which released the pseudo-sperm in a fierce jet any man would have been proud of. She walked over us squirting it right and left, saying "pax vobiscum."
When the bawdy tea-party finally came to an end, the guests reluctantly gathered their clothing together and set themselves in order for departure. I aided Mme D. in the ritual of bidding them goodbye at the door.
"Perfectly divine," said the Duchess, "I enjoyed myself immensely!"
"Do come again," said her hostess. "Delighted ... Au revoir ... "
I kissed many hands and received many compliments.
When the last of them had gone, tripping down the stairs to waiting limousines, Mme. D. clapped me fondly on the shoulder and said she was proud of me.
"I only wish," she said, "that you would leave that awful drugstore. I should be horrified if any of my friends should find out that you work there. It cuts down the tone so."
"Well," I answered, looking down at my crotch where the protrusion was, "in this condition I don't see how I'll be able to keep the job'. "
"Mmmmm," she mused, "it is rather strange. I wonder why it doesn't want to go down."
"It has me worried," I admitted. "Suppose it were to remain like that always?"
"I think," she answered, "we ought to see if a cold shower might not do the trick ... if not ... why ... come inside."
She led me to her bedroom first where for an hour or so we tried to work it down in the natural way.
FOUR.
The next evening when I showed up for work, Charley brandished some newspapers and hammered me on the back, saying "Well, damn it, I gotta give you credit. Look here ... you're famous. Why, you're practically the toast of the town!"
"Come off it," I said.
"Look for yourself."
The first headline on the society page ran as follows:
SOCIALITE'S TEA PARTY, HIT OF THE SEASON. The text which followed: "Madame de Silva, prominent leader in High Society, was hostess yesterday of what may well prove to be the highlight of the social season. She entertained, in her typical continental manner, a bevy of the most notable personages of our city besides the wives of various visiting dignitaries.
"Among the most important guests were Lady Bottomlley, wife of the well-known diplomat, the Duchess of Snipesley, of international social fame, Miss Juanita Rodriques, South American beauty prize winner, the dynamic screen star, Gertrude La Mazonne, Mrs. Olympia de Gehagen Zollen-Veren, wife of the beer-baron of the beer of the same name, Miss Zenobiah Qualen, daughter of the famous Oklahoma City oil-king ... etc.. etc ...
"After the tea, which was served in elegant, gold-trimmed Limoges ware, the ladies spent the afternoon in simple diversions, foregoing the conventional bridge game. A Mr. Edward Champdick was presented to the ladies, prior to his official 'sortie' into society. The exceptional talents of this gifted young man promise a brilliant addition to our society. The guests were unanimous in their praise of this most original and mondaine soiree."
In another paper I saw another comment: "In a private interview Mme de Silva graciously accorded this reporter, she expressed a 'lively satisfaction' in her protege, and added that Mr. Champdick, in her opinion, 'will certainly rise to the status of social lion, judging simply on the astonishing impression he had made on her guests.' AH society is waiting impatiently for the as yet unannounced date of his official appearance. None of the guests present at the preview were available for further comment, since by an extraordinary coincidence, all were confined to bed."
"You're made!" Charley said, when I had finished reading.
"Yeh," I answered glumly.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, peeved. "Don't you want fame?"
"Oh, it's not that," I answered. "Sure, I don't think all this fuss is so bad ... but look ... " and I showed him my condition.
"What you need is to go and get yourself laid."
"But Charley," I cried, "I've been laid ... several times.. IN fact, I ean't remember how many ... It just won't go down."
Charley scratched his head in bewilderment. He looked me over carefully and asked if I was kidding about getting laid.
"Hell no," I insisted, "I wish I hadn't ... Then I'd know what the trouble was."
"Does it hurt?"
"No, not really ... no, it's not that ... But I can't keep going around with this thing sticking up like that. What will people think?"
"Probably that you're the horniest bastard they ever saw."
"Seriously, Charley, what can I do?"
"One of two things ... possibly both ... In this order. First you see Dr. Klinker, the skin specialist ... If he can't do anything, then go and see Dr. Stittchenn."
"The psychiatrist?" Yup.
"You think it may be mental."
"Well, you never can tell."
When I went to see Dr. Klinker, he wasn't in. His secretary asked me what it was for and I tried to tell her, but she wasn't very bright, so I took it out of my pants and she fainted away. I brought her bacR to consciousness with a few good slaps. At this point, another specialist, a friend of Klinker, arrived, and thinking I was about to assault the secretary, grabbed me from behind and threw me to the floor. It took a lot of explaining to get him to understand the real story. He was a foreigner and spoke English with difficulty. He became interested immediately in my case and offered to handle it for nothing. He started to handle it a little too much for my comfort and I asked him if it was necessary to tickle it.
"He is ... how you say, most big, no?"
"Yes, 'he' is big," I said, "if you think you're gonna work this baby down with your old, bony hands after the juiciest cunts in town have failed, why you're crazy!"
Then I told him the story of the famous tea-party. In the meantime, the recovered secretary was sitting far back in a corner, looking at me in a stupor and following every word closely.
"Aha," said the foreign doctor, twirling his thick mustache, and thinking deeply over what I had told him. At last he decided I should come to his office on the next floor. He gave me his card. On it was engraved: Antonino Feloni Chaim-Chersch. He was a Turk, he said, newly arrived in this country, but he was not going to stay very long.
"OK, Doc," I said, "see you later."
"And bring up a bowl of cold borscht," he called in leaving.
"He thinks he's somewhere in the Dardanelles," I said to the dopey secretary, but she refused to talk to me.
"Chaim-Chersch?" said Charley when I returned to the store, "don't know him, but if he can bring down the swelling ... Look, keep your apron on. I'll pad up your stomach and it won't show so clear."
"Good idea." When he finished, I looked like the state senator who used to come in for hamburger with onion every Friday night.
I went to see Chaim-Chersch the following day. He greeted me with a solemn air, his brow furrowed in thought.
"My friend," he began, then interrupting himself, added, "what did you say your name was."
"Just call me Eddie."
"Yes, well, very good. Look here, Eddie, I have done a little preliminary research on the subject of your, ah, affliction. There is no such case to my knowledge in recent history. The rare examples that have been recorded were all fatal."
At my look of alarm he hastened to reassure me that he did not think I was in the same category.
"Wouldn't it be a good idea to examine me before you come to any conclusions?"
"Haha, why sure, we shall do so immediately . . .but I am certain that you are a eunuch case in history."
"Unique, you mean."
"Ach, yes. . .ha, ha. . .your language, it is so difficult."
He examined me thoroughly, testing the rod for springiness, taking its temperature by shoving the thermometer into the piss-channel.
He laughed again, he was always laughing.
"Haha, it's the first time I put a thermometer there!"
Then he tested the blood-pressure, which was very high there, but nowhere else. He searched for clues with a magnifying glass, with a stick and with a thin search light. When he finished, he put down all his instruments and shook his head.
"What do you mean?" I asked anxiously "Isn't there any hope? Do you mean I'll have to go around like this for the rest of my natural life?"
"Ach, you Americans, always jumping to conclusions. No, I don't say this at all ... There is only one remedy ... It has to be fucked back down to size!"
"But Christ, that's what got it up!"
"Haha, don't I know ... Nevertheless, it is the only thing we can do for it. It is perfectly healthy ... terribly healthy ... It only wants the natural treatment."
"Good God," I cried, "what a mess. The other day I fucked a whole roomful of dames and it didn't budge an inch!"
He looked at me suspiciously, saw by my face I wasn't lying, and began to think real hard, staring all the time at my prick.
"Listen," he said at last, "I have to see for myself. If this is true what you say ... It gives me an idea ... a, how you say, sensation? But before I say anything more, you must have your teeth examined."
"My teeth!"
"Oh yes ... We have to be sure there is no glandular disturbance caused by your teeth. This phenomenon may be misleading."
He wrote a short note for me and told me to go and see a Dr. Puttie, a female dentist whose office was up above.
"And as soon as she has finished, come right back."
I left his office in a confused, semi-alarmed state of mind. Every time I passed someone in the hallway I turned my back and literally ran for the door which had the name Carmela Puttie, DDS, in big sober block letters. Happily, there was no one in the waiting room. I opened the door to her office but saw no one. Thinking she had probably gone out, I started to close it when suddenly I heard the electric drill start up. Surprised that it should go on like that without anyone around, I turned back, and this time I made out the top of her head sticking up above the chair. "I'll be damned," I thought "why she's giving herself a filling."
And then, from the corner of the chair, and resting on the velvet-covered arm, I saw a bare knee. The other leg was propped against the window sill. Moving in further, I saw her dental smock curled up in her lap exposing her abdomen, from the navel down to a scraggly-haired bush. One hand held the smock carefully out of the way, while the other manipulated the working head of the drill in between her thighs.
Why, I thought, she must be ripping her insides all to shreds with that vicious gadget, but a second look revealed a large cylinder, of some sort of spongy matter, had been fitted over the metal. It was whirring and churning merrily inside her vagina. Each time it came out, it sprayed wide circles of thick mucus which was spattered all around her hand, dribbling down the. chair. Her head lay to one side as if she were asleep. In her eyes, a beatific gaze stared out to nowhere.
I have no idea how long I stood there, watching, lost in a strange reverie, when the machine halted abruptly, accompanied by a long sigh of relief. The delicate note of a female fart hit the air, followed by another sigh.
"Now for a good shit and a shower ... " I heard her mumble.
I didn't know what to do. It was too late to leave and I was embarrassed by my indiscretion. She rose from the chair, and seeing me, blushed deep scarlet, and dropped her smock quickly over her soggy bush. She regained her composure and addressed me sternly.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?"
"I ... I'm sorry ... please excuse me ... ! It's Dr. Chaim-Chersch who sent me to you. I, uh, well, didn't realize you were busy ... "
"Oh? Well, that's different. I hope I didn't keep you waiting long?"
"Not at all," I answered, relieved by her nonchalance, "I found it rather interesting."
"N'est-ce pas?" she replied with a casual air. "One moment and I'll be with you."
She started to wipe the chair, carefully removing all traces of the whirling orgasm.
"You missed some," I said, pointing helpfully to the dripping windowpane.
"Oh thank you ... I always forget to put up the shower curtain."
"That's the most ingenious masturbation equipment I've ever seen."
"It's sweet of you to say so," she beamed.
"Is it better than the real thing?"
"There's no comparison. What man could get that delicious rotary movement with his penis?"
"You're lucky," I said, "I wouldn't mind something with a movement like that ... but I guess those things only work in holes."
"Oh, you'd be surprised ... the machine is very versatile. But tell me, why did Antonio send you here?"
"He wants you to examine my teeth because my ... " I indicated the bulge.
She glared at it in disbelief.
"My goodness," she exclaimed, "what happened to you? Did you forget to finish ... ? "
I explained the problem briefly.
"Come sit down," she said. "I'll look at your teeth, but I'm afraid Antonio is out on a limb."
I climbed into the dental chair and she turned a big spotlight on. Then she started probing my mouth. Her belly was bent over right where the head of my want was, rubbing it back and forth with her movements. She was obviously intrigued with it and made sure to keep it located in the most interesting region. The sensitive head began rubbing a deep crease through her smock, and by her breathing I knew he was having a great success with her pussy's nerves. Deftly, I undid the buttons that held him prisoner and let him flop out in person. Her smock was inching up her waist as she worked, and soon I was able to grasp the ends in my hands. I knew she had nothing on beneath and pulled the smock forward as she leaned over me. The big red head bobbed smack against the naked skin. She moved forward to get a better view of my mouth and in so doing brought her opening immediately above him. Her cunt was still slippery from its recent splurge and its generous lips allowed my penis a swift, smooth entry. As he went up she shook all over and almost lost her footing. Not for an instant did she give up her examination of my teeth, knocking and lapping, while up and up went the giant penis, finding his way in her sticky gulch.
Miss Puttie's ass began to shake and shimmy, swirl and twirl, in the closest imitation a human being could accomplish to the erotic rotary drive of her mechanical penis. Her legs floundered over my thighs like struggling tuna in her amorous gyrations. I burst out laughing in the middle of her capers, thinking of an old joke about capping two uppers and filling one lower. Her cunt was every bit capable of handling my thick organ, and it pulled on all its strong ligaments, growing into a fury which several times almost threw her from the chair. A wild opened eye still stared into my mouth as she suddenly came down on the rod exuding a quivering orgasm which cascaded into my lap.
She expired with a long drawn moan as my sperm shot up and immersed her vagina with its charge.
I had to help her get off the long, outstretched pole stuck in her interior.
"My God!" she exclaimed in awe, "it's still up!" And if I hadn't restrained her she would have leaped back on again.
"Listen," I said, "I have to get back with a diagnosis. What's the verdict?"
She pouted. "Meanie!"
"Please," I insisted, "no hard feelings, but this is an urgent matter."
"Honey," she said, wiping her cunt lubriciously as she gazed at the poised battering ram, "there's nothing wrong with your teeth ... or with that thing either!"
I thanked her and buttoned my pants. There was a look of longing on her face as I bid her goodbye, but I ignored it and ran back to Dr. Chaim-Chersch to report her findings.
He was leafing through some thick medical volumes and drinking from time to time from a pint flask. When I entered he slammed the books shut and nearly leaped on me in his eagerness.
"Nope," I said, "nothing wrong there. It ain't my teeth."
"Good, good," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands in evident satisfaction. "I'm glad about that."
"But why?" I asked. "Wouldn't it have been simpler to cure if my teeth were the cause?"
"That's not the question," he answered
"That's not the question," he answered mysteriously. "I don't think we want to 'cure' it so fast."
He refused to give any explanation for his cryptic remark, and only said that he would have some exciting news for me in a few days.
FIVE.
The next time I went to see Mme D. the good lady was all in a dither. She clapped her hands with joy, behaving more like a silly goose than a prominent dowager of society.
"Edward," she cried, "oh, Edward ... Just think, it's all arranged. The invitations have all been sent out ... There'll be just scads of the social cream from every major city on the eastern seaboard!"
She reeled off names and names with a dizzying rapidity which made my head swim as I tried to follow the list. Titles poured out helter skelter as she chanted the roll call. Every available blue-blood from Europe, Asia and America was signaled for the forthcoming event. By a stroke of good fortune, it fell on the very day of the city's three-hundredth anniversary. My coming-out was destined to be the formal opening of the tercentenary celebration. I don't know how that remarkable woman was able to recall each name the way she did. Later when I saw the official guest list, I was bowled over, it was certainly the closest thing to Who's Who. The very lowest on the social scale were a half-dozen or so college professors whom she had included because they each had an international reputation in their chosen field. Then followed a galaxy of literary people; famous authors, critics, and one or two poets. On their level were composers, two sculptors, a painter, five notorious psychiatrists, and two surgeons. But they were only the groundwork for the pure nobility that led the list. I counted sixteen dukes, and one grand duke (a genuine Voronoff, not from Hollywood), five counts and a viscount. A high church prelate was mixed in with the nobility, a Cardinal I believe. A Colonel, a General and a Marshal, four diplomats, three senators, a prince and an African King completed the most exceptional part of the assemblage. In a flash, I developed an inferiority complex which threatened to ruin all her plans. From that moment on, she never let me out of her sight, instilling me continually with fresh vigor, assuring me that I would come through the ordeal nobly. When I expressed my fears about my incapacity, she clapped me warmly on the back and kissed me on both cheeks.
"Nonsense, Edward! I know you'll be a success. Drop these horrid notions immediately. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. My long years of experience in these matters certainly qualify me to speak with authority."
Under encouragement of this sort my hesitation vanished, and I devoted myself completely to the final preparations. The household was in a daily stew from morning till night. Servants ran hither and yon, working on the task of arranging the grand reception room for its gala evening.
My boss tried unsuccessfully several times to get in touch with me to find out if I was sick or something, and threatened to have me fired if I didn't show up the next day. Mme D. heard him speaking to a maid and threw him out herself, saying it was perfectly scandalous to even imagine that I would go back to his grubby old drugstore. I saw him from the second-story window as he walked out the gateway, scratching his head dumbfoundedly. Charley came also, but he was very respectful, and it was out of a gesture of friendship, for he brought me a heap of newspapers with the announcement of the great event.
"Eddie," he said, twisting his hat, "I just wanted to tell you that everybody sends their best ... the whole building is with you and we're all proud of you. Miss Macline wants you to know she'd be delighted if you'd stop by sometime, just to say hello ... and we all miss you, Eddie."
"Thanks, Charley," I answered, moved almost to tears by such a heartwarming demonstration of sympathy. "Thanks a lot for coming ... And tell everybody I haven't forgotten them ... and ... and, well, I'll do my best."
The days sped by in a furious zeal of energy and mounting excitement. The house was rapidly transformed from a staid respectable mansion into a brilliant, cosmopolitan pleasure-ground. A large and handsome buffet was installed at one end of the grand hall. Another adjoining room had been fitted up like a European cafe, complete with the latest type espresso machines, wire chairs and tables and posters of Spanish bullfights.
Under the amplitude of accessory construction that was going on, I began to get an idea of the staggering expense Mme D. had gone to for such a lavish enterprise. An entire hallway had been rebuilt with a Roman colonnade and decorated with fine sculptures. Another one was done in the Chinese manner, a sort of temple with oriental archways. Certain other rooms, a little off the beaten track, and giving on to the garden, were fitted with intimate sofas, candelabra and suggestive prints from Paris. The flashy sign of the original "Sphinx" hung in the arcade that led to these cubicles. What I considered the most extravagant touch was the reconstruction of the facade of the cathedral of St. John of the Moss, of somewhere in Burgundy I was told. It was to be lit up by spotlights hidden amongst the Italian cypress trees which embellished the grounds.
Five days before the reception date there wasn't a single hotel room to be had. Strange, foreign-looking limousines appeared on the streets, causing unprecedented traffic snarls, and an army of the curious swarmed near the house, so that Mme D. was obliged to hire private guards to keep them back.
On the next to last day the orchestra began to arrive. In between the running feet and nervous bustle could be heard the discordant tuning-up going on in different rooms. There was no lack of variety in musicians; besides a standard dance band, there was a small beebop group from the west coast, an Arab group, which included a belly dancer with a strong Brooklyn accent, a Dixieland outfit made up of several renegade trombonists from the Boston Symphony, and a mysterious outfit whose instruments came in special trunks and were kept carefully concealed while the musicians themselves spent all their time in the bar.
The morning of the great day dawned and I awoke with the sun streaming into my room and the strains of various airs, American and Asian, hitting me all at once. Before I got up, I lay there awhile thinking about everything that was happening, and how crazy it all seemed. The door flew open and an exuberant chambermaid brought me a "wienerstucke," the wonderful Viennese breakfast about which Americans go mad because it's the closest thing in Europe to a real breakfast.
"Yah!" said the maid, flicking some dust off the blankets, and flouncing her buxom bubbles over my fascinated gaze. "Yah, it all reminds me ven my Hans and me used to trink und tanz in de heuriger ... Oh yah! Such beautiful days ... but now it's good here, eh? Such laughing ... und music ... " and letting me get a special view of her fanny as she dusted the chair. I stuck my hand out and pinched that big fat buttock and she straightened up with a squeal and a giggle.
"Oh," she said, "De Herr is a naughty man," at the same time adjusting her corset. I went on with my eating, which disappointed her apparently because the next time I noticed her she was giving me the glad eye over the edge of the feather duster. I decided to scare her good, so I threw back the covers exposing the giant member, its head glinting in the sunlight. The woman looked at it greedily, lashed her tongue out of her mouth, and ripped off every stitch of clothing, swearing when she got at the thousand-ribbed corset which refused to give way. She hunched it up, squeezing her enormous tits against her cheeks and came at me in a clumsy goose-walk, like a Prussian general on parade, and heaving with all her might, lifted her bulging body onto the bed. She gave one or two juicy laps on my prick, making it gleam in the light, and begged me to ram it up her like "her brudder Hans used to do back in Westphalia."
"Help yourself," I said crunching a biscuit and gulping the coffee.
"Himmel, such a Thing!"
She squatted over it, having a little trouble because she couldn't see what was going on below her protruding belly, but eventually she found her water-gate and opened wide her cunt. She fucked on it joyfully while I finished off a soft-boiled egg with toast. Only when she came did I spill some coffee as her jumping rattled the bed dangerously.
"Ach," she groaned, "it's zo nize!"
"Hurry up and get off," I said. "If Mme D. catches you like that she'll be pissed off because this thing is supposed to be for royalty only."
She said "Dank you," I said "You're welcome," and she left the room humming an old folk tune.
I sprang out of bed, did my setting-up exercises, with a special one for my dick which Mme D. had taught me. She said she had often seen her husband doing it whenever he thought he was alone. It looked to me like just plain jerking off, but she insisted on it and I didn't want to displease her.
Just as I finished, a butler walked in with my suit. He laid it out on the bed and then, observing my dick, coughed a second and asked me if I would mind doing him a favor.
"What is it?"
"Well, if you don't mind, Sir, I'd just like to make a bit of a ... well, comparison."
"Why sure, go ahead."
"Thank you, Sir." He unbuttoned his fly and took out a thin, minuscule pipe. It didn't look like anything next to the elephant trunk sticking out of my crotch.
"Oh Gad," he wailed, threw up his hands in despair and made for the window.
"Wait a minute," I yelled, grabbing him by his coattails, "what do you want to do that for?"
"No, let me go. I can't go on like this. Don't you see? It's nothing! Nothing! Everyone laughs at me."
"Don't be a fool!" I cried. "I know just what you must do."
"Oh, Sir," he wailed again, "what can I possibly do? I've been cursed by nature ... No, it's impossible."
"Be calm," I ordered. "Go and see this woman ... she can help you." I wrote down the name and address of Carmela Puttie.
"Remember," I went on, "don't do anything drastic until you've seen her."
He left, thanking me profusely. I was sure the clever brain of Puttie would find some way to give him a new start in life. Perhaps even a mechanical cock . ...
The household was in greater confusion than ever it had been in the past weeks. Sophie ran by me in the hall, and stopped long enough to tell me to come to the dancing room at eleven for a final brushing up. When I got downstairs the elaborate decor was undergoing the final touches, and workmen were sweeping up sawdust and shavings; carpets were being cleaned and furniture waxed and polished.
Mme D. crossed my path several times in her busy flights as overseer, giving commands to servants, in the middle of her wild chatter to me about how slow the workers were, how some of the decor had been badly put together, but that nevertheless she was sure it was going to be a wonderful day, etc, etc.
I went to the dance salon and found Sophie instructing Mme D.'s daughters in a hopped-up minuet routine with a boogie flourish. The wily little Francesca, the one who had interrupted our seance, was easily the most spirited of the sisters. I guessed her age to be about twelve, but her young body had none of the adolescent's stringiness. Her curves were already formed and would have done justice to a grown woman. Amelia was the eldest, a tall handsome girl, probably sixteen, with a bosom that challenged her mother's sovereignty. Anita was in between, fair of hair, and her principal attraction was her long, lithe limbs.
Into this charming feminine audience I came like a Pasha, led into a dance by the eager Sophie who whispered in my ear that it was a shame we weren't alone. I didn't think so, observing the admiring glances from the obstreperous Francesca.
"Are you people coming to the reception?" I asked.
It was like a signal for an uprising. The girls swarmed around me and pleaded with me to intercede with their mother on their behalf.
"She's so severe," complained Francesca.
"You can complain," grumbled Amelia, "what about me? I'm the oldest and she won't let me go."
"What a shame," I sympathized. I took all the girls in a friendly huddle. "Why if I were only your father."
"I'm just as grown up as you," said the aggressive little Francesca to Amelia. "Do you know what I measure?" she asked me jutting her tits forward.
"Numbers don't mean a thing to me," I answered. "I use the touch system."
Amelia laughed scornfully and propped out her fine bosom, saying that Francesca would never be able to rival her. Anita kept a little in the background as long as the subject stayed on tits. The argument threatened to develop into a fight, and I tried to ward it off by intimating that both had charms of their own which made it difficult for a man to state his preference. This, of course, satisfied neither of them and left Anita out in the cold. t
Suddenly the little firebrand undid her chemise and brought her beautiful hemispheres into full view.
"There!" she cried triumphantly. "Now what do you say to that, Eddie?"
My over extended penis stretched forward another inch at the inviting globes. Amelia was mortified by her sister's boldness and was forced to remove her bra. Her proportions were fully twice the size of Francesca's, and she strutted before her sister proudly.
"Let him judge, you cat!" snarled the peppery little one.
"Wait," cried the neglected Anita. "Don't forget I've got something to boast about," and she hoisted up her skirts for all to see her luscious thighs. The three of them pushed toward me, holding forth like baskets of fruit, their indisputable beauties.
"Dammit," cried Sophie in her turn, "what about me?"
"No, Sophie," they choroused, "this is a family affair."
"Now I understand what an ordeal Paris had when he had to give a beauty prize," I laughed. But it was no use, they insisted I pass judgment.
"In that case, remove the rest of your clothes. I think you're hiding your greatest advantages."
Sophie began giggling, but the sisters were all fired with the competitive spirit and the three of them tore off their dresses and stood stark naked, three rosy-hued, fleshy maidens. I told the well-nigh hysterical Sophie to undress also merely to keep her from spoiling the party. I liked the idea of seeing her dark brown skin alongside the pink flesh of the white girls. When she did so and took her place amongst them, the change in color did something extraordinary for all of them. I observed them all, taking great pains not to miss a single alluring trait. Everyone enjoyed the examination immensely. I went round in back of them and surveyed their ravishing behinds, all firm, all ready for the male intruder.
"Girls," I said, when I came back in front of them, "I am at a loss for words. I shall have to apply the only sure test I know." I whipped out the famous dong and held him forth like a divining rod. They all sucked in their breath with awe, and a tense, expectant silence gripped them. I walked back and forth, letting him graze for an instant on the flawless skin of Anita's thigh, then on the finely moulded belly of Amelia and across to the diminutive spitfire, Francesca. All three shivered rapturously as the mighty cock probed his unwieldy head about their flesh.
"I regret to say, I am unable to come to a decision. I find an equal stimulation from all of you." And I started to put him back in my pants.
"Wail," they cried simultaneously, joined by the eager Sophie, who was the only one who had tasted of his hot meat. The beauty competition had been forgotten somehow, and the girls pressed in on me, curiously, and burning with a strange zeal in their eyes.
"Don't put it away yet ... tell me ... is it true you fucked Mother?" It was Amelia who posed the question, and the others waited with bated breath for my reply.
"I am afraid it is true," I said, bowing my head. "Ahh!" they chorused.
"You see? What did I tell you?" shouted Francesca. "I can hardly believe that Mother was capable of getting that big thing into her," mused Anita solemnly.
"God!"
"No doubt," I answered, "but you are all virgins still ... You don't realize the fantastic elasticity of your cunts."
"Oh," cried Amelia, "I should never be able to harbor any such instrument!"
"You got a milk bottle inside, once," tattled the mischievous Francesca. Amelia blushed and tried to slap the upstart, but the crafty Francesca glided smoothly out of her way.
Sophia exploded into contagious hilarity at the mention of the milk bottle, and even I couldn't repress a smile, though I felt reluctant to humiliate Amelia in front of her sisters.
"Man," cried Sophie, "oh man alive ... if that don't take the cake!"
Amelia defended herself by attacking Francesca.
"What about the time I caught you playing with the perfume atomizer? Eh, snipe?"
Sophie had to hold her sides, shaking with all her being.
"Well," I said, "that leaves you, Anita."
"I don't use substitutes," she said haughtily. Her sisters regarded her with interest.
"Do you mean?. . . " started Amelia, aghast.
"You heard me ... Does this look like a 'green' cunt?"
She framed it with both hands, and we all looked at it as if it carried external signs of its having been penetrated by a male organ.
Amelia was furious with shame.
"You cheat," she screamed. "Living your own little life ... and making believe all the time you're so pure and ... "
"Yippee!" cried the wicked Francesca. "Now we can all of us throw away the bottles and the atomizers."
She danced around my cock, teasing it and would have certainly put it to her soft downy crotch if Amelia didn't push her aside.
"If any cherries are going to be lost today," she fumed, "mine's going to be first."
She looked up at me with her adorable eyes and held my staff between her legs. Francesca started kicking her angrily in the behind, but she paid no heed to her and began to stuff her pussy with my penis. The milk bottle had served its purpose, and there was no trouble at all in making the insertion.
"Man," said Sophie, "I just wish it would come out from between her cheeks so I could get a piece of that head!"
Francesca ceased to pound her sister and came round to watch the exciting operation.
"Is it good? Huh, Amelia, what's it like?" she whispered. "Oh I do wish you'd hurry up!"
I beckoned to her and Anita to place themselves by my side where I could twiddle their various cunts in preparation. Sophie bent down behind Amelia and lapped on my prick each time it slid out. The tiny clitoris inside Francesca was oscillating lasciviously under its first masculine stimulation. I was mentally enjoying the vicious pleasure I was soon to have in deflowering the lusty little virgin.
The combined weight of the surging muliebrity bore me slowly down to the floor where Amelia redoubled her assault in unimpeachable style. Her sisters waited jealously for their turn, egged her on faster, and her own fiery excitation lent force to their words. She galloped like a frightened horse, panting short, violent gasps, and perspiring profusely, when without warning her singing glands exploded their joyful orgasm. Francesca, ever on the alert, pulled her sister off me, and, stretching her tiny cunt with her fingers, attempted to bolt him in, but her unsteady and inexperienced movements kept him hanging against her belly and her thighs. Exasperated with lust, I grabbed her, and, spreading her new-ripe limbs apart, I dug the nub into her fuzzy snatch and felt the tissue ripping violently as it tore its way through her vagina. She screamed with pain, but when Anita sought to rescue her from the cruel prick rending her hymen, she beat her off with her fists, tears swelling in her eyes. In one heroic, painful shove, she made the final tear, and went sliding down the boom in one long, ecstatic wail.
Everyone watched, fascinated, at the impressive spectacle of the child tasting her first sample of voluptuous pleasures. Her face was glowing with an enchanted faraway smile. Sophie watched with an infinite tenderness, the way a mother observes her child. But she was no longer a child, or rather, she was on the sensual border in which each thrust of the phallus took her further and further from the innocent infant. It was truly a moving moment for all.
Her awakened pussy adapted quickly to it predestined role. Her tears dried on her cheeks, and riding briskly on the shaft, she swooned forward when the unbearable, gorged sensations burned in her first orgasm. Her sisters lifted her from my body and brought her to the couch for rest; I leaped to my feet and made for the bent-over form of Anita. I caught her while she was still holding Francesca and rammed my cock mercilessly into the hanging pussy. Though taken by surprise she withstood the shock bravely, and the steaming rod seared once more into the warm, spongy tunnel it loved so well. Hymen and all came out on the first smashing blow, and a trickle of blood slipped down her bare thighs. The blood on my bush from Francesca's defloration made a Rohrshach pattern on the mounds of her ass. I pumped with fury, relishing the peculiar, giraffe-like stance of the long-legged girl. She proved herself as salacious as her sisters, in a tormented wriggling that reminded me of her mother when I had buggered her in the dressing booth. Sophie was back down behind me again, indulging in her favorite sport of licking my slimy prick and hairy balls. Amelia rushed to the phonograph so that Anita and I could finish our fuck to the "South-Rampart Street Blues."
Sophie then gave a last swipe on my balls, crawled in the place Anita had just vacated, and she and I terminated the dance seance with a severe fuck in the New Orleans manner. We finished in time for the first warning bell which let everyone know that the awaited hour was drawing near. We dressed rapidly, exchanging good-natured laughs and slaps on exposed behinds. The girls said they no longer minded their mother's refusal to let them take part in the ceremonies. They were all anxious to get back to their bedroom and exchange notes on the day's exciting exploits.
No sooner had they left the room than Mme D. herself flew in from a side door.
"Ah, there you are, Edward!" she cried, out of breath, "I've been looking all over for you. Are you ready my dear? You know it won't be long now! Oh, I'm so nervous! But Edward, your suit is a mess! Whatever in the world have you been doing?"
It was no wonder she was aghast. My pants were dripping blood-stains and female come, and not a little of the heavier male sperm. She looked around suspiciously, but luckily not one of her daughters was in sight and even the wise Sophie had left in time.
"It must be my period," I said simply. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go change into another suit."
"Period?" She stared incredulously at me but realized it was hopeless to expect any further or more exact explanation. Changing her tack on the instant, she grew coy and lovey, and I understood what she was after. I think the heavy aroma given off by my love-stained clothes aroused her volatile blood in one of those sudden passionate moments to which she was given.
"Mme D., " I said coldly, "I should like to change immediately. If you wish, why, come to my room. This is hardly the place."
"Oh, Edward," she giggled, "you are SO manly ... yes, let us go to your room.
I rang for my valet, ordered another suit and then occupied myself with Mme D. It was, as she put it, to calm her nerves. She thought if we tore off a little piece of ass before going down to face all the notables, she would be in the proper form. By this time I was beginning to get a little warmed up to my job and enjoyed folding my arms around the Madame's ample buttocks. She insisted first on rendering a little homage to the famous dick, and in her enthusiasm rubbed lipstick all over the shaft.
"Never mind," she said, when I called her attention to the unsightly streaks, "we'll remove those stains a lot easier than the ones on your clothing," and without waiting, absorbed my prick in one giant swallow of her crotch-lips.
The valet had the misfortune to re-enter the room during this intimate moment, which caused the poor man to lose his job. I really felt sorry for the miserable lackey who had only a few hours back contemplated ending his life. Decidedly, this was his unlucky day.
He and Mme D. left together, she in a thoroughly bad humor over his ill-timed intrusion, but knowing her, I knew that she would regain her good nature when the time came. The ruined suit I threw in a corner, dressed, and heard the second warning bell ringing as I left the room.
SIX.
The orchestras were all in their appointed places, tuning up, and making ready for the imminent arrivals. Butlers ran to their stations and maids smoothed their frocks and dresses. All were as tense as soldiers going into battle, and equally as well-drilled. My place was a small adjoining room off the Library, although I had the right to roam through that room as well.
The last bell sounded, and as if they had been wired to it, the orchestras boomed out from four or five different rooms, each playing as loudly as it could its special brand of music. If you weren't placed right you got them all in the weirdest cacophony imaginable, an unpalatable potpourri of the "Honeymoon Waltz" a la Paul Whiteman, a brassy "Basin Street Blues," a cool Bop number and an Algerian love or war cry. From the library window I watched the first arrivals: long chic evening gowns, patent-leather pumps, tuxedos, top-hats, flamboyant corsages, silk-gloved hands, diamond brooches. The limousines disgorged their elegant passengers before the front door and drove off, to be followed by another lavish descent. It reminded me how I used to watch the arrivals at the Senior Prom when I was a kid, ogling the gorgeous debutantes and society ladies escorted by over-polished grads proud of their ephemeral catch.
Cries of admiration sounded in the hallways as the. guests discovered the flamboyant setting. I heard them complimenting Mme. D. who was leading them to the main ballroom. The cars continued to pull up during the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. I was not at the window when the most ostentatious group arrived, the African King, in a long flowing robe and top hat, followed by a coterie of first string wives and substitutes. In all, they numbered about twenty, and wore pale yellow and pink dresses of calico adorned with flower patterns similar to the wallpaper in a French hotel. They were of mixed heights and weights, running from an impressive six-foot-ten, to a diminutive four and one inch. The tall ones were long and bony; the short, by calculated foresight, small and round. The King had no strict tastes in feminine companions, he was obviously a born eclectic. The automobiles were his own, and were painted in an unorthodox manner, some red and white checkerboard, others in a Scotch plaid. The checkerboard motif was repeated in the trousers beneath the King's robe. It was the one group which received the majority of curious glances. Everyone else was most conventional, satisfied with the latest model tuxedo or snappy military uniform.
As it so happened, the King was the first person I was officially introduced to by Mme. D. He shook my hand warmly and grinned a wide, toothful grin, saying that he was happy indeed to make my acquaintance, that he hoped we might become friends. I took to the old boy immediately. I liked the way he popped his long havana in and out of his mouth, flicked the ashes off into the air, downed a tall glass of bourbon, and wiped everything with the back of his sleeve. He was called Nobus, he said, Nobus the First. I told him I liked his name and he said I could call him by his first name, a privilege generally reserved for wife number one and the top sergeant. (The latter turned out to be not an army figure but a sort of foreman of the eunuch squad.) His first name was Zeboim. He presented his wives, whose names fascinated me as much as their persons. Number one was Ylang-Ylang, named after an East Indian tree, then came Xerophily, Ethylamine, Agamic, Rifka, Hattie Hopper, Yoyo, Pupik, Kishka, Peepeedoll, Happyday, and so on, all grinning in their turn.
"Some digs, eh?" said Zeb after he finished the roll call, and had a chance to cast an appreciative eye over the surroundings.
"Why, you know Ed," he continued, "I've half a mind to make the Madame an offer and have this place shipped back to Africa. A lot of people would sit up and take notice then."
"What's wrong with your own palace?" I asked, imagining a sort of adobe hut with a straw-covered floor.
"Well," he answered, spitting out a piece of cigar, "it's OK, but a trifle demode, if you know what I mean. A little out of step with the times. And with the new Packards they're putting out, half the place is a garage. Don't like the smell of motor oil near my bed."
I would have liked to go on talking with Zeb but Mme D. politely but firmly led me away to meet the other guests. We parted with promises to see each other very soon. None of the other men had Zeb's color and dash, mostly the stiff-shirt type that get themselves soft embassy jobs and sop away their life, by day, behind a functionary's desk, and by night, over a swanky bar. I didn't care because I wasn't interested in the men. The women were more diverse and I met a surprising number of eye-soothers. In particular, a dark Arabian, Habba Ja Booby, who nearly hypnotized me with a strong oriental stare. Mme. D. jealously drew me away before I could get in a retort.
Halfway through the greetings I got thoroughly used to meeting high state dignitaries and some of the world's most influential bigwigs, shook hands easily, found the right word, and went off with Mme. D. for more encounters.
Someone said, "Delightful salon ... a twentieth century Pompadour ... " I got a glimpse of a top hat roving in the crowd, and it was Zeb himself dancing with Lady Bottomlley.
"Ed," he called, "I'd like you to have a dance with one of my old ladies, just take your pick. They're dying for a little waltz."
I picked out a tall one, the one called Pupik, and though my eyes barely reached the level of her nipples she was happy I selected her. Beneath her baubles and calico her body seemed to be made up solely of ligaments and slippery muscles pulling on a wiry armature. Her pubis clicked and rolled around my chest in a novel manner and her knees kept crashing into my thighs as she warmed up to the dance. Every time Zeb passed us he gave me a conniving wink regarding his long possession I had taken in hand.
The tall, reticent Pupik suddenly addressed me in a deep stentorian voice.
"You nobleman," she said.
"Me?"
She nodded gravely.
"No," I answered, "me simple citizen. Soda-jerk."
"You no jerk. You nobleman," she insisted.
"Why you say that?"
She didn't answer by speaking, merely nodded down toward my ubiquitous prick.
"You noble. King maybe, like Nobus."
"No King. Citizen. Plain Joe."
She laughed for the first time, thought I was pulling her leg. Her long muscles gripped my prick on and off as we danced. There was a peculiar hardness about her buttocks. I tried to imagine their shiny blackness in the raw, and had a sudden urge to disrobe her and find out what she looked like. I think she was thinking along similar lines, I mean, she was curious to have a good look at my "noble" member. I edged her toward the doorway.
We danced out into the hallway, past the Roman colonnade, into the Arab salon where the belly-dancer was already giving her torso a yogi-bop treatment to the wild screeching and thumping of the turbaned band.
We slid into another passageway leading into the garden. Night had already fallen, and the tall silhouettes of the cypress trees loomed up before the illuminated cathedral facade.
One of Charley's priest friends was rapping away at a fake door. He reeled suspiciously, and called out, "Hey, washametta in there? Open the God-damned door! Richard! Oh Yooohoo, RICHARD!"
"You clever man," Pupik said, as I led her through the trees. "Not clever," I answered, "curious. I'm dying to get a look at your ass. Is it pointy?"
"Yes," she said ruefully, "Zeb no like pointed ass. Say he hurt his knuckles too much."
"Look," I said, "if you show me your ass, I show you cock. Is that a deal?"
"Like when we were kids? Good I like." She lifted up her skirt on the spot, exhibiting a pair of long glistening limbs, really powerful, though slender, which set into narrow hips. The surprise came however, not from her pointed ass, but from a strange contraption, on the order of a girdle, made out of iron.
"I'll be damned, a chastity belt!"
"Yes," she sighed, "all Zeb's cunts' locked up. He no want intruders."
"Hmmm, but I see he left the ass-hole clear."
"Zeb say asshold no-good for shit!"
"You don't say!"
"When you gonna show me cock?"
The monster appeared like a cobra slithering under a tropical night. Pupik tasted his head, said it was a little too salty, but the size was unbelievable. She complained bitterly of the padlock on her cunt.
"Bend down, honey," I said, feeling the rugged promontory of her sleek behind, "I have no objections to ass-holes."
"You sweet noble," she said, pulling her skirts up a little higher to accommodate my gully-runner.
I had to stand on a rock to get to her tiny black ring nestling between the humps. The muscles of the nether throat were hard and resisting and only by anointing the head with saliva and pushing with all my might was I able to pass into the stygian blackness of her intestines.
Charley's priest staggered by, hiccoughing violently. At the sight of our strange duo, his eyes popped up like billiard balls.
"Fornicators! 'Pon my soul! Black devils of Baal! Have at you, foul baggage, and you, whoremongering dog! Bring on the flogs and switches! There's a whalluping in store for this obscene couple! Ho, the guards!"
He fell on his skirts, and went out in a limbo where the Unholy Tempter dared not set foot, the blessed city of celestial bliss. Pupik snorted contemptuously at his red nose reeking of 80 proof.
"Witch-doctor skunk drunk!" Then forgot him as she felt the nozzle raking her tubes with a regal emission. The bony protuberances but a big dent in my abdomen as I pushed in to the hilt.
"One more! Hit it again!" she cried. I obliged with a terrific punch. From the interstices of the metal cunt guard, thin sprays of love-juice showered out.
"By the rood!" exclaimed the reawakened priest, looking up at us from his prone position. "Tis a female Beelzebub or my eyes deceive me! Oh heaven and hell, what have I done?" He attempted a genuflection but only cracked a bone in his spine and keeled over once more.
"Get back to the ball, quick," I whispered to Pupik. "Hurry before anyone gets suspicious."
"I want cock in front!"
"Sugar-plum," I answered, "you get hold of a locksmith. This thing is strong alright, but it ain't armor-piercing!"
Charley's priest made the sign of the cross as we stepped over him. Some of the liberal come spattered down on his face as Pupik's gams stretched over him.
"Holy water ... I'll be damned!" The last I saw, he was licking his lips over the succulent drops.
Fortunately, no one had noticed our absence. There were far too many people crowded in all the rooms, laughing merrily, in sophisticated conversation, or dancing sedately in the main ballroom.
I deposited Pupik back in the train of wives, kissed her hand gallantly, which pleased her vanity. All the others looked on enviously. Later I noticed her explaining something in vivid gestures. They all had their mouths agape as she pointed to her ass and mimed certain popularly understood movements. I was just hoping Zeb wasn't looking on.
"Hello there," a voice sung out, and turning, I saw Lady Bottomlley making her way through the dancers.
"Well, if it isn't Lady Bottomlley," I greeted. "How are things your way?"
She started chattering away in thinly veiled allusions to her menstrual liberation.
"That is good news," I answered. "It would have been a sorry thing if ... "
"Shh," she cautioned, "my husband. A very jealous man."
We started an insipid fox-trot, and under cover of the crowd she felt for my organ.
"Why, Lady Bottomlley," I said, surprised at her audacity, "aren't you being a little forward?"
"Now don't try to shame me. If you knew the unbearable dreams this awful thing gave me. Just excruciating."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I'm no deadbeat, you know," she continued, rubbing the head beneath my trousers, "more a victim of circumstances."
"But we can't do anything here," I protested. "It's far too obvious ... and with your husband floating around ... he's bound to catch us. Think of the scandal."
"Oh I'm fed up with the old goat. Starched shirts and gold watch, medal from the queen and he thinks he's a great man. But he can't throw a fuck to save his royal garter. A damned failure."
I saw him at the buffet munching a cracker and talking with the Minister from Azerbaidjan. Puffed, red cheeks, white, thick mustache, the spitting image of Old John Bull. His wife was clinging to my breast, trying to follow the dance only vaguely, far more intense on getting at Mr. Tool.
"I repeat, Lady Bottomlley, think of the scandal!"
"Scandal, bosh! Are you a man? Are you less than Nobus?"
"You don't mean ... "
"That's right, I DO mean ... Right here on the dance floor only a few minutes ago ... Remember when you passed by with his wife ... I don't know her number?. . . "
"Not really? Now that is sensational. How in the world?. . Ah, I see, that robe of his ... a perfect screen."
She slapped me on the back. "Right!"
"But I don't have a robe."
"No, but I do!"
Looking down I saw where her gown had been cleverly slit in the strategic area.
"This was a plot, then," I grinned. "You are a daring female."
"One has to know how to defend oneself ... "
"This looks like an attack to me."
"Pish and tosh! Get that thing out, here, they're playing a nice sweet tune ... perfect!"
I hadn't done a thing. No one, not even myself had ever unbuttoned a fly, flicked out a cock, massaged its head, parted the bush and rammed it in, with the speed and skill of Lady Bottomlley. Before she had finished her sentence we were fucking in a four-four beat, through the ballroom, gliding and dipping, laughing like all the others ... even more so, finding new thrills as we said "Hello, how are you? My dear, you're looking perfectly lovely!. . . "
"Have you heard the latest?. . ' "Ta ta ... pip pip ... " Slop slop.
There was a tense moment when the music stopped and Lady Bottomlley was about to go into her orgasm. In the abrupt silence her voice sung out in a wild goat cry. Heads turned our way, and Lord Bottomlley dashed from the buffet, spitting crumbs through his moustache, elbowing his way to the Lady in distress. There wasn't a second to lose or we'd be caught red-handed. I bent over double, automatically; extracting my penis and hiding it from view. Next I removed one of her shoes and began rubbing her toes hard. She swooned in the last throes of her coming and fell into the arms of his Lordship just as he hove into view.
"Oh," I cried, "I beg your pardon, how clumsy of me."
We were lucky. Everyone believed that I had stepped on her corns, everyone, that is except Zeb, whose eye was glinting devilishly my way.
His Lordship gallantly bore the prostrate form of her Ladyship out of the room to comfort her in one of the private cubicles. I heaved a sigh of relief and headed for the bar. My rasped nerves were calmed with three shots of rye.
The rakish stove-pipe of King Zeb danced by. He was going through an old soft-shoe routine for the benefit or admiration of his partner, a New Jersey debutante, with large blue eyes, big tits and a bigger ass. Her wide blubbery lips had a thin crescent painted on, which covered not even half of their actual surface. She looked like the kind of female acquaintance one can make on the corner of Forty-second Street and Broadway, any time, any hour. Her thin print dress was cut low over her fantastic mammary development, exposing the difficulty her strained brassiere had in keeping them united. Two swaths of perspiration showed under the armpits, and here and there a so-called beauty mark adorned her gleaming white flesh, a pin-like hair pierced through its center.
"Say, Zabbkie," she drawled in pure New Jersey, "take me over and introduce me to yer boy-friend, will ya:
The happy-go-lucky Zeb steered her curvaceous bulk off the dance floor to the bar.
"Ed, I want you to meet Miss Beulah Day. That right?" he asked her. "That what you said you're name was, baby?"
"Oh isn't he a scream?" she cried, shutting her big eyes tight and whimpering and giggling or expressing mirth effortlessly.
"What do you think, Ed? A real beaut, eh? Look at that behind!" He gave it a lusty swat which sent Beulah off into another gale of laughter. "Man, if I knew they grew them like that in Joizzy, I'd have left the hinterland years ago. I have asked her hand in marriage!"
"No? You sure make up your mind fast, Zeb! Well, Beulah, what's your answer? Are you going to hitch your wagon to Zeb's satrap?"
"Oh, tee hee," was all the apoplectic girl could get out between her convulsions.
"Well, she sure is good-natured, isn't she?"
"Yeh, you said it," agreed Zeb, rubbing his moist palms over the print dress and its voluptuous bulges. "That's what I like. I don't go for crabby dames, the sourpusses just take all the joy out of living."
"Hee hee. Oh you funny minstrel man," gurgled Beulah.
"She thinks I'm in show business," explained Zeb. "Asked me if I was in something over at the Roxy. When I told her I was from deep in the jungle, she thought I meant I was doing summer stock."
"What a character!" interrupted Beulah, slipping back into another round of giggles.
"Are you tickling her?" I asked Zeb.
"No man, she's a natural born laughing-gal. She thinks everything I say is funny."
"Oh, ain't he a scream?"
"Are you sure you're doing the right thing," I asked him. "Marriage is a serious step."
"Who you telling?" He scooped up a plate of anchovies and shoveled them into his cavernous mouth, where every tooth had a gold cap.
"True," I answered, following suit on a dish of creamed crab. "You've got lots of experience. I guess one more wife on the crew won't change things much."
"No siree!" He leaned over confidently. "Jesus man, you ought to see what she's got between her legs! Man, a jewel! I've seen pussy in my day, but I tell you I never ran across a marvel like hers. Ssh ... "
She was running out of giggles and he resumed his conversational pose. It was too bad, because he was a guy who knew what he was talking about ... on that subject at least, and I wanted to find out just what a 'jewel of Pussy' was. I think he was in the mood for discussing it also but Beulah dragged him away to dance and I was left alone with the kippered herring and highballs.
I had time to look over the room and see how things were going. The general atmosphere seemed to be picking up. At times the laughter drowned out the music, which was a good thing because exciting music was coming from the Bop band and the orientals. Later these two joined forces, producing the 'coolest' jazz ever heard.
Tushka, the belly-dancer, was getting a raving applause. More guests filtered into her room, and I wasn't long in joining them. In the front row I was startled to see Chaim-Chersch ogling Tushka's supple midriff with dark, Turkish intensity. The Brooklyn babe gave it to him right back, and she had a look that could burn a hole in your groin. I was interested to know how he had got himself invited, so I slid amongst the aficionados and belly-worshipers, to his side.
"Antonio," I said gruffly, "how in the hell did you filter your humble person into the playground of the Great? "
He looked at me, or rather through me, for he didn't seem to be fixed on anything in particular that wasn't concerned with Tushka's convoluting navel. I was constrained to wait patiently for the end of the number before the eastern medico granted me an audience.
"Champdick," he said hoarsely, emotion choking his voice, "not even in the fleslipots of Istanbul have I seen a belly to compare with this Tuchas."
"Tushka," I corrected.
"Tuchas, Tushka. It's all the same, it's only a name. I'm talking about an umbilical terpsichorean ... She has no peer in the East, I tell you, none!"
"Is she really that good?"
"I'll say she is." He rubbed his own stomach nervously. "You know what I am thinking?"
"You want to screw that belly."
"Well ... No, I wish you wouldn't talk that way about the woman I love!"
"I suppose you're gonna tell me you want to ask her hand in marriage?"
"Mad," I said, "it's perfectly mad. What's happening around here. There's a fever, an epidemic ... "
"I tell you, there's no one like her in Istanbul! I can see it already ... She marries me ... we go East ... she gets a job in a night-club ... what more could I ask? She'll be a sensation overnight!"
"I don't know," I said. "She's a Brooklynese ... she might not like the East. Maybe she don't want any career ... Besides, you don't even know her yet ... didn't even screw her ... you surprise me, a man of your age should know better than to be so rash."
"Ah, we Turks are like that! My father was a Caliph, and his father before him was a Caliph, and I can't act any other way, but the way of a Caliph."
"No wonder those boys had so many wives ... If they picked up the first female belly that crossed their path."
"Don't kid yourself. Impetuous, yes, but not stupid. Didn't I already explain what I had in mind for her?"
His fiery oriental temperament got the best of him, and he started calling her, "Tushka, my beloved, my sweet Baclava ... come to me ... Let us go off when the evening is spread out against the sky like a Raki-drinker etherized upon the table ... A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou beside me in the Bosphorus ... Just picture it, honey. You coming already?"
"A man of letters," I heard a neighbor remark to a friend.
"Listen, Shakespeare," I said, annoyed by his foolhardiness, "get a hold of yourself. I think you've had too much gin, it isn't good to drink alone."
"Champ," he cried, "I've got plans ... for you, me ... and her. It's the big time for us, kiddo. No more tapping rheumatic backs and probing asthmatic noses. I've, how you say it? I've had it. It's back to Istanbul. A fortune is waiting for the right man, for the man who knows how to pick drachmas out of silk purses."
"I fail to see how I get into the act?"
"I told you the other day, your 'condition' was a valuable thing. You are young, and innocent, you can't visualize the assets in your prick. It takes a man of experience, a go-getter, to see where you fit in."
"I know damned well where I fit in ... just bring that Tushka friend of yours down here!"
"Listen to me! Up till now you've been wasting everything, throwing a fortune away! With a thing like that, he fucks for free!"
"I do what I like," I retorted.
"So who says no? But stop being a fool. From now on, you'll do what you like, and live on it ... more, you'll grow rich on it."
"You're mad!"
"Please! There are some very influential people here, and some of them know me."
"You ought to get together with Nobus and form a carnival and go on the road."
"ZEB! Is he here?"
"Don't tell me you know him?"
"Know him? Why we're old school buddies! The last time I saw him was years ago, in Cairo. We met there for our class reunion at Oxford. Where is that old rake?"
He got very excited to meet his long-lost pal, and I led him into the ball-room. He spied Zeb's bobbing chapeau and stormed through the dancers. A hectic slapping and clapping broke out in the middle of the floor where they converged. Needless to say they couldn't stop talking, filling in the gap of time as fast as they could. I didn't see them again until hours later, when they had finished their mutual histories down to the present moment.
My attention was drawn to one of the side rooms from which emanated the unmistakable sounds of quarreling. The principal actors were two men, their wives, and a party of friends. Judging by their angry looks and tense manner it looked like it might turn into a brawl so I walked in to see what it was all bout.
It seemed like things were on the point of breaking out into an international incident. One of the protagonists was a tall Englishman, one of the dukes. The other was an American Colonel, smaller in height, more portly in build.
"You are a cad, Sir!" the Englishman was saying when I appeared on the scene.
"You're an old frump!" bellowed the Colonel.
"Here is my card. Tomorrow at dawn! Wherever you like ... choose your weapons."
"Piss on your card," snapped the warrior, tossing it into the air. "You wanna go outside and settle this like men? Yeh, wazzamatta, yella?"
"Barbarian! Boor! Crude fisticuffs is not my style! Swords, pistols ... Skill, my dear fellow ... not brawn!"
"Skill, shit! Do you want to fight this out or don't you?"
The Colonel friends were insulted that he should be taken for an uncivilized fellow and prevailed on him to accept a duel with swords. Fuming with anger he said he didn't give a fuck what he hit the son-of-a-bitch with, and if he wanted to be laid out with a sword, it was jake with him, but he wasn't going to hang around waiting for sun-up to beat the daylights out of the 'skinny limey."
Mme D. rushed around trying to settle the affair in a more genteel way, dismayed at the brewing scandal. But things had gone beyond all possible amicable reconciliation, and the two antagonistic parties went out to the garden while others went to fetch the dueling weapons. Intrigued, I asked the Cardinal at my elbow what was the cause of all the bad temper.
"Mercy me!" exclaimed the Ecclesiastic, "I believe one of them was caught fondling the other one's wife. Heavens! ... Adultery, right here under my nose!"
His eyes rolled heavenward and he started telling off the beads like sixty. His information was too scanty to satisfy me. A buxom dame, covered with diamonds and rubies, was my other neighbor, so I asked her if she knew what happened.
"Do I?" she asked, "I'll say I do. Why that insolent Britisher ... claims to be an Ambassador too! He pawed me right here ... in front of everyone! Thank God my husband was on hand or I don't know how far the monster would have gone! Imagine the nerve!"
The wife of the Englishman was scowling at everyone from her corner. Her lady friends were trying to calm her down, including the rattled Mme D. who no longer knew how to handle the situation.
"Someone ought to stop them. If the papers get wind of it there's liable to be a terrible rift in Anglo-American relations."
"No," said the outraged wife of the Colonel, "I demand retribution ... the ogre!"
"What did he do exactly?" I asked.
"Here he ran his filthy hands right here." She indicated her fleshy thigh.
"No!" I said, shocked. "Impossible!"
"I swear it! And what's more he made suggestive propositions!"
"Incredible!" I sympathized. "Let's go watch your husband cut the pig to pieces."
"Yes, let's!"
I took her arm protectively, as if to warn any other hot-bloods that the lady was not legitimate game. As we walked she told me her name was Priscilla Clappe. I told her who I was, and she was just "too happy for words" to make my acquaintance ... she had heard all about me, and that 'divine tea-party' which she regretted having missed.
The contenders were removing their coats when we took our place on the fringe of the spectators. Someone turned a few of the spotlights on the arena, and the modern gladiators were soberly testing the blades, swishing them in the air, feeling their weight. The Colonel would spit out a curse every so often, but the Englishman retained his unruffled Britannic temperament. Then the seconds finished their agreements on battle conduct and the signal was given. The blades clanged and whined as the combat opened. The Colonel puffed and wheezed as he struck out in wild lashes at his more adept opponent.
Mrs. Clappe held my hand tightly as she watched, gripping me hard when her husband slipped on the grass, or reeled dangerously on his heels. Guests were spilling out of all the exits, rushing to enjoy the impromptu affair. The orchestras had stopped, and I saw the half-naked Tushka cheering wildly as she raced across the lawn. Nobody cared who won, few knew what it was all about, but everyone was happy about the fight. Even the affronted Mrs. Clappe exhibited a certain bloodthirsty thrill, egging her husband on with cries of "Cut up his gizzard, Louie."
"Slice off his eggs!"
Her remarks stirred up the animosity of the pro-British element, who retaliated with shouts of encouragement for the Duke, and ridicule for the Colonel's clumsy tactics. Charley's priest appeared from nowhere, awakened out of his stupor by the hubbub and wandered about like a lost soul, imagining no doubt that he had somehow been transported into the realms of Purgatory.
Mrs. Clappe's enthusiasm brought the color to her cheeks, gave her a fire and animation that suddenly made me appreciate the instincts that had brought the staid diplomat to caress her vigorous femininity. The permanent erection gained another half-inch, and once again, I felt the imminent peril of buttons tearing from their place. In the general excitement, her hand fell against my crotch, and the blow tore loose the remaining threads that kept the organ prisoner. He bounded out like a jack-in-the-box and flipped into her palm. Instinctively she closed her fingers around him, held him, while she yelled out for Louie to stick her would-be ravisher in his "filthy groin." The Herculean root, nuzzled by her soft fingers, began throbbing salaciously, and she played him so nice I was temporarily in a mental state akin to the lost priest trying to understand what was happening to him.
I put my arm around her and worked my way down her spine, feeling the gentle forms that wound up in that great roll of her ass. She stroked the ram-rod harder, still unaware of what she was doing. Normally, women of her build constrain their buttocks in the rigid mold of a girdle. Mrs. Clappe disdained the fashion, rightly preferring the natural suppleness of her ass. I pulled up her thin skirt and exposed her lovely secrets. A pair of risque panties, adorned with a woven band, and trimmed with expensive French lace, enclosed her bounteous hemispheres. The circumstances were not the most propitious. Her husband was fighting valiantly for her honor, we were surrounded on all sides by passionate partisans of the duel, and one false move on my part would have brought down immediate vengeance for the heinous act. I hesitated, and left matters as they were, rubbing her ass while she stroked my cock.
This could have gone on indefinitely, but a sudden lunge of the Duke caught the Colonel in his armpit, and a thin trickle of blood ran out of the wound, exulting the pro-English element while the American sympathizers groaned in agony. Mrs. Clappe stifled a gasp of horror and grabbed on the consolation stick in desperation. The sight of blood chilled her with a strange, exciting terror. In that moment I acted. I ripped back my cock from her hands, and stepped back a way to jockey around behind. Her empty hands searched vainly for the staff. The hot, stinging meat nudged between her cheeks, slipped into a hairy pathway and wound its way to the fancier curls of her cunt-lips.
"Slaughter him, Louie!" she yelled, cupping her hands to her mouth, inhaling the overpowering odor on them, of male virility. She was about to yell a few more bloodthirsty encouragements, but the smell went up her nostrils like a giddy aphrodisiac. Her words faded away. The gorgeous weapon discovered her pee-hole, and throwing all care to the winds, I jabbed him into the orifice, praying she'd not raise a row. The fiery thrills that flashed through her track made her yell all of a sudden, a shrill and chilling yell, and everyone turned our way. "All is lost," I felt, and my brain whirred with hasty projects for a get-away.
But the yell subsided, a plaintive, thin, plea for Colonel Louie. Heads turned away, and the hot rod began to slither in and out, in a peaceful fuck, as if she and I were clasped together, out of the sight of the world.
With each shove I gave, she emitted a cheer, stimulating his failing courage. A look of noble determination threatened the Englishman with total annihilation.
"Go-o-o Louis," she screamed. "Oh go, go, go, Ohhhhh Come!"
The love-waters rippled and gurgled, mixed to a lather by the churning spear, fled down her tube and frothed on the pulp of my phallus. Louie stabbed the Limey just when his wife shot her load. The Duke fell to the ground and Mrs. Clappe as well, the one bleeding and groaning the other coming and groaning.
The gloating Louis was disconcerted by the cries of "She's fainted."
"Your wife ... "
"The emotion ... " said the sweating Colonel. "Somebody help her up."
No one saw the guilty monster as it slid silently back in my pants.
"She pissed in her pants," someone said, "she was that scared!"
"A devoted wife," said another, "a rare thing these days. There aren't many'll pee in their pants for their husband!"
"That ought to teach the meddling British a thing or two."
"Bravo, Louie. Nice going man!"
"Wait a minute, it ain't over yet ... He's getting up!"
The wounded Duke rose painfully up, gripped his sword, and swore at the Colonel.
"No one ever spilled good English blood in the mud and got away with it. Come on, you Yankee fart!"
"Attaway, ole man! Don't let a damn Yankee get your hide! Remember the Alamo!" And the voice broke out into the famous blood-curdling yell of the old Civil War days.
A wave of angry murmurs greeted the unknown from somewhere in the blue-grass hills of Kentucky. The refrain of "Marching through Georgia" broke out from a Northern element and immediately the
Southern contingent formed, retaliating with the stirring notes of "Dixie."
Under the aegis of a southern Colonel, whose lean mustache bristled with righteous anger, they formed a small battalion and began to charge on the right flank of the disparate Blues. The Northerners retired hastily, to regroup, and counterattack the Rebels. Colonel Clappe and the Duke were thrown to the ground and mashed beneath the surging tides of the warring factions.
Charley's priest loomed up in the center of the Southern charge, brandishing a birch rod, screaming at the top of his lungs for "Holy retribution." He thought he was the Grand Inquisitor leading the faithful against the heretics and enemies of the church. Ashe billowed by, he gave a rumbling burp which fogged his voice with a stammer he was never to get rid of.
"Git them damned dog-shit-eating bastards from up ovih the Ohio!" yelled the mustachioed Colonel.
SEVEN.
The fanatics waged their battle for hours. The facade of the cathedral was partially demolished, leaving a sorry spectacle of hanging cardboard and splintered wood between the gaping holes. Inside the house, from the main ballroom to the intimate chambers, women languished in idle conversation, thoroughly disgusted with the childish males.
I accompanied a saddened Mme D. to the bar, in an effort to cheer her up, and make her forget the idiot war. For my part, it wasn't difficult, because everywhere I looked, delicious females greeted my eyes. An endless variety of feminine pulchritude, running the gamut of tastes from striking redheads, fresh, sparkling blondes, pure platinum and deep yellow, to dark brunettes with elegant coiffures. The perfumes they wafted in the air were not designed to keep the male blood pressure down, and when it mingled with their natural body smells, the effect was prodigious. My member knew not a moment's peace. Secretly, I was gloating over the absence of the masculine fools who preferred swatting their stupid faces for no good reason at all, leaving me with a company of women that would have graced a harem.
They in turn, appreciated me all the more, seeing that I was not inclined to waste valuable strength. We were joined at the bar by a number of them, eager to speak to me. Soon the light-hearted conversation swept away all serious thoughts, and Mme D. herself took heart, and laughed and joked with the rest. I made several intriguing acquaintances amongst them, notably, a dark Oriental, a Hindu, whose blood was mixed in that wonderful combination called Anglo-Indian. Her stature was supremely dignified, but not cold. Our eyes met frequently in the course of conversation, exchanging an unmistakable dialogue.
The whiskey I consumed, and which I offered around, increased the entente cordiale already existing. The dark, black-painted eyes began seriously to trouble me. They called attention to her other charms, insisting I look at her in preference to the others. Her jet-black hair was combed in regular lines, set close to her head and ending in a bun behind. A red dot poised above the bridge of a fine, aquiline nose. Around her neck a silver chain gave added luster to her color, ending in a turquoise amulet. Her gown was the traditional sari, intense violet folds which hung down like the drapery of a Greek statue.
My throat was parched and dry from emotion, and never had I felt my sexual powers more fiercely as I did under the hypnotic influence of the seductive Oriental.
Her charm was formidable, set off in bold relief by her paler western sisters. Long almond eyes melted my heart and sent stinging shocks of fire into my pelvis. Modestly, she turned away. I followed her graceful form, balanced on swinging hips, into the room with soft lights and the Arab orchestra. The smell of burning hashish and incense increased the flames that were licking through my vitals.
I approached the gazelle-like creature and introduced myself. She regarded me from far away, as if she were in a dream, moved her sensual lips slowly as she acknowledged my presence, and told me her name. I couldn't make out what it was, but I wasn't concerned about such things.
"You are an incomparable beauty!" I said impulsively. "Don't tell me you hate compliments, or that you never trust what men tell you. You are simply gorgeous ... No man could resist telling you so."
"You took the words out of my mouth," she answered in a low, husky voice, which fitted so well with her character, "I never trust any man when he has been drinking!"
"Drink never made a liar out of anyone," I retorted. "It brings out more truth than sobriety."
Her eyes flashed appreciatively at my answer.
"I have heard about you," she said, curiously, but with great dignity.
"No doubt; many here have, it seems, though I have done nothing to merit such fame."
"Your modesty is most disarming? I think you are aware of the 'merit' in question."
"Perhaps ... But it is not for me to praise myself."
"Very well, I shall go by your reputation."
"Do you always take things for granted," I answered, studying the unusual conical nipples of her breasts, sure, that if I merely touched one of her fruits, I would come in my pants.
"In India," she went one, her voice growing warmer, "we have many curious customs. Love is an ancient art in my country. We do not value size nor force. Perhaps we are over-refined, but Hindu women seek a lover with skill and craft. The more he knows, the greater the thrills he can give them. I suppose your American women are satisfied with whatever is big ... and brutal, but we are an older race."
We walked through the room and entered one of the hallways. I steered her adroitly through a partially opened door beyond which could be seen a divan and a bidet, discreetly camouflaged to look like a foot-stool.
"Then, if I understand you rightly," I said, indicating the couch and closing the door. "Your impression is that I use the rudimentary tactics of a stud."
"I was only trying to explain the difference between East and West."
"I notice you only talk about the skill of the men," I laughed, lazily fingering the hem of her skirt, as she reclined between two large pillows. She greeted my remark with silence. For a while, our breathing alone filled the room. A tiny lamp cast a faint, reddish glow over the lovely creature. Her gown whispered mysteriously when she moved.
Heart pounding, I slid my hand under the robe, seeking her hidden thighs. With the other, I made for her tempting breasts. Taken by surprise, the veiled form moved in the dark, trying to escape the inquisitive hands. An erect little strawberry brushed by my fingers, and the smooth, warm column slipped away. Her naked shoulder was caught in my curled fingers, and I pressed her back to me, groping for her ass. She struggled, cat-like with quick, graceful movements, tantalizing me with momentary, fleeting sensations.
My erection slipped out of the torn fly, brandishing, in ominous silence, his tingling pork. She broke loose from my grasp, but her foot enmeshed in the folds of the sari. Her face received a resounding whack from the india-rubber stick as she fell to the floor. Quickly, passionately, I undid the folds which had unwittingly aided my conquest. The rose peaks jutted forth from the shadowy contours that defined her exotic paps. I pounced on the defenseless berries, and lapped and sucked them lavishly, sparing not one particle of their flesh. A deep moan of pleasure escaped her parted lips, though she still continued a token resistance to my advances.
Paying no heed to her imploring, I enlarged the field of attack, probing my tongue over her trembling rib cage, holding on to her titties with both hands. Long nails tore into my flesh, clawed at my face, which strangely increased my lust to ravish her. Lunging to right and left, the twisting abdomen sought to avoid the aggravating tongue. The farthermost hairs of the pubis grazed my chin and I precipitated the licking into the heart of the forest, rubbing my cheeks through the silken fibers, smelling the insensing odor of her lymphatic secretions. Her struggle diminished in strength, as my amorous fervor struck at the inflammable erogenous zone. In one last desperate attempt to shake me off, she clamped her thighs together and rolled away. Instantly I slashed my tongue around her buttocks, darting it into the acrid hole behind. I followed the long crease, down to the joining of her thighs, and bit at the few protruding pussy-hairs. She groaned with mixed emotions, beginning to succumb to the erotic pleasures which were taking ascendancy over her will. The muscles in her thighs relaxed a little, giving me the advantage I sought for. Using my head as a battering ram, I parted her legs, and, stubbornly at first, then rapidly losing their force, they swung away, for the triumphal approach of my fiery tongue. Now the briny smell of the vagina's confines sizzled in my nostrils. With redoubled ardor, the tongue swathed her dewy lips, caressed the trembling fringe where the hairy bush ended. Each time it coursed the length and breadth of the ruddy labia, she shivered from head to toe, sighed, and let her hands run down my sweating back in long, thrilling caresses. Her pussy began to open like a blossom, unfurling its many layers already swimming in their own juice and sap. For a long time I tongued her, waiting for the slowly rising clitoris to approach my reach. The miniature penis stole from out its hiding place. All about its sensitive head I flayed my tongue, like a hornet worrying its victim. The firm little shaft wobbled and joggled, sending her wave after wave of voluptuous currents. All was inflamed, her soft, moving thighs, the sensuous lips and the swishing vagina, which began to ooze forth great streams of orgiastic relief.
As she lay there, heaving with each succeeding gush of her organs, I pulled down my pants, licked up another swipe of the salty spray, and slid my body like a snake, all the way up her steaming torso, and bringing our crotches face to face, forced in the giant knob and stupendous shaft, grilled into her spirtling tube, wrapped my arms about her slender waist, to faint away in the luscious pangs of beating groins.
Five times I fucked her, one after the other, plunging in repeatedly, without mercy, saturating her tubes, her eggs, and every one of the complicated organs and glands lodged in her pelvis. Each fresh attack of the pachyderm club reduced her to a pulp, yet she was ready for the next with renewed desire. On the last, she bounded from her place and grabbed the monster. It was impossible to fit it into her mouth, so she contented herself with sliding her tongue in all directions, up and down its turgid column. Then she placed it between her tits and I fucked her one more time, riding her like a horse with the great head against her chin. It sprayed her with flying sperm, which she rubbed into her mouth, licking her chops with relish, and kissing my balls in gratitude. Seeing my prick would never go down, she knelt before it, like a pagan worshipping a idol, and addressed a prayer in her native tongue to its superhuman potency. Then she showed me a variety of positions which came from the thorough knowledge of her ancient culture. Sometimes her head was at my feet, she holding her legs widespread in my supporting grip, and I would fuck her like that, upside down. Another time she rolled her body up into a tight little ball, leaving only her gaping cunt to view, and I would slam my dick hard into her making her bounce from the shock. Later she put her ankles around my neck, hanging from me as I stood up, and sucked me off, moving like a swing. We might have gone on like that for the rest of the night, but already we had overstayed our time. Fearing discovery, we dressed, infinitely happy, and left the steaming alcove for the bright lights of the ballroom.
"As for the differences between East and West," I said, bidding her goodbye. "I believe we've settled them."
"But good!" she replied, throwing me a kiss and disappearing into the ladies' room.
The stirring strains of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" greeted my ears. The Civil War was still going strong. At the bar, I perceived the figures of Zeb and Chaim-Chersch, busily draining the contents of several bottles of whiskey.
"Just the man we're looking for," said Zeb, pouring me out a stiff one.
"I see the class reunion exercises are over."
"Where has he been all this time?" cut in Zeb, winking at his old schoolmate.
"I have," I answered, "been playing referee for the battle of Bull Run."
"Well, if it's over now, you might tuck the bull back in."
"If that thing was used as the standard unit of measure, they'd have to add three inches to the yeard stick!"
"It's very embarrassing," I said sheepishly, trying to pack it out of sight.
"Tell him the news," said Chaim-Chersch. "See what he thinks."
"It's terrific," cried Zeb, "Chaim has an idea ... and I'm sold on it. We going to incorporate!"
"You're going to incorporate what?" I asked. "I didn't know you were in business."
"We weren't ... but we are now!"
"It makes old P.T. Bamum look like a foul ball."
"Never been done ... it's sure-fire!"
"Well what is it? Cut out the eulogy and let's have. some information."
Zeb leaned over the bar, tapped his ashes in an empty glass, took a couple of long drags on his stogie, and then turned his beaming black face my way.
"Son," he said, "you're our business."
"Me?" I cried.
"Now don't get excited, before you know what it's all about ... "
"I'll say I know ... You mean he got you in on his crazy scheme? Along with Tushka and him, he wants you and Beulah, your twenty wives, and myself! A Roman carnival, a ... a ... '
"Tsk, tsk, take it easy kid ... "
"A side show," I went on, "the American Prick. Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, it's only the tenth part of a drachma! The biggest human ... "
"Sh! Not so loud! There are ladies present."
"Nothing doing!"
"You shouldn't be so hasty. You haven't even heard our project ... "
"It will be a ball for you, kid."
"A ball-breaker!"
"You'll never break those balls!"
"Magnificent!" breathed Zeb. "Simply magnificent. With that thing, I could fuck this whole roomful of women in less time than it takes to shake that stick at 'em."
"It's a mighty nervous crowd," added Chaim, irrelevantly.
"Yes indeed ... Ahh, if I only had that cannon.
"How many women are here anyway?" asked Chaim-Chersch.
"Hmm," mused Zeb, "that's hard to say ... half of 'em keeps going back and forth to the toilet ... If they'd keep still awhile we could count 'em."
"I think there is only one way to convince our recalcitrant friend of the mistake he's making."
The crafty fellows had contrived a plot against me and set it in motion immediately. Zeb removed from a hidden pocket what appeared to be an animal's horn. He pulled out a pocket-knife and began scraping it collecting the parings in a piece of paper.
"What is that?" I asked. "And what are you doing?"
"That, my friend, is a piece of rhinoceros horn, and as you can see, I am scraping it."
"But what for?"
"That ... you shall soon see ... "
Chaim-Chersch had, in the meantime, disappeared.
Zeb accumulated a little pile of horn-scrapings, pocketed the knife, and rolled the paper with the powder into a tube.
"Watch this," he said, and went off into the crowd. With the tube perched in his mouth, he blew out thin wisps of its contents, everywhere he passed, making a tour of the room. When he returned to the bar he crumpled the paper and tossed it away.
"You will soon see a most extraordinary sight. Don't go away; and give me a drink while we're waiting."
I observed the women intently, completely at a loss about the mystifying performance. After five minutes Chaim-Chersch showed up.
"What's taking so long?" he asked Zeb.
"Patience," said the King.
"You might at least tell me what I'm supposed to look for," I said annoyed at their smug expressions.
"Don't worry kiddo, when it's there, you'll see it alright. Have another shot."
He filled up our glasses, and dropped the empty bottle over the counter, narrowly missing the sleeping bartender.
"Ah!" exclaimed Zeb all of a sudden, nudging his companion in the ribs. "I can feel the results now!"
Chaim-Chersch and I looked in the indicated direction. Four or five society ladies were engaged in desultory conversation. It all looked quite normal to me, but since the King had evidently found what he was looking for I observed them closely. It was then I noticed that one of them seemed to be rather nervous. She was fidgeting with a handkerchief, twisting and turning it in her hands. The others were talking with growing animation, their faces flushed and eyes beginning to take on a glassy stare. The one who was worrying her handkerchief began running her hands down her hips, onto her buttocks. Then a blonde nearby twitched her nose, and started to scratch in her crotch.
like contagion, several of the others imitated her, all of them unconscious of their shocking behavior. Soon that particular group was busy scratching and rubbing themselves. It was enough to split your sides, just watching them, mouths jabbering away and hands busy at their groins. Naturally, by this time I grasped the meaning of what I saw.
"Zeb," I said, "you scoundrel ... "
"Dig those crazy fleas!" he roared.
"If those holes had teeth, they'd bite the hand that feeds them!" said the dental-minded Chaim-Chersch. "Do you think they're ready yet?"
"Give' em a few more minutes of healthy irritation. Man, look at the Contessa Florio!"
I followed his look and saw a corpulent lady, extremely dignified in appearance, employing her silver lorgnettes with energy to relieve the itching between her legs. She was at the same time trying to keep her social composure, which resulted in a grotesque twisting of her mouth, as if she were in the act of excreting a particularly hard turd.
A line had formed at the door of the ladies room, where many had gone with the hope that a good piss would put an end to the insensate craving in their vaginas. Those that came out were no more relieved than those waiting to go in. They hopped from one leg to the other, and before long, it was like an asylum full of the St. Vitus' dance.
"Careful," said Zeb, "we won't be safe around here much longer."
As if to lend weight to his words, several lubricious eyes turned in our direction.
"Maybe," said Chaim-Chersch, "we better take off before things get too hot."
The storm was growing by leaps and bounds. One could almost see the snarling cunts, bristling and growling with rage, as the mordant drug began to take force. Dark lusts and passions flared in the seething crotches. Instincts, tormented in the fluff of panties and girdles, boiled up the primitive sexuality of noble wives. The more susceptible, hot-blooded females were loath to retain any longer their gallant emotions, and the inevitable happened.
My vigorous profile was in plain view to most. It takes little imagination to figure what that special object did to their lust, which would have accepted anything at all, no matter what the size, provided the shape was reasonable.
A flourish of trumpets was like a signal for attack, and the debauch was on. Every last vestige of dissimulation and hypocrisy was thrown to the winds. The smitten women swarmed down on the three of us, shedding their dresses, swinging brassieres wildly about their heads, snapping off garters and garter-belts, ripping away girdles from hooks and snaps, kicking shoes and stockings, pell-mell in the onslaught.
Never shall I forget the hallucinating vision of that carnal stampede. The Devil himself rode with whip and lash on the Furies gone berserk. In waves ten deep, the turbulent vaginas pushed on, spitting flame from their carnivorous throats. The fusing sexual gases intoxicated my lug, pushing his knobby veins to the breaking point, as he filled out more and more. I staggered beneath the heavy weight, keeping my balance by leaning backward and supporting him as best I could with my two hands. Straight at the charge he pointed, aimed like a cannon, ready to blast the first on comer off the face of the earth.
"Don't shoot till you see the whites of their thighs!" screamed Zeb, whose instrument was poised like mine, a mere pistol in comparison.
It was I who bore the brunt of the blow. Someone smashed her cunt head on my blunderbuss, and before she had passed one inch of the Gargantuan head, expired as if shot. She was thrown down brutally by succeeding Harpies, and another slid the tool through her breech, faring no better than the first. One after the other clambered over the falling bodies, mounted the rod, and collapsed. In the midst of the pandemonium, I saw poor Chaim-Chersch, struggling to keep his footing against a half-dozen screaming pussies, bravely defending himself with his sadly undersized weapon. Zeb was faring much better, having had practical training with his twenty wives in affairs of this sort. He never once dropped his top hat, even when the battle reached its most paroxysmic point.
Rebel yells of the Manassas echoed in the hallways and mingled with the shrieks of female passion resounding in the ballroom. A large force of naked women streamed onto the platform, where a frightened orchestra jettisoned strings and brass to escape the mass of burning ass. Someone fell through the kettledrum, and immediately became prey to three husky dowagers, big, dangling tits flopping madly in his face. Crazy sounds-of snapping strings, of a crashing piano, and the ringing of bells-turned out a music like that of the Arabians, as feet and bodies smashed the instruments to bits.
In the flurry of heads and whirling arms and legs, I distinguished a familiar face. Gertie La Mazonne, leering sadistically, flew up out of the holocaust, laughing like an evil witch.
"Hot shit! Oh man, oh man!" she cried, as she leaped on the club, already glowing red from the unusual friction, its tip gleaming from the spent juices of a dozen squirting cunts liberally.
"Ed, dammit, I didn't expect I'd get another chance to ride this gorgeous Thing ... Ohh man!"
She bore in her ass and assimilated fully half of my penis, performing a feat that none of the others had been able to realize. So hard had she pushed, that my club drove the channel back against her intestines, forcing out a half-formed turd, which dropped in the mouth of a swooning bitch, who gobbled it up in a trice.
The double thrill of shitting and coming blew Gertie's fuse, and she fell in her turn on the orgiastic pile. The heat in the place was tremendous. Many of the cunts that grabbed their lips around my shaft felt like steaming cauldrons, and only the frequent spurts of lubrication prevented my cock from going up in smoke.
Behind me, the sleeping bartender had been discovered, and to that good man's fright, beheld himself divested of his trousers by the very women to whom, not an hour ago, he had served insipid cocktails. He watched with incredulous eyes as his prick underwent a vigorous massage by three different, impatient hands.
"Rape!" he shouted, when he recovered his senses sufficiently to act. "Help! Rape!"
"Rape this!" growled one of the women, spreading wide her yawning chasm with long, ivory fingers. She attempted to squat down on him, but he fought her off with a beer bottle.
"Damned your stupid hide!" cried one of them, and cracked him over the skull with a quart of rye. He fell back in a lump, the only visible sign of life being his healthy erection, which was already being exploited by the giant cunt of Lady Mount-Scrotum.
The unfortunate wives who belonged to Zeb were the only females out of the fray. Pupik was trying out a clarinet in her ass, but all she managed was to blow curious farts in the key of D. Rifka and Yoyo were tearing away at their metal belts, screaming in pain, but hot letting up an instant. I think it was Hattie, a short fat little number, who got the idea of a hacksaw. She took off like a bird, a black ball-of-fire, and ran naked through the house in search of her liberation. By a curious stroke of luck, her course led her to the garage, and there she found what she was seeking. She sawed off the lock and departed, shouting with glee, brandishing saw and belt victoriously in the air. Charley's priest blundered in her path,' and the fat tigress bounded on him, sending him against the wall. She played havoc with his robe, unfrocked him furiously revealing his polka-dot drawers, for a second, before they flew off in her fist.
"Unhand me infidel! Off, you public-house whore! Has all hell broke loose and vomited its scum upon us? What is this she-fiend? Leave go my prick, you blue-titted monster of Sin!"
Fat Hattie sucked on the clergyman's pale piss-nozzle. She spit and slobbered saliva all over his bald genitals, forcing a recognizable erection against the martyr's will. He crossed himself three times, promised himself a trip to Rome and prepared to pay his penalty. Hattie dug in her teeth on his chest, and crawled up on her big, fat thighs, split far apart, and engulfed the clergyman's dick.
While Hattie and the priest were clamped in lewd genuflections, her royal spouse was swinging his torrid eggplant wildly, chanting an ancient warcry of his tribe. He kept looking my way and repeating over and over, "If only I had that fucking walloper ... Jesus!"
Growing weary from standing on my feet, I allowed myself to sink down on the enormous pile of cunt, resting my head cozily in the fat cheeks of the Contessa Florio. A hairy bellybutton, running with sweat, rumbled by my face, then disappeared, bringing up a most violent-looking vagina, the lips of which merely lacked a set of molars to make them deadly. It smelled atrociously, so I opened my mouth and gave it a sharp, piercing bite. Its unknown owner screamed with pain and fled like a lizard in the sun. I was glad, for my next neighbor had two perfect hemispheres, which caressed my cheek gently. My hands were lost between layers and layers of femininity and someone was even sucking off my thumb. No doubt she was thoroughly punch-drunk.
At this stage of the riot, events took another capricious, not to say downright fantastic tum. How in the world they got there, I cannot say, but from the hallway door at left center, a pack of screeching monkeys invaded the room. Some leaped to the chandeliers in short nervous arcs, others bounded from chair to chair. They picked up women left and right wrapped their furry arms about the smooth human rumps, and, exhibiting long, thin peckers, stuck them into the horny cunts.
I noticed the Simians' tastes were on a high level (not a single female they selected was homely or poorly shaped), and this raised my esteem for our hairy brothers. Another striking fact was the willing surrender to their embrace. They were not only reinforcements, they were serious competition as well. The leader was a huge mutton-jawed character, built like a football player. AH he needed was the uniform to complete the resemblance. He grabbed one of Zeb's tall wives, scattered her skirts and slammed his thick dick in against the metal strainer. It bent double beneath his weight, snapping like a string-bean. The shock and pain nearly drove him out of his mind. He ran around the room holding the stricken tool, screeching his anguish. He never understood how he had met with such an accident while his happy friends were having the time of their lives. The damage was irreparable, and forever after, his V-shaped cock pissed on his belly when he urinated. He managed to fuck with it, after a fashion, but would come all over himself instead of his partner.
The arrival of Hattie with the hacksaw was minutes too late to avoid the fatal incident. She came in dragging Charley's priest whose senses were long since departed from his feeble head. He looked like a kid in a pastry shop as he watched the progress of the orgy. The saw went from hand to hand amongst the concubines, and some were too hasty or clumsy and would have removed a good part of their hips if no one stopped them. One after the other, they ran into the debauch, taking monkey or man, indiscriminately.
Lady Bottomlley's ill-luck played her another nasty turn. In the first assault she tripped and sprained her ankle. Her hostess was trying to console her with a pickle, but the broken-hearted woman was lying on her back, sobbing her woes to the world. Mme D. did her best with the vegetable, working it furiously in her Ladyship's hole, frigging herself at the same time with a busy left hand. On the verge of coming, she lost control, and shoved the pickle in so far, it slipped out of her grasp and disappeared from sight. For a week afterward, Lady Bottomlley was fucking herself whenever she went out for a walk.
In the meantime, Zeb fucked three of his wives before he realized that they had rid themselves of the belts.
"I'll beat their fucking holes out of their faithless bodies! So help me Hannah!"
He intended to do so immediately, but a beautiful blonde flung her arms around him and told him to fuck her crazy.
"White woman," he said belting his bull shit against her belly. "Do you take me for your lawful wedded husband?"
"You're a little darker, but go ahead and screw me anyway!"
"I warn you baby, when I'se hard, I'se soft, but when I'se soft, I'se hard!"
On the other side, Tushka was giving her suitor the finest belly-dance of her career.
"Istanbul ... Istanbul ... " he kept whispering in her ear. "Think of it, honey! The toast of the East ... that's you.. Come ... let me take you away from all this!. . .
Just at the ebb of the fornication, the Civil War ended, and from the opposing doorways near the orchestra, the battered Blue and Gray appeared. They stopped in consternation at the wanton lechery which met their sabres. Union roars of rage mixed with Rebel yells, and they charged in unison to avenge their offended honor.
The three of us, the male violators, knew we were the main target and endeavored to extricate ourselves from the turbulent muddle. Before we could even think of flight, it was necessary to beat off the famished ravishers. I slid and stumbled over trim little ankles, large blubbery asses, stiff nipples and hairy crotches. We would never have succeeded in escaping if it hadn't been for the monkeys and the Southerners. The latter spied them first, and, suspecting they were an inferior race, chased after the Simians with cries of "Lynch 'em! Lynch the bastards!. . . "
On hearing them, the insatiable cunts scrambled to their feet, intent on getting at the fresh pricks. They broke the attack and cleared our way, and Zeb, Chaim-Chersch and myself slid through a door and ran for safety. I had not gone more than twenty feet when something dark loomed up and crashed down on my skull. The world turned opaque as I fell unconscious.
EIGHT.
I awoke to find myself in a strange room. My head was wrapped in bandages, raging in a super-hangover. The room was pleasant enough, though rather unusually small. I seemed to be rocking and rolling in a sickening way and assumed it came from my muddied brain, until I saw a chair leave its place and slide along the floor. It was then I noticed the portholes. I sat up with a bolt, sure that I was dreaming. When I saw the chair slide back to its original position, all doubt left me ... I was on board a ship.
The startling realization cleared my brain, and the first thing I did was to look out a porthole. The circular window was divided neatly in half by an area of sky and sea. Nothing else was in sight. I ran to the door, but when I tried to open it, my heart fell with dismay. Whoever the person, or persons on board, I was their prisoner until they saw fit to free me, or ...
The anxious hours passed slowly by, ticked off by the monotonous rolling of the sea. There was nothing to give me the slightest clue to the mystery, not even footsteps or voices in the passageway. I might have been on a ghost ship, the only human being aboard.
When I grew accustomed to the creaking and rattling of the vessel, a key turned in the lock, and a man in a white suite entered the cabin.
"Feeling better?" he asked, as disinterested as if it were a form of address.
"Who are you?" I asked. "What am I doing on this ship?"
"It's none of my affair. I am the ship's doctor."
He said no more, ignoring the questions, and examined my head.
Well, you'll be all right. No concussion, no injuries. You must be hungry. I'll tell them to send some food down."
"Tell who?"
"Goodbye ... Bon voyage ... " The key turned in the lock and I was left to my imagination.
A meal arrived a half-hour later, which surprised me by being a small banquet. Whoever had me in their power did not want me to suffer privation. I felt less alarm for my immediate future. The steward was no more talkative than the doctor, though it was probable he knew little about my capture. He brought me magazines and books for distraction, and when he returned to take away the tray, served me a shot of whiskey.
The next morning, a third person showed up after breakfast; a tall seafaring man, wearing a black cap. He ordered me to go with him.
"With pleasure," I answered, "I'd like to have a look at something different."
He brought me to a stateroom, after a long, complicated walk through the lower deck passages. It was a first-class suite, elegantly decorated. A dark individual observed me from behind a wide mahogany desk. His head was devoid of hair, as round and solid as a cannonball.
"Have a seat, Mr. Champdick." I'll
He smiled cordially, showing strong white teeth in even rows. His upper lip was overshadowed by a black mustache with pointed ends. He puffed often on an ivory cigarette holder. Fierce-looking though he was, he spoke in a low, courteous voice, beginning by asking after my health. He went on to say that it was not his intention to reveal why I was on the ship, nor where I was going. His job was simply to see that I reached my destination safely and comfortably.
"Am I alone? Are my friends on board also?"
"I am sorry, I cannot say. Good day."
The sailor appeared on a signal and led me back to my quarters. The interview had been brief and not very instructive. All I learned was that someone was interested in my welfare, someone powerful ... and no more.
A week passed, perhaps more, it was difficult to keep track of time. Then one day a sailor unlocked the door and led me up on deck. I was thrilled by the warm sun that beamed down on the ship. Gentle breezes played across the rigging, and the placid waters of a bay glistened with millions of diamond sprays. Gone was the flat boring horizon, and in its stead, I beheld a breathtaking panorama. A magnificent harbor, with hundreds of large and small craft, extended around us. Beyond the quays, a city lay on the surrounding promontory, pyramided with domes and minarets, flashing gold and silver in the midst of the gray ensemble. A clear sky of pale tint enriched the depth of the city where it was reflected from blue and green window panes. Gulls swept across the bay, to the far side, where another smaller city lay entrenched. The two were divided by a channel, sometimes less than half a mile wide, which led to another sea beyond.
"Istanbul?" I asked the sailor.
He nodded his head, "Istanbul."
I drank in the scene with strange emotions. So here I was, whether through the machinations of my friends or not, staring out from the Golden Horn at the ancient rival of Rome. Europe and Asia were separated only by that thin channel which opened on the Black Sea.
"What now?" I asked.
"You will leave the ship this evening. I brought you up here so you could have a look at the city."
He allowed me to stay there for an hour, then brought me back to my cabin. I was restless for the remainder of the day, reviewing again and again in my mind the bold impressions of the city. I tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but no clue could I find to explain who my captors were nor why they had brought me so far.
At nightfall the sailor came back, and together we boarded a dinghy, tossing alongside the ship. I never once saw the face of the man who rowed us to shore. A car was waiting at the landing, here the sailor said goodbye to me. I was in the hands of another individual, lost in the shadows of the rear seat.
The car drove a short distance along the quay and then turned into a narrow, street which led to the principal thoroughfare running through the middle of the city. None of the people who had me in charge were very talkative, and my present companion" never said one word to me throughout the ride. His silence left me free to absorb the unusual sights.
There seemed to be hardly any women abroad on the streets which were, nevertheless, filled with people strolling casually in the dark. I had fleeting glimpses of dimly lighted shops, cafes, and coffee-houses. Movies flashed their bright lights as we drove by, and once I made out the grinning face of Clark Gable and a scantily clad Myrna Loy. Then we passed through a residential quarter with modern apartment houses and avenues lined with tall, dark cypress trees. A slum announced the end of the urban area, and the car turned onto a country road running parallel with the bay. Below, the lights of the city flickered spasmodically through the trees, and across the harbor the lights of another continent gleamed back at us.
The car stopped under the branches of the tallest trees I had ever seen. My companion got out and waited for me to follow. The night air was rich with the smells of lime and fig trees, and the song of a nightingale accompanied our walk through a garden path. The trickling sounds of a fountain grew nearer as we approached a high wall dominated by a pointed tower. The path led round the wall to a strong wooden door. My companion spoke for the first time, addressing an unseen sentinel who opened the door. We passed through several tiled courts before reaching the entrance to a stone building covered with more tiles which shone brightly in the moonlight. Our itinerary led through many rooms, quite devoid of furniture, but covered with carpets which, I was shocked to see, were European.
Braziers blazed in big niches, and tiny oil lamps lit our way through the apartments. I saw many wall fountains with sculptured relief's and paintings. All the doors were inlaid with tortoise-shell, mother of pearl and ivory.
"Say," I asked, unable to hold myself back any longer, "what is this joint?"
My mysterious guide had no desire to further my education, he merely quickened his step, and suddenly we reached our destination. It was a room five times larger than the others. The ceiling was elaborately carved and gilded, reflecting in its mosaic inlay the orange rays from the oil lamps. In the center of the floor was a marble tank in which goldfish swam. At the opposite end, screens of filigree marble made a background for a canopied dais strewn with large brocaded cushions. In the middle of this regal setting, puffing on a nargileh, or water-pipe, reclined a turbaned figure. He waved away my escort, who bowed himself out, and a stern voice ordered me to approach the dais.
The sultan regarded me for a few minutes in silence, sucking all the while on the nargileh.
"So this is the great Champdick! Well, well, well! How happy I am to see you in person, Mr. Champdick!"
A sarcastic, chilling laugh followed the unpromising introduction.
"Pleased to meet you," I said. "What did you say your name was?"
"Aha," he said, laughing again, "I don't enjoy the same publicity service you Americans have developed so well, and though I am a powerful man, I remain unknown, while a scamp like you attains international fame! My name, my dear fellow, is Ali ben Halivah, the Second. It means nothing to you, you have never heard of me."
"Why did you have me brought here?" I asked. "What do you intend to do?"
"My friend," he answered, "I shall satisfy your curiosity which by now must be eating at you like devouring maggots. It is very simple, the story ... I am a sultan. Perhaps you know they have banned polygamy in my country. Can a sultan survive without his harem?
Of course not, don't even answer. I managed nevertheless to establish myself as sultans did in the old days ... clandestinely, of course, but also because I wield tremendous power. The government fears me, and so they shut their eyes and make believe I don't exist. Until a short time ago, until you, that is, my life was simple and easy. But the news came out, it was in all the papers, on the radio even, and my finest odalisques began to grow restless. A mutiny was brewing in the apartments. Many of my favorites are wealthy from my lavish gifts, and the ungrateful wretches began to plot to use this wealth to make their escape. And do you know where? To America! I learned of the plot from one of my trusty eunuchs. It was necessary to take action without delay ... a bold, decisive move was the only remedy. I knew they weren't interested in America, nor in any other place for that matter. What they wanted was ... you! Yes, you, Mr. Edward Champdick. As the prophet says, 'If the mountain won't come to Mohammed ... Well, my friend, you see? I did make the mountain come to me ... Now, with you safe in my custody, the revolt is nipped in the bud. No one will have the desire to leave anymore. But of course, I intend to have my revenge for their having dared to go against my authority ... "
He had a hasty look when he said that. I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, sensing that the "revenge" wasn't going to do me anything worthwhile.
"Yes, yes, Champdick, revenge ... Wouldn't you like to know how? Try to guess."
"I don't know ... you gonna start playing around with other women?"
He spluttered in the nargileh tube, swallowing a mouthful of water down the wrong pipe.
"Infidel humor!" he rasped hoarsely when he got part of his voice back. "But you'll laugh out of the other side of your rictus when you find out what's in store for you ... For you, Mr. Champdick, are going to be the object of my revenge. I am going to have that scourge in your pants removed! And afterward, you will take over the functions of the Kislar Aghasi, the 'Master of the Maidens.' It is normally reserved for a black eunuch, but your case is special, and I wish to taste, every day, the delicious irony of you, penis-less, watching over my luscious possessions!"
I tried not to show my feelings, it is bad manners in the Orient, but understandable chills of horror raked my spine. With great effort, I kept silent, regarding him stonily. He was affronted at not having the particular joy of observing my emotions, but it gave him a new reason to respect me. He ended the seance by clapping his hands. The Kapu Aghasi, the eunuch called 'Master of the Gates,' appeared at the signal, and led me away to my cell.
The world became a black, dismal place for me. I lay on a filthy straw mat and contemplated the stars which shone through the grillwork of the narrow window above me. From far below the waters of the Bosphorus sung a melancholy plaint as they flowed by the terraced gardens and ruined towers of antiquity. Halivah had chosen the crudest torture known to man to avenge himself on me, an unwitting rival. When I pictured myself in my destined role of Master of the Maidens-a master in name alone-I could have burst into tears. I resolved that never would I allow myself to fall into such a humiliating condition. Better death than a drone's life. How could one go on living surrounded by lovely women and tender maidens, afflicted by their disquieting glances, their shapely thighs and slender waists, the moving sight of firm round breasts surmounted by their little cherry buds, sweet lips kiss you and inflame maleness toward the exciting mystery deep within their pelvis", why should one go on if he could no longer feel and respond to all these raptures? My mind was made up; if there was no escape, death was the only answer.
Halivah's plans had been thought out with sadistic thoroughness. Before my dick's decapitation, he intended to drink to the full the preparation of theinglorious end of my career. For that purpose he intended to exhibit me to the tenants of his household, the way the Romans used to parade their captives before the cheering populace.
The Kapu Aghasi came the next morning with a pot of strong, aromatic coffee, a dish of olives and cheese, and hot flaps of pideh, or unleavened bread. Afterward he took me to the baths, and sat with me for several hours in the thick melting steam massaged me, and dressed me in a plain white robe held together with a sash around the waist.
From noon till about three o'clock I was cloistered in my cell. The Kapu came again and brought me into one of the intimate courts. He stood by my side as I squatted on the ground. A few minutes later Ben Halivah appeared, dressed in a brilliant tunic spangled with medals. He sat down on a cushioned stool, nodded to me, coldly, then clapped his hands. From under the marble arcade three musicians with lutes appeared. They were followed by two young veiled dancing girls. The dance was a superlative demonstration of unabashed lewdness. As I watched, I felt the heat growing in my loins, and knew instinctively my rod had added another inch.
The girls disappeared, and the momentary silence in the courtyard was suddenly broken by the sound of slippered feet. Half a hundred women fded out slowly and took their places, forming a large half-circle before me. All were veiled but clothed in the thinnest material imaginable.
The Sultana Valide sat on the Sultan's right. She was his mother, and her female superintendent, the Kyahya Khatun was by her side. Then followed the retinue of subordinate officials, ranging downwards from the Hasnadar Ousta, "Lady of the Treasury," to the 'Mistress of the Sherbets" and the "Chief Coffee-server." Each of these officials had under her a number of pupil slaves. On the other side of the Sultan sat the Bash Kadin Effendi, the mother of the heir apparent, followed by the ladies who bore the younger children of the Sultan, the Harum Effendis, and finally, the Odalisques.
This impressive assembly regarded me solemnly, or so I presumed from their manner, unable to judge from their hidden eyes. The Sultan allowed them several minutes this way and then began speaking to them in Turkish. He spoke for a long time, his voice rising at times to an angry pitch, descending at others to gentle persuasion and finally blaring forth in unmistakable tones of triumph.
I sat there, alone, legs crossed, like a statue of Buddha, trying to keep a blank face to the fore. Beneath my robe, the phallus erectus projected a conical tent skyward, healthy as usual, oblivious to his approaching doom. The gathered females were soon to see for themselves whether or not my reputation was built on something solid.
"Stand up," the Sultan ordered, "and raise your robe!"
I got to my feet and did as I was told. A murmur of approbation chorused from the onlookers. Heads craned forward, and a nervous current ran through the Odalisques, and even to the Sultana Valide whose age ought to have cooled her susceptibility. The Sultan himself turned green with envy. like his eunuchs, he gaped in disbelief at the miraculous trunk. His own wonder turned to rage at the exclamations of delight emanating from his entourage.
"Enjoy your success, Champdick! It will make your loss the more piquant!"
He ordered wives and slaves to retire to their apartments; the company left with many backward glances and wistful sighs. One, more vociferous than her sisters, received an angry toe in her rump from the offended Master.
Once more I was deposited in my gloomy cubicle, left to ponder my woe. I fell asleep, and had fitful dreams of ugly razors slicing my distended cock. Black belly-dancers leered viciously at my helpless body, gleaming blades twirling on their navels, as they leaped in frantic bounds to the wild music of "Scheherazade."
I awoke sweating and shaking. Another perfumed night had come. The ivory crescent of the moon hung over the Bosphorus as if it were part of an invisible minaret. My jailer entered with a copper tray of sweet-meats and a pitcher of water. He seemed hesitant to leave, as though he wished to talk to me, but this was impossible as he knew no English. At last I understood that he wanted to have a second look at my weapon. I obliged him, having long since gotten used to this sort of thing. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, thanked me, and left.
Something white projected under a dish of dates and honey-cakes. Intrigued, I removed it from its hiding place and saw it was an envelope. It smelled of a pungent perfume, and the seal was imprinted with the trace of a pair of lips. My heart beat fast as I opened the message.
"Dearest one," it read, "how grieved I am at the terrible crime that is soon to be committed on your person! My tears are endless and my sorrow bitter, since it is on my account you have been brought to this terrible place. I have prayed for you all day long. I swear that I shall do all in my power to rescue you from the hands of the tyrant.
"Good night, my sweet, my adored, Bashi."
Hope dared to live once more in my breast. For hours I watched the moon travel slowly on its way across the sea. The song of the nightingale singing by the fountain added its note of hope in the midst of melancholy. Then, above the night sounds, I heard a new noise, as of someone moving a footstep delicately poised, and hushed breathing. A key moved slowly in the lock. The door creaked slightly. I was in the shadows, under the window, and followed the stealthy approach of a figure in white. I recognized the shape of a thickly-veiled female, someone I had seen earlier in the day. Perhaps it was my intended benefactness, Bashi.
She cautioned me to silence, a most unnecessary gesture, then drew me to her passionately. When she spoke, I was shocked to denote the accents of an older woman. It could not then be the voice of the lovely Odalisque, who was barely twenty years old.
"Sweet stranger," she whispered, "when I saw you today, in all your glory, I thought, what a terrible shame to turn this man into a eunuch. I could not bear that your vigor should leave this earth without my having knowledge of its force and pleasure. I have risked my life and honor to come to you tonight, to enjoy you at least once before you are emasculated."
I was hardly consoled by these remarks, so far removed from the encouraging note of Bashi. I lifted the veil and made out the features of an older woman. When I pressed her to reveal her identity, she was reluctant to do so, but I held my ground, refusing any advances of my curiosity was not satisfied.
"I am the Sultana Valide," she said shamefully.
The Sultan's mother! I could not conceal my surprise. What a scandal she had risked in coming to me! Discovery meant instant death for both of us.
"I couldn't help it," she wept. "It was stronger than
I."
"Be careful," I begged. "You don't know what you are doing."
"I do," she answered. "Oh, I do! Even if I am caught and killed, it shall not matter. Never have I seen anything to match what you exhibited today. If I know it, if I can have it, even just one push, my grateful vagina would gladly give up this life ... and I with it."
"Hmm, I don't see how it could be otherwise."
"Please," she whimpered, "please take it out. I must see it once more!"
Beneath her voluminous robe she began executing libidinous pelvic movements suggestive of the male's copulatory thrusts. She clasped me tight, massaging her abdomen against my shaft. The nub beneath my tunic flipped her titties back and forth. She squealed with pleasure, forgetting all her stately dignity as the impetus of her drive increased.
"Ah, ah, let me see the Oulouj Ali, Big Ali!. . .
Down she went on her knees and burrowed under the cloth, The mouth of the Sultana must have been something in a way of a chasm, for she gripped the staff and sucked in the head, large enough to break a normal person's jaw. It passed by the base of her fuzzy tongue, entered her esophagus and traveled halfway down her alimentary canal before she stopped its progress. The rings and ridges of this tube produced a sensational effect. Each time I pulled back the head, it would be momentarily arrested by the obstructions catching under his neck, and he flipped and jerked ecstatically, reveling in the novel effect. Unable to stand the tickling without all of him plunged inside, I heaved with all my might and drove down the channel at full speed. His head blew into her stomach, swelling with pride at the marvelous exploit. The Sultana groaned, her vocal chords strumming on my rod, making it tingle and vibrate. Her body was projected rigidly back in space under the ramrod stiffness which supported her like an armature. I began to fuck for good, holding under the hairy armpits, while I slid the piston back and forth. Had it been a trifle longer, I would have made it out her piss-gate going the wrong way, which I am sure no one yet had done.
My giant balls hung down to her titties, and all these spheres swung back and forth, hitting each other in rhythm to our shoving. My orgasm gave her a fantastic belly-wash, and from out her cunt my sperm and her flowing love-sap shot together. Were it not for the shaft running parallel with her spine, she would certainly have collapsed after her spent load.
She was obliged to crawl backwards several feet to allow my exit.
"I knew it, I knew it," she moaned happily, "I knew it all the time! How glad I am I risked my life for this!"
"If your cunt is as adaptable as your throat," I said, "you are a woman without equal."
"Alas," she sighed, "my cunt had long since fallen into disuse. My husband has been dead for many years."
"You mean you've been deprived of cock since his death?"
"Oh," she smiled, "not exactly. I amuse myself often with the eunuchs, but it is a poor substitute. One has to use one's imagination to get any results. But lately my son has become aware of my singular capacities, and sometimes he sneaks into my bed when he desires a super blow-job."
"Then you never satisfy your cunt?"
"Sweet man, it is now so shriveled from lack of employ, it takes me ten minutes to finish pissing!"
While we talked, I formed a plan to escape. She had hidden the key somewhere, so I planned to let her think I would rest stolidly in the cell when she made ready to go. Feigning fatigue, I slumped into the corner. She adjusted her robe, assured herself I was done in, and produced the key. At the instant it moved in the lock I bounded from my place, knocked her forward, and scrambled out the door.
NINE.
I ran swiftly through the empty apartments, mounted a stairway leading into a long hallway, broken at intervals by the typical filigree apertures. I was now in the heart of the Harem, though at the time I didn't know it. The pursuing Sultana was not far behind. Seeing that one side of the hall was nothing but a row of doors and sensing that the corridor was surely locked at the other end, I pushed through one of the doors and listened to the flying footsteps of the Sultana till they grew indistinct.
Turning, I found myself in a cubicle much like the one in which I had been kept prisoner, but with the important difference that this one was in good condition. The floor was covered with a thick rug. Large drapes hung down over the window, and a splendid couch was laden with costly silks and colorful pillows. A mosaic night-table and a chair, decorated in the same style, stood next to the couch. Half buried in the pillows, a dark-eyed Odalisque stared at me in terror.
I made a sign to show I meant her no harm. I even whispered to her, but she did not understand. "Que voulez-vous?" she asked.
"Ah, vous parlez francais? Bien! II faut que je me cache."
"Pourquoi ici?"
"Je n'ai pas le choix. La Sultane me poursuit."
She answered, saying that if I was found in her room the Sultan would have her burned. I promised to make my stay as brief as possible. She grew calmer after my reassurance and offered me a smoke.
"I generally smoke cigarettes," I said as she prepared the nargileh, "but I don't mind a pipe now and then."
I told her I was looking for Bashi.
"She is downstairs," she answered.
"Oh?"
"It's her turn in the sack," she explained.
"Will she stay all night?" I asked.
"That depends," she answered, "on whether or not the old boy has had his Wheaties today."
"Wheaties? Does he eat Wheaties?"
"Well, sometimes he takes Rice Krispies ... When he feels like listening to the snap, crackle and pop."
"Tsk, tsk," I exclaimed, "I never would have imagined ... "
"Oh," she answered, dryly, "you don't realize how things have changed here since we have a radio. All the girls want to look like Rita Hayworth. Some of the dancers have added the Charleston to their repertoire, and the court musicians are hep to Bop."
"You don't say!"
"Worse than that ... Do you know what the Sultan has ordered from the States."
"No, what."
"A pinball machine!"
"Incredible!" I gasped. "But I thought he was dead set against progress."
"He is ... and he isn't ... It depends on how he feels about things. Some things he changes on the spur of the moment. He hasn't done a thing about the plumbing, though ... look."
She reached out to a small sink near the couch and turned the tap. A loud vibrating racket issued from the spout, but very little water.
"Isn't it a shame?" she asked. "It was all on account of his trip to France."
"How do you mean?"
"He was delighted with their 'liberal' mind, as he says. And in his little pea-brain, he identified miserable plumbing with intellectual faculties, just like what he saw in Paris."
"He doesn't sound like such a tyrant. from what you say."
"He is and ... he isn't ... It depends on his mood."
"You give me hope," I said. "Perhaps he'll change his mind and let me go."
"Oh no, he won't do that!"
"But if he's so capricious?. . . "
"About other things, yes-but not that!"
"I've got to get out of here then. I'm not going to stand by and watch his muscle-men take the joy out of my life!"
"There is no way out. If there were, I would have gone a long time ago."
"It must be rather boring," I admitted, "just hanging around waiting your turn at the couch."
"Tu paries! But don't think we girls just sit on our ass until 'le Gros Cochon' comes after us! Not on your life!"
"What then?"
"Are you kidding?" she asked. "That old lard-belly goes off in two minutes! Now what kind of a fuck do you call that, I ask you? And after that heroic effort, the slob snores right in your face. I mean it ... One time, and he goes to sleep!"
"That explains the mutiny ... "
"Ah," she said, if you had seen the commotion when we first got news of you ... of that ... , " she pointed to my portable tent.
"All this, mademoiselle, is most interesting, most interesting indeed. Tell me, is the spirit of revolt still burning in your tender breast ... and in those of your sisters in misery?"
"Helas," she cried, "what can we do? We are all his prisoners. No one has ever escaped from these grounds."
"Is it necessary to escape to be rid of the phony?"
"Do you mean ... murder him?"
"...We could make him our prisoner ... "
Her eyes lit up. She ran to the door to see if we had absolute privacy.
I made my plans for the palace revolt. We had to assure ourselves of a sufficient number who would join us. The eunuchs were a problem, no one knew where their sympathies lay. She said she could win them over if Bashi were willing to contribute her wealth to buying them out.
We wasted no time and set about visiting all the Odalisques. In every room we entered, they were coupled like man and woman. My consort, whose name I learned was Shamli Zigazig, spoke to them with a rapid tongue. It was always the same, first a few remarks of surprise and hesitation, followed by enthusiastic rallying to our cause. The sleeping Sultan little realized the menace that swept through his domain. The problem was to contact the missing Bashi. Without her help we had little hope of bringing in the eunuchs.
None of them would dare to enter the royal chamber, which was guarded by a giant eunuch armed with an ugly scimitar. I told them to lead me to the apartment, where I would attempt the rescue myself. They paused at a corner, and whispered that it was the first doorway on the left.
A huge brazier was burning nearby. I lifted it off its hook and poured the contents out the window. According to our arrangement, they began a panicky hullabaloo, shouting "Fire!" and running helter-skelter down the hallway. The eunuch fell for the bait, dashing away from his post to the scene of alarm. I slipped across the way and listened at the door. The sound of heavy snoring assured me "Le Gros Cochon" was still dreaming. I groped my way into a dark, perfumed interior. A gigantic bed was in the middle of the room, surmounted by a great canopy. Bashi was curled up in the arms of my enemy.
I crept round to her side and gingerly got into bed. The sheets cracked stiffly under me, practically starched from the quantity of sperm and female juice that had dried in its fibers. I felt for her back, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She was fast asleep. There was only one sure way to wake her quietly.
Under the sheets, I produced my attenuated member, and inched his way to her ass, guided by the old familiar smell. The head passed easily through her moist thighs, and rubbed a greeting to the hairy bower. The lips answered back with a welcoming kiss, and he snuggled gratefully inside. It was a most palatial cunt, worthy of a harem, and a more manly master than the miserable Halivah. Her ass filled out below her spine in the voluptuous forms of classical Spain, perfectly able to cope with the engine sliding into its hearth.
I thought she would awake, at the first sensations, but I was obliged to fuck her all the way to the end. When the rising heat of the orgasm gathered in her gonads, only then did she begin to stir and waken from her sleep. I lost all self-control in the wave of thrills which burned along my shaft, and feeling the hot sperm already pouring from my testes, gushing down the tube, I rammed the head in deep, to shoot against the walls of her abdomen. So hard had I pushed, that Halivah's fat belly received a vigorous punch, and he snorted in displeasure, and awoke.
Bashi was coming profusely, her stream dribbling over my .balls, trickling like the musical fountain in the courtyard.
"Mon tresor," grumbled the Sultan, "what is the trouble? What for have you smacked me in the belly?"
"Oh Ali," she cried, "forgive me! I am having terrible stomach trouble ... I think it is indigestion."
"Ah? What did you eat tonight? Not more pastourma? You know it gives you gas!"
"And pickles," she said.
"Ach," he grunted, "you will murder your liver one day. It is a wonder you haven't had jaundice., or piles! Mark my words, my little Turkish dove, if you don't watch your diet, you will come to no good."
"Yes, Master, light of my Me! Your wish is my command."
"That's the way to talk, baby!"
He had me worried for awhile. The conversation on gastronomic disturbance seemed to stir up his energy. It turned out, however, it awakened his appetite for a good slice of pastourma, (he didn't suffer from indigestion), and he got up and put on a pair of bright yellow and red pajamas, and shuffled out to the kitchen.
Bashi turned to me and hugged me in her arms.
"Oh my darling, my sweet, my love!" she cried, kissing me passionately.
"My cherub," I whispered, "my oriental grape-nut. Listen to me! There isn't a moment to lose!"
I quickly told her of the brewing revolt, and what we wanted her to do.
"God! Wonderful! Oh my darling, listen, my jewels' and my piastres are in the gold chest behind my couch. Take everything. There is enough to bribe a dozen harems. I shall keep the Sultan busy until late in the morning ... Don't worry, I know how."
"I am sure you do, my lovely fig. Good-bye! Until tomorrow and liberation."
I pulled out my penis, wiped him on the covers, and left the enormous bed with its beautiful Odalisque basking in joy.
"Bashi," I called "what about the guard?"
"Hide behind the door. I shall call him in."
She waited until I was ready, then called out in a voice used to command.
"Figaro!" she called. "Hey Figaro! Avanti! Here Figaroooo!"
The fat, jewelled eunuch opened the door and stuck his head in. "Ma'am?"
"Come here, Figaro, I need your help. I can't find my nargileh."
"Yes ma'am," he answered in his shrill tones.
I ducked out the door after he passed, and made for the upper apartments. Before I had gone a few steps, I heard the shuffling feet of the returning Sultan. There was no avenue of escape. If I attacked him, it would upset our plans and I would risk recapture. I saw the big, empty niche from which I had removed the brazier. I leaped into it and stood up, imitating the pose of a statue I had seen further down.
Halivah came by munching on a hot pastourma sandwich and drinking from a bottle of milk. He gazed up at me, and stopped. He studied me carefully, then shook his head, and went on.
"Decadent greek," I heard him mutter to himself. "A bad copy ... or first century ... Must remember to have it sold."
I leaped down, relieved, and made my way back unmolested to Shamli's room. Together we went to Bashi's quarters and drew out the coffer with the treasure. There was nothing more for me to do but remain out of sight. I didn't see any reason why I had to stay by myself, knowing that room after room contained the loveliest creatures outside Christendom. I would have waited for Bashi's return, but she was going to be tied up with her duties until daylight.
I went out into the hallway and chose a door at random. Two of the Sultan's finest beauties were fast asleep on the low couch, their legs entwined about their luscious curves. I removed my robe and advanced silently to their side. I placed my hands quickly on their mouths to stifle any possible screams, and swept over them both. Their big black eyes opened wide together, but if I expected them to be frightened, it was I who was surprised. They wriggled gleefully, removed their fingers from each other's crotch, and enveloped me in a double embrace.
"Babies," I said gently, "my lovely little babies. You'll soon be mine ... all mine! How do you like your new sultan?"
They didn't understand a word, but they got the idea. They were the youngest in the house and the most passionate. We cuddled and fondled, the three of us, finding a thousand pleasures in our amorous playing. They engaged in a mock battle against my ferocious weapon, crushing it down on my chest, and letting it swing back, whistling, into position. They pulled on the hairs of my testicles, rubbed their firm, as yet undeveloped, bubbies against my balls which were almost twice the size of their tits. Then they stood up, over me, face to face, embracing each other, while my cock, placed between their tiny twats, rubbed them both, each pair of cunt lips sliding up and down the staff. They turned round where they were, back to back and let him run between their cheeks in the same way. Then they got down, and one taking the lower half, the other head, they sucked me off, until the boiling penis shot and spurted thick, creamy sperm all over the couch.
They brought me a whip and insisted I beat their tough little buttocks together. I made them lie down across the bed, with their knees on the floor, and whipped them, at first rather gently, being reluctant to mar the perfect shapes, but the vicious little masochists protested, so I bore down the cruel leather thongs with all my strength, until deep, ugly welts appeared, crossing back and forth in violet ridges over the tender hemispheres. They bawled, and tore their hair, screamed out a flood of Turkish curses, while wriggling in the sweet torture of the lash. When at last they were approaching the voluptuous climax, they held on to each other's cunts, and came in a double convulsion, which was the prettiest thing I had seen since the fabulous orgy back in New England.
They anointed the livid scars with a soothing oil and made me lie down and receive a delicious coat of oil with them. Our bodies gleamed and slipped like frolicking seals. One of them poured the remaining contents of the bottle over the head of my truncheon, then brought her baby split to the well-lubricated spearhead, and forced the giant organ to penetrate. It didn't seem possible, just from the outward disparity of our sexes, yet the elastic cunt yielded way, drawing its lips further and further apart, like a yawning mouth, and a good part of the rod disappeared from sight.
I grabbed the other one and straddled her across my chest, fastened my hands on her buttocks, and brought her downy crotch up flush with my face. While her mate was fucking behind her on my dick, I tongued her oily snatch, and the three of us rode our way into another lavish orgasm.
The strenuous sport finally exhausted our energies, and locked in each other's arms, we fell asleep. Shamli had finished half her work when the cry of the muezzin rent the morning air. The Kapu Aghasi rallied the remaining eunuchs still faithful to the Sultan, and headed for the master's bedroom to warn him of the plot. They were met in the inner court by the rebelling faction, and both sides set upon each other with cutlass, dirk, dagger and scimitar. I dashed out of the room on hearing the clamor, leaving the two frightened Odalisques clutched together in fear.
Several brawny battlers were sprawled in pools of blood that coursed between the tiles. A party of English tourists, already abroad to observe the habits of Turkish birds, had been attracted by the terrible commotion.
"I say, dear, look down there. Looks like another Cecil B. DeMille film in progress. Terrifying realism, what?"
His partner snorted in disgust.
"Hollywood extravagance!"
"What say we have a look, anyway. It is rather exciting just the same."
Some twenty or thirty of them descended on the harem gate. Dressed in tweeds, sporting canes and guide-books, the tourists advanced into the bloody courtyard, formed a polite wall of spectators, and now and then made certain criticisms on the directing and handling of the "scene."
The Sultan appeared, struggling into his bathrobe, and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He gaped incredulously at the wild eunuchs, trying to understand what had gotten into them.
"Who's that?" inquired one of the tourists. "Charles Laugh ton?"
"My, hasn't he gotten fat," said another.
He tried to put an end to the fray, running alongside the edge of the battle shouting orders, which fell on deaf ears.
"Not very convincing, is he?" commented a dowager.
I ran downstairs into the court and grabbed Halivah by the arm.
"Listen," I shouted, "this is a revolt. If you want to stop the butchery, I'll make a deal .with you ... Equal status, you and I ... share and share alike!"
"So this is your doing, Champdick! I knew I was too lenient!"
"Think fast," I argued, "before they kill themselves off."
He wrung his hands in misery, and seemed to recoil from each wicked blow. It was too much for him, and he consented to a truce. Together we shouted commands to the warriors. Many were already out of breath, and seeing that both their leaders were in agreement, they creased the chopping.
"I think it needs a retake," said the caustic voice of a tourist. "That was awfully hammy."
The upper-story windows were filled with Odalisques, who took to shouting and cheering the news of a new regime. Halivah looked crestfallen and woefully sullen, not hearing their cries. "Ah," he sighed, "It's like Francois said, 'Souvent femme varie.'"
"You must admit," I countered, "you weren't giving them their 'jollies' like you might have."
"I've been sabotaged. I knew it for a long time, but I never could get my hands on the culprit."'
"How do you mean?"
"Some son-of-bitch was dosing my food with saltpeter, that's what I mean. Why I was lucky to get it up even one time!"
"Hmm," I answered, "that is serious. We'll have to have the cook watched."
"I think Mama was behind it all. She has a terrible nasty streak in her. She's been crazy with jealousy since I refused to dick her."
"Well," I said, "don't worry. There's going to be a few changes around here now. Come on, we have a lot to talk about."
"Who are all those people?" he asked, indicating the group of tweeds. "Friends of yours?"
"No, but I think we ought to invite them to tea. There may be a few--likely recruits for our team."
The tourists were flattered at the invitation to return at five o'clock. They left us smiling and sheafing through the guide-books to check the address.
"But where did they have the cameras?" I heard a female voice ask as they went out the gate.
TEN.
Very early I found that running a harem was no simple matter. There was a staggering list of problems running from general administration, finance, income, upkeep, to food provision, water bills, gas bills, odd repair, laundry, sheet supply (the turnover was tremendous), medicaments, unguents, incense, beauty creams, underwear, etc., not to mention special amusements, dancing instructors, musical instructors, and a Hindu expert on the Kama-Sutra.
In the past, the various departments had been ill-managed, and were rife with graft and corruption. I spent long, tedious hours in consultation with the Harem officials, and at the end of the day would be in a whirling turmoil of facts and figures. Gradually I weeded out the trouble spots, and Halivah himself marveled at the improvement.
The costliest operation was the drastic alteration performed on the great chamber of love. A new bed was constructed, which we were sure was the biggest one in the world. It took up the entire apartment, from wall to wall, built on the finest steel springs available, and covered with a mattress a yard thick. Never had I slept on anything so soft. Halivah had the right to one half and I the other. No one was forced to remain in her room alone, waiting until she was summoned for the Sultan's pleasure. The bed was able to accommodate the entire personnel at one time. At bedtime, Halivah and myself were lost in a veritable sea of ass. Sometimes I would raise myself up on one elbow and gaze over the vision of Babylon, reviewing the spectacular exhibition of buxom bubbies, buttocks and shapely limbs, tossed all akimbo. Someone was always fucking or getting fucked under the constant excitation of this perpetual proximity.
It was with rapture I would doze off, after having slapped my balls against a half-dozen different buttocks and thighs, feeling a group of hands holding my prick. Sometimes Halivah and I would puff peacefully on our nargilehs, while a bunch of the girls would give an exhibition of their talents. They built up great pyramids of writhing bodies, heads glued to cunts, and the room filled with the sound of lascivious lapping like waves beating against the rocks. I would take one or two more puffs, then crawl in the middle of the heat, and send it crashing down, my ears ringing from their squeals, and my body getting doused with their lubrication. Then I'd take the nearest one and drive into her throbbing cunt, and bring her to the more complete orgasm of the male tool.
Life went on like this for many weeks, splurging itself in delight. Then, one day, I remembered my friends and determined that Halivah, whom I suspected of knowing their whereabouts, should tell me all he knew. He was evasive and disturbed at my questions, and kept trying to change the subject.
"Nothing doing," I insisted. "I intend to get to the bottom of this affair."
He remained silent.
"If there has been 'foul play', " I went on testily. I shall hold you responsible. Your silence is an admission guilt."
"Now wait a minute," he said. "Don't get hot-headed. In the first place, my men had orders to capture you. I don't know your friends ... "
"That's a lie!" I growled.
"Come, come ... Don't lose control. Just to show you I am in good faith ... and innocent ... I shall have my spies take the case in hand. If your friends are alive, don't worry, we'll find them.
"I'll give you one week to produce something tangible."
That night a car drove into the city, jammed with a gang of shaven-headed, thick-mustached Turks, whose pockets bristled with small-arms. For days they scoured the Istanbul underworld, haunting every place of ill-repute, tramping through sinister, dark streets, milling with the spectators in dance halls and the bibulous crowds in the bars.
They returned one night, five days later, and handed the Sultan a twenty-page report on their finds. Fully a hundred names filled part of the pages, a comprehensive list of the most notorious figures active in the nether world.
Halivah brought me the report and triumphantly pointed to the name of Hamoum Jahboubi ben Gorgel.
"Who's that?" I asked. "I never heard of the guy."
"Gorgel? He's the worst cut-throat in Galata. He's your man! He runs the 'Blue Danube' coffee-house and baths. My men spotted a negro waiter ... "
"Humph," I scoffed. "Bullshit! Zeb would never stoop to that ... He's a king, I met his wives."
"Well, then that's him all right. There's a half-dozen new belly-dancers working in the joint ... and all of them are black, except one."
"Beulah!" I shouted. "That must be Beulah."
"Tonight we shall leave, you and I, for a little visit to the 'Blue Danube."
"No," I answered, "I'm going alone."
"But it is most dangerous! You will have your throat cut before you can ask for a cup of coffee."
"I want to go there alone. If Zeb sees me with you, he'll think I double-crossed him. I've got to speak to him first."
"It is imprudent ... but since you insist, I will wait outside, with my men."
"Fine," I agreed.
I was in a state of tension all the rest of the day. It was a double excitement to leave the Harem, and have a look at the city, whose domes and minarets I could see only from a distance, and to feel that at last I was going to find my long-lost friend.
When darkness fell, the big car zoomed onto the highway, and bore us into the city. Once inside, it turned off the main stem and crawled along the narrow, cobblestone streets which were walled in by shaky, wooden houses, whose balconies almost touched over our heads. The quarter was honeycombed with similar passages, forming a veritable labyrinth of fish markets, vegetable stores, shops with dried fruits and nuts, all jumbled indiscriminately. Strange odors and electuaries filled the air with the savory odor of the East.
The car halted near a lighted window and open .door, over which hung a sign in disrepair, 'The Blue Danube.' The smoky interior gave the lighting a pale, bluish cast, and disgorged a sweetish smell onto the street. A gypsy orchestra was making an intolerable racket, behind the heads of the most spurious characters of the Turkish underworld.
When Halivah suggested again that he accompany me into the den, I was tempted to let him have his way, but it would have been too risky.
"O.K., " he said, "have it your own way. If anything starts up, just whistle ... we won't be far."
I went in by a side entrance, passed a barber shaving the head of his client, a row of figures sleeping on some benches, a fez-presser, and an old phonograph. An attendant hurried up in the haze-filled vestibule, gave me a ticket with a number, and told me to wait my turn. Before I could ask him what for, he disappeared in the fog. Someone stumbled groggily out of a room, and the attendant motioned me to follow him in.
Once inside, he told me to remove my clothing.
"What is this," I asked, "another harem?"
"Sorry, No spik Inglish." He smiled. "Please." And removed my jacket.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Is it necessary to undress for a cup of coffee?"
He smiled again, nodding his head vigorously, like I had to be babied.
"Yankee joker," he grinned, pulling off my tie.
"Look, I'll settle for a dash of opium, but leave me my clothes."
"Hah, hah," he laughed. "Big joke."
"Yeh, hah, ha ... " I had to admire the alacrity with which he stripped me of my shirt, shoes, socks and trousers. Before I came out of the hypnosis, I was thrown down on a bench and he began pummeling away on my body.
"For Christ's sake, let me up," I yelled. "What kind of a coffee-house is this?"
"No kaliveh ... bath! Hah, hah."
He pounded me to a glowing crimson, grabbed me under the arm-pits, and carried me into another room, where the visibility was absolutely nil. Huge vaporous clouds of steam boiled up from a giant basin. He dumped me in unceremoniously, and left me to fend for myself in the cauldron. Weakened to exhaustion by the beating, and the enervating effect of the heat, I floated helplessly in the Dantesque setting. Had horny little devils come bobbing and dancing in the clouds, I would not have blinked an eyelash.
From far away, I seemed to hear voices, but a constant humming, as of boilers, made it impossible even to distinguish my own splashing. Something bumped against my head, and I put out a hand which touched on a familiar kind of form, round and soft, and split in two ... "that's what you call a rang-dang doo ... "
"My God," I thought, "what a fantastic country. That's the first time I ever heard of a cunt going off by itself for a bath!"
I got to my feet and tried to see something in the mist. With hands exploring before me, I waded blindly, wondering if I had been imagining things. A dark form seemed to grow ahead of me as I advanced. "By Hamoud, it IS a cunt!"
I made for the friendly floating bush like a beacon in a storm. It seemed to be moving away again.
"Hey, wait," I yelled, "don't go away!"
Either it didn't hear me, or else it had no feelings, for it kept on gliding, disappearing in the steam.
"Shit!" I grumbled. "I'll never find it again ... This place is enormous. I'll be lucky if I can get myself out."
Suddenly it hove into view again, coming from the right this time. My torpedo lunged over the waves, leaving a boiling, frothing wake in its path. The big cunt came toward it, bobbing its prow like a destroyer in high seas. Not till I was hardly a yard away did I make out the soles of a pair of feet, the toes pointed heavenward. Heart beating madly, I watched as the nub covered the last remaining inches to the gorgeous lips, and just as the big, pulsing head was about to kiss the oncoming pubis, I gave him that little extra shove designed to send him ramming decisively into the tunnel.
Instead of feeling the delicious thrill of the staff in penetration, only the water continued to lap around him. In the shock of frustration and disappointment, I saw with horror, that the mysterious cunt had disappeared! A mirage! With unbelief, rage, and a half-dozen other mixed emotions, I floundered and stared about me wildly. The veins on the shaft were knotted and twisted in agony, and the lug beat on the water like a ferocious crocodile. Am I going mad, I thought, having hallucinations in a bath! The harem life had so habituated me to a world full of cunts that a few hours' absence was enough to provoke their erotic smiles in my brain.
Frightened, and burning with a raging lust, I began to look for the way out of the fuming lake. The atmosphere, with the constant hum of the boilers and the vague, distant squealing of the gypsy orchestra from no particular direction, was becoming nightmarish. And then, I saw it again, the ghost cunt, riding the waves, beckoning like the siren's song to Ulysses.
Male pride dominated my reason, and I plunged forward in another assault. This time I grabbed at the protruding feet, and a wave of satisfaction engulfed me, as I felt they were tangible ... real. I dared not let go for fear the phantom cunt would vanish once again. Up a pair of long, solid limbs, I groped my way forward, and the giant mop basked like a large, lewd fruit, cut with a rosy stripe where its labia met at the center. I tipped my rod forward so its fat nose could smell the oyster fumes, and thrilled to a frenzy, it lugged its long snake body through the mucous walls, and pushed a quart of water up ahead into the vagina. The relief I felt was superb. My unknown, unseen partner let forth a sigh that echoed against the equally unseen walls, and she welled up in the trough, threatening to capsize me in her torment. Again and again, the livid blue eel slid in and out of the spacious chamber, milling in the thousand excretions of the love-greased cunt.
The' fleshy watermelon belly sunk, and reappeared, rippling with copulatory effort. Beyond it, her floating bubbles waved in crazy circles, the nipples flitting like the corks on a fishing line.
"Oh forck me!. . .Forck ... forck ... forck! Jam it in ... Oh ... " Her cries turned into a gurgling, incoherent wash. I was driving my ass hard, holding desperately onto the rolling buttocks, feeling my own heat rise above the temperature of the bath. The wicked pumping shaft burned up the oils in her twat, and the water inside reached the boiling point, escaping with each departure in fitful bursts of steam.
All about the pool I drove the lashing female, obstinately paying her back for the long, unbearable suspense that preceded our fuck. All at once I felt the sperm bags tingling with the first escape of its spray. The cream mounted up the tiny tubes and flowed into the main distributor. It gathered force and speed, shot through the long penetrator, deep inside the pulsating vagina, greedy for the taste of my fluid. Sweet electric shocks titillated along the straining length of my cock; it spat the precursory drops of sperm, and immediately the entire load gushed outward, bathing every inch of her receptacle.
No sooner had my spray flooded the thirsty muzzle, than the ruffled pleats of mucous glands began to eject their wife-sap with an inexhaustible drainage.
When I came out of the coma, I became curious to know with whom I had coupled. Taking her by the waist, I lifted her toward me, and there broke through the clouds of steam, the placid features of the Sultana.
"You!" I gasped.
"Ah, sweet man ... "
"But how did you get here?"
"Aha, that would be telling ... "
"But you told me your cunt was so shriveled!"
"It was," she smiled, ' "until I had my consultations."
"A famous gynecologist is here ... He gave me treatments. For weeks I have been taking these baths, all day long.. "
"It's miraculous," I said, "I never came on such an opening!"
:Ah, I have an expert American doctor, Dr. Chaim-Chersch."
I grabbed her shoulders with joy.
"Chaim," I shouted, "you know him! You know where he is?"
"Surely. His office is upstairs."
"How do you get out of here," I cried. "I must see him immediately!"
"What's the matter? Is your penis shrinking?"
"No, no, come, how do we get out?"
She led me to the rim and we clambered out of the bath. I noticed her great cunt was pouring sheets of murky water, like a fireman's hose, all around the tiles.
"I'll meet you in the cafe," she said.
Her wobbling ass was swallowed up in the nimbus and cummulus, Excitedly I searched for the way out in the overcast. A pair of thick, hairy arms clasped my waist, lifted me off the floor and carried me bodily out of the boiling froth into the massage room.
"No, no," I yelled, "not again!"
But the massive biceps pinned me to the massaging bench, and I was forced to undergo a second pulverisation, which nearly reduced me to an unrecognizable pulp. The obliging sadist dressed me, and charged me forty cents, American, for overtime.
ELEVEN.
More dead than alive, I stumbled down the vestibule, missing by a hair getting clipped by the barber. There was hardly a vacant table to be found amongst the swarming, sweating fellahs and run-down pashas. The orchestra was still beating its brains out, but nobody seemed to care. It was hardly possible to hear them in the ear-splitting din. Everyone seemed to be shouting at the top of his voice, and to find a waiter in that crowd seemed next to impossible. Besides which, half of them looked like waiters anyway.
The smells alone were enough to make one dizzy. Every kind of weed on this earth was burning away, whether it was rolled in the form of a cigar or packed in a pipe or cigarette paper. Meerschaums, briars, hookahs, nargilehs, fumed and sputtered their acrid, stinging trails of smoke into a muddy cloud. Unsavory sounds of chewing and spitting punctuated clipped phrases, and many a shoe and trouser leg received its share of tobacco-juice. In spite of the shoddy garments, I saw quite a few gold rings on fat stubby fingers, and expensive watch-chains draped across grease-stained vests.
It was a place where anything could happen at any moment, and I wound my way cautiously near the band. I got close enough to distinguish when they finished a number. Through the waving heads, I suddenly felt a thrill of recognition. Up on the stage, a familiar-looking bellybutton was gyrating in the middle of a massive abdomen. Though I couldn't see her face, because of a thick green veil, I knew for certain I was staring at the New Jersey midriff of Zeb's new flame, Beulah. I tried to get through to the bandstand, but the crowd was elbow-locked, tight as a drum.
When the number finished, the bellybutton vanished. The looks I was getting from certain parts of the crowd weren't very, reassuring. I began to wish I hadn't rejected Halivah's prudent advice. If I had to whistle for help, the guy standing two feet away from me wouldn't have heard it. Putting on a blase indifference, I began what I hoped would be an imperceptible retreat. A half-dozen of the malodorous thugs were wise to my move, and began a pincer movement, which would close before I had gone halfway. I didn't know whether they packed knives or guns, probably both.
The only way was down. I dropped to the floor, and beat a wriggling path through the forest of legs. They were all too jammed up to permit bending down. I caught a good number of heavy boots between my ass, but got even by jamming my teeth in the soft flesh of their calves.
A gun went off somewhere and the whole house broke out like Coney Island in a flash storm. In a second I had a lot of company in my hurried crawl for the door. Another pistol cracked, someone screamed, and the rest of the house fell on my back, everyone sliding and climbing over everyone else in a crazy confusion of tearing jackets, falling tables, tobacco drippings, and clattering bottles. A strong-smelling mustache speared my nostrils, and I watched a heavy heel compress the side of a face halfway through the shoulder blades of someone on the bottom rung. Someone else was trying to bite off a gold ring from a finger that happened by.
Miraculously, I found the wall and snaked my way to the door. The fez-presser and the barber were having their own little riot in the vestibule. The barber eliminated the top portion of the fezzes with his zipping blade, and his opponent was trying to steam his balls off with the pot-shaped iron. I didn't know it at the time, but the reason Halivah and his men hadn't shown up when the fireworks went off was because the old lecher had gone off to try and pick up some American college girls. He didn't do too badly, having fucked three of them in the back of the car ten minutes after introduction. (He wanted to take them to a hotel, but they insisted on the car because they were homesick. "Mama and Papa did it in cars ... ")
I dashed between the barber and the fez-presser and bolted down the hallway. The bath door opened, and the attendant stepped out.
"Oh Jesus," I groaned, "that maniac again!"
Sure enough, he opened wide his arms and trapped me, before I could double back.
"God damn it!" I yelled, "I've had enough baths for one day! Let me go."
He brought me inside the torture chamber and began the familiar routine.
"Is business as bad as all that?"
"Hah, hah, Yank joke ... very good."
But this time I picked up a little speed, and when he got to pulling off my shoes, I gave him one in the kisser, which sent him rolling like a ten-pin into the corner. I grabbed my jacket and made it out before he got to his feet. The hallway ended at a flight of stairs, which I took, five at a time, and literally flew through the locked door at the top.
I fell with the lumber onto a moth-eaten rug.
*****
Beulah and Zeb were sitting on the edge of the bed when I came to. I forgot my pains and tried to sit up and grab them in my arms. A violent wrenching jolted me back to the prone position.
"Take it easy, man," I heard his sympathetic voice say.
"Ohhh," I groaned, "I'm bent all over."
"Don't worry kid, nothing's broken ... not even your Charley-horse cock."
"Thank God!"
The house was shaking with the riot that was still in progress.
"What the hell did you do to those guys?" asked Zeb.
"Honest Zeb, I was just trying to get out of the joint."
"That's what you were doing the last time I saw you!"
"Leave him alone," said the motherly Beulah, tucking the covers up to my chin and trying to smooth down the tent of my crotch until she realized why it wouldn't go down.
"Yeh, you rest up, kid, and don't worry, mama and pops will take good care of you."
"Jeez," exclaimed Beulah, standing at the doorway to have a look at the pandemonium. "What a bunch of drips! Right in the middle of my number!"
"Don't take it hard, baby," said Zeb. "We'll leave this outfit for the big time."
"Yeh, the big time," she sneered. "You and your big fucking time. If I hadn't listened to your horse-shit, I'd be third from center in Minsky's today! What a fool I was to swallow that patter and throw my talent away on a booby hatch!"
"You ain't throwed no talent away, honey. You got it all, right where you always had it."
"Up your ass!"
"No, sugardoll up your cunt."
"Why you four-flushing, motha-fucka, you ain't getting any more of THIS pussy! I'm going back to Joizzy, and you can go back to your jungle!"
"Wait," I cried, "don't do anything rash. I know you're hurt, but it's all my fault. Don't take it out on Zeb."
"Champ," she said, "if it wasn't for you, I'd walk out on him right now. But I don't leave friends in the lurch ... "
"That's right honey, relax!" He turned to me. "Ain't she got a big heart, though? I told you she was a prize!
"Ahhh, Edward, Edward, Edward!" A new voice broke in.
Chaim-Chersch blew in and pinched my cheeks.
Even though I ached all over, I was as gay as a lark. Even Beulah wore off her bad spell as the happy reunion got us all talking and laughing at once. They opened up the inevitable whiskey bottle, and in a half hour we were dripping with sentiment and hiccups.
Though we tried to tie up all the events and put the puzzle together, nobody got anything straight. The gang downstairs wore themselves out, and by two in the morning, the place was as still as a church. Now and then one heard the distant singing of the late rioters as they straggled homeward.
As the moon rode its way over the minarets and domes, we fell asleep with nothing stirring but contented mice drugging themselves on opium crumbs.
Coffee was brewing on a little camp stove when I awoke. Zeb and Chaim were out, probably to pick up some rolls. Beulah was setting the table and humming a gypsy number. The sunlight beamed in my eye, like musical notes made visual. I turned on my side and watched Beulah's preparations. The enormous breast pendants hung down, swinging lazily with her movements, their weighty influence counterbalanced by the solid posterior.
"Mmmmmm," I said, "smells good."
"You up? How do you feel?"
I stretched some muscles tentatively.
"Better ... I guess I'm still in one piece."
She put down a saucer, threw back her hair, and came over to the bed. I recalled Zeb's enthusiasm, the night at Mme D.'s when they had met. His remark about a "jewel of a pussy." Just as I was wondering if I would ever get a peek at the "jewel," I saw she was toying absent mindedly with the edge of the sheets.
"Is it true about the harem, what you told us last night? Gee, I'm dying to know what it's like. That's something you can't find in Joizzy!"
"Sure it's true, even though sometimes I don't believe it myself,"
"Imagine ... a sultan ... a real live sultan!"
I told her some things about life in a harem, in the meantime caressing her plump knee, and toying with the bit of lace border that draped over it.
"Do you smoke hashish?" she asked. "Or opium?"
"We smoke everything."
My hand caught in her garter, but she didn't seem to notice, so I advanced under her skirt and felt the soft warm skin beneath. I explored her thigh, back and forth, caressing it delicately and with care. My arm moved under, up to the elbow, coming up flush with the elastic which supported her silk panties. I snapped it once or twice, then separated it from her tummy and ran my bold hand over its expansive breadth. She sat quiet as a statue, except for the intense note in her breathing, assuring me that my manual exploration was having a great success.
My fingers rolled to the Venus mound, where the tempting "jewel" lay hidden. The smoothness went all the way down to where her thighs met. Not a single pubic hair did I encounter. This surprised me, and I figured that maybe she had shaved her cunt, but there was no bristly sensation one gets from a razor. It was perfectly and naturally bald. There was a slight protuberance, a smooth little hump, just over where the crack began. It reminded me of a baby's cunt. On her, of course, it was larger, something like a third tit between her legs, slit in two where the nipple should be.
"Be careful," she whispered. "They're coming back any minute."
I separated her thighs and rolled back her dress till I could see them in the open. I wrapped my other arm around her shoulders and pulled her down on her back, lying catty-corner across me.
"I've got to see it," I murmured, feeling my prick already making preparatory jabs in the sheets.
"No, no., don't ... "
The tent swung back and forth by her waist, distracting her. It gave me an opportunity to pull on the panties, and before she could riposte, I had them sliding down to her knees, imprisoning her limbs. The "jewel" came to light, and I gazed at the marvel which had enchanted Zeb out of his mind. Ruby lips, soft as a rose petal, moistened with but a suspicion of dew, followed the enticing curve of the white promontory, where they met the V at its joining. My dark tobacco-stained fingers looked like evil satyrs gone a-whoring, as they danced lasciviously over the closed gates of love.
I kicked myself free of the sheets and stormed over the white abdomen, my blue cock looking uglier than ever, as it tapped its blubber-head against her bellybutton. My swirling curly-black crotch hair looked ten times blacker where it met the pale-pink mound. On a sudden impulse, she took the male-head in her hands and hugged him to her flesh. His knotty veins pressed stiffly into the softness. With my foot I pushed the panties from half-mast, down to her ankles, then brusquely flung them away with my toes. She moaned, and twisted her head from side to side, pressing and releasing the giant shaft, and pressing again.
My arms attempted to encompass her formidable ass, but barely managed to reach the deep crease running between the cheeks. I shoved her limbs relentlessly aside, opening her thighs like a flower greets the sun. The bludgeon slid out of her grasp, trundled his head down the promontory to the waiting gash. His wide flanged head tucked into the dark and was welcomed by the myriad glands which sopped him with their musk and sap.
It took a long time to run the monster through to the hilt. Her cunt was tight on it all the way. There wasn't an inch of him which didn't recieve its share of devoted attention as he began his labors. Her ass began to fulminate and flutter in my hands. The mattress springs reverberated under the blows. Each time the slimy cock came out, it drew the gurgling, babbling goo along with it. Her backbone clicked and clacked as she went through a horizontal version of the bellydance. From soft pianissimo, the battle grew to loud fortissimo, her legs out wildly in the air, jerking her pelvis in time to mine. Not even the mythical hammer of old John Henry ever rained such blows as the ones my penis-head let fall in her womb. The big titties wobbled and slapped against my hairy chest, the perspiration poured out of a million pores, and the fragile bed began to suffer and groan from the beating. She heaved upward all of a sudden, poised her buttocks in the air, gasped, and let them fall with a crash. I came down on her, firing out of my barrel, and the bed collapsed with a groan.
Together we rolled onto the floor, my cock sliding out in a shower of sperm. We lay there, panting and sweating, holding each other's overheated organ, until we heard the street door open and footsteps in the hallway.
"God! Get up. Here they come!"
When Zeb and Chaim came in, I was lying under the sheets once more, in a bed whose ends almost joined over my head. Beulah's panties lay incriminatingly on one of the posts. She was pulling the teltale creases out of her skirt and trying to operate the camp-stove at the same time.
"What the hell happened here?" asked Zeb.
"He had a fit ... or a nightmare. I thought he would kill himself! Foamed all over the mouth and danced on the bed like a maniac. What a scare he gave me, but he seems all right now."
Zeb looked at her with narrowed eyes, then at me, at the sperm covered floor, and the lonely panties hanging on the bed.
"Oh them," she said. "They stink, and I don't have another pair."
Chaim had his own ideas but he didn't say anything about them.
"Let's eat. I'm starved."
Zeb sat down, pushing his top-hat on the back of his dome and scratched his head.
"That was some fit ... if he had a fit."
"You look here, Zeb," she yelled, "if I have to put up with another of your jealous scenes, I'm clearing out!"
"Easy, baby, I didn't say anything, did I? Just remarking how it's some fit, that's all."
"Yeah," agreed Chaim," I bet it was a real good fit ... like hand in glove."
"Now wait a minute," cried Zeb. "We ain't seen nothing ... what I don't see, I don't believe. So skip it!"
"Insinuations ... always insinuations," Beulah grumbled as she poured the coffee. "If you don't trust me, why'd you bring me here?"
"Sure I trust you, honey. Did I ever say I didn't? Whatta we arguing about?"
"O.K., then. Drink your coffee and shut up."
"Maybe we ought to wake him up ... see how he is."
Chaim came to the mangeled bed and kneeled down to tap me on the shoulder.
"Hey, Champ, you alright? Want to get up? Breakfast is on."
I rolled over and crawled out of the tipsy furniture, got to my feet before I realized my shining cock was waving in the breeze, running thick with sperm.
TWELVE.
The three of us sat on the terrace of a cafe, shielded from the broiling sun by a tattered red and white awning. Beulah had pleaded washing and other household duties to remain in the room. Zeb cocked his hat, lit up a havana, and grinned at me slyly.
"Son-of-a-bitch," he said. "You think I don't know?"
"Why don't you hit me, Zeb? Well both feel better."
"You already fucked part of my household! If it was someone else, it'd be different: I'd cut his throat. But we're like brothers ... Besides," he added, his eyes glinting, "I been making my own little projects about that harem ... "
"Yeh," interposed Chaim, studying the tail-end of a female pedestrian. "When you taking us out to your fleshpad?"
"I don't know the way back. Halivah was supposed to pick me up last night. That's why I wanted to get outside. Maybe we'll see him around."
"Take a look at this." From his coat-pocket, Zeb produced a wrinkled telegram.
"HOLD EVERYTHING STOP ARRIVING 19TH
STOP S.S. SCH'MO STOP HAVE YOU FOUND CHAMPDICK STOP BEST. DESILVA."
"Fantastic woman!"
"What's today?" I asked.
"The ship arrives today, this afternoon!" exclaimed Chaim-Chersch.
"Imagine that old girl taking off like that ... just for us," said Zeb, rubbing his palms together.
"You mean for him," corrected Chaim, "for another bite of his candy stick."
"I bet that's the longest trip anyone ever made just for a piece of ass."
"You're both jealous," I said.
"Hell," cried Zeb, "I know I ain't big ... but Use puissant!"
"By the way," I asked Chaim, "whatever happened to your friend, Tushka? I expected to see her here showing the Turks what an American belly can do."
"Ach, don't speak to me about that bag!. . . "
"She took a powder," answered Zeb. "Ran out on him with an official of the Bulgarian railway."
"Whore!" sobbed Chaim, glaring viciously at nothing in particular. "A whore! That was no official, he wasn't even a porter ... He swept the cars!"
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Never mind, forget it. She's a bag, not worth thinking about. When I think what I could have done with her, if she had any brains!"
"With a stomach like hers, she didn't need brains," quipped Zeb.
"Anyway, good riddance," declared Chaim. "That girl was a pervert!"
"What was her line?" I inquired.
"Shit. She had to have a nice steamy turd squeezed through her tits, or else she didn't feel a thing. I tell you, it was something awful. Every time I shit on her I used to reach up for the chain. I couldn't even wipe my ass ... she insisted on cleaning it up with her tongue. If you ain't used to that kind of thing it's mighty uncomfortable. A wet ass-hole ... Brr ... I hated it!"
"But if you obliged her, I don't see why she ran away?"
"It was on account of she happened to look out the window when the train stopped. That guy was taking a shit in the bushes, and she saw him. I don't know what they eat in Bulgaria, but he had a different color turd ... It caught her imagine ... must have been pancake brown, I guess, slightly golden on the tips ... who knows? Anyway, she spotted it and, her heart was won. She ran out to the train with only a small suitcase."
"But why didn't you stop her, Chaim?" I asked. "You were right there!"
"That's the trouble! Shit again! I wasn't. I had a bad case of diarrhea, which caused a lot of bad blood between us. And when this thing happened I was in the W.C."
"But what burns him most is, the thought that he was drooling from his bowels just as she was going by."
"Yeah, her last words were: 'Goodbye, Mr. Milkturd'. . . "
"Stop it, you're killing me ... Oh, my stomach!"
"Let's talk about something else," sighed Chaim.
"I would like to know now what really happened at Mme D.'s after I conked out."
"Way I figure it," said Zeb, "one of them cunts was a mata hari-international spy. There were a million coppers around that house when we got to the street ... "
"No, no," interrupted his friend, "no politics involved! That was a vice squad. Someone phoned in a complaint. Only those birds had never seen anything like it before. Instead of rushing the party, they were all watching from the outside, beating their meat."
An outlandishly-colored limousine turned a corner and headed our way.
"Isn't that one of yours?" I called to Zeb.
The big car hummed by in a cloud of carbon monoxide. I had a fleeting glimpse of the balloon-cheeked Sultan in the rear.
"Stop thief!" yelled Zeb, nearly overturning the table.
The car lurched to one side and disappeared at the next intersection. Chaim got up and chased after Zeb's flying robes. The top-hat remained perched in its perpetual diagonal slant, an integral part of Zeb's cranium.
I dropped some coins on the table and joined the race. After a wild run I caught up with them by an alleyway leading to the waterfront. All of us were puffing and wheezing like overburdened freighters.
"That was Halivah," I said, "so don't worry about it, you'll get your car back."
"It's the only one I got left! I sold the others to finance our trip."
A steamer whistle whooped over the water. Chaim looked at his watch, clutched at our sleeves and ran us down to the wharf. The S.S. SCH'MO was gliding into the bay, led by a couple of grunting tugs.
"Edward! ... Yoo hoo ... Edward!"
"There she is!" cried Zeb, dancing up and down like a kid. "Hello baby! Welcome to Istanbul!"
Mme D. nearly broke her neck sliding down the gangplank. She was followed by Charlotte Macline and Elizabeth. Twenty or thirty tall American girls, loaded with hat-boxes and minuscule valises, trailed in their wake, all laughing and talking at once. Charley's ugly head weaved down in their midst.
"Christ," I said, "she brought the whole Lacewell building along with her!"
The shining chromium radiator of Zeb's car shot out of an alley, and headed toward us at a cool ninety miles an hour. Just in time, we jumped aside, as its flashy frame flew through our midst and jerked to a stop.
As Mme. D. plunged into my waiting arms, Halivah's white turban joined the sea of humanity running down the gangway. He was rubbing his hands briskly, observing every one of the choice occidental specimens gathering on the pier. The confusion was so bad I couldn't make introductions properly but nobody seemed to care. One would call to another, "C'mere, looka that," others milled around shaking hands, clapping backs, embracing each new acquaintance. A crate of champagne was pulled out of the trunk of Zeb's car, and in two minutes we had a wild wharf party in full heat. Zeb discovered Tushka cowering in the back seat, and dragged her out. Halivah grew indignant, and Chaim wanted to know how the hell his girlfriend made it back from Bulgaria so fast.
"She's a pick-up," Halivah confided in me. "I didn't know she was connected with your friends."
"You better explain it to Chaim," I said. "And what about the car? You picked up a lot of things last night."
"It is such a beautiful car, I couldn't resist ... I'll make it up to your friend."
"Edward my dear, who is this charming sheik? Aren't you going to introduce us?"
Halivah swung his turban to the ground in salutation. His suave oriental manners won him over immediately in the affable woman's affections, and they strolled along the quay, discussing the view. Everyone else was imbibing on the bottles, flinging them into the drink when they emptied.
Charley came round and shoved a pile of newspaper clippings in my pocket.
"Hey, pal, let's go have a look at your whorehouse!"
"Who are all the dames?" I asked.
"Fifth Avenue models. Mme D.'s idea. I think she wants to modernize the country, or else have her girls get an idea on how "to look sexy and slinky ... the oriental touch."
"I better warn her to keep them under lock and key. There's a big demand around here for white pussy. If any of them gets lost, you can say goodbye to her."
After the last champagne bottle went overboard, we piled into a dozen cabs and followed the brilliant limousine to the harem. There were plenty of rooms for everyone and the women were all atingle as the hospitable Odalisques showed them through the apartments. Zeb and Chaim and Charley stopped in the inner court and surveyed my kingdom with admiration.
"It's a worthy place for a guy with a cock like his," said Zeb.
Charlotte and Elizabeth appeared on the balcony overhead and began weaving their hips at us.
"Whyn'cha come up and see us some time, Big Boy?"
I was about to answer something when suddenly a giant eunuch grabbed Charlotte from behind and disappeared with her kicking her legs and beating fists. We tore into the building and began a search for the beautiful victim. For twenty minutes the hallway rang with our footsteps, yet none of us succeeded in finding her.
"I know who's responsible for this," fumed the Sultan. "It's too bad his prick is already cut off, or I'd have the pleasure of doing it myself."
"But if he's castrated," interposed a perplexed Mme D., "what can he possibly want with her?"
"Chere Madame, I used to wonder about him myself, until one day I caught him with some French postcards. It completely deranged him, and ever since then he's mad about playing "sixty-nine." I have often made use of his abilities, for it must be said in all truth that he has a magnificent tongue, and that he can perform in a most skillful manner."
"Please, please, find the brute," she begged.
"Leave it to me, honey," he answered, taking her familiarly about the waist. "I'll have him drawn and quartered for this outrage."
The search began again, reminding me of the night I fled the pursuing Sultana. It was I who found them, in an obscure toilet. Charlotte was squatting up on a box, her skirts held high in her hands. Between her outspread thighs, the bushy head of the eunuch was burrowing fervently, whipping his tongue lasciviously in her snatch. At the sight of her tightly shut eyes and the passionate torment on her face, I nearly backed out in confusion. She was just on the verge of coming, and I felt a certain annoyance at being a witness to such intimacy. Before I could make a move however, her eyes opened, and the shock brutally contracted the powerful muscles of her cunt. The invading tongue was locked in her crotch-jaw, unable to move. The maddening pain drove the eunuch out of his mind, and he foolishly yanked on the appendage. His jaw slammed down on the box, driving his upper and lower incisors through the tongue's flesh. When he opened his mouth to let out a chilling scream, half of his tongue remained lodged where he had inserted it, deep in Charlotte's cunt.
The terrified woman began to piss, but instead of the normal hydrant jet, the liquid barely eeked through the meat obstruction. The eunuch rose up with a mouth streaming red, his eyes rolling in their sockets like two balls of fire. He was a hideous sight, and I backed away shuddering with horror. Before I had made a full step, he turned on me with an ugly dirk and slashed it downward, through my trousers. A burning pain shot through my pelvis, followed by blood spraying through my fly. Charlotte fainted dead away, toppling off the box, into the pool of blood. The next instant my face drained white, and my body dropped heavily over hers.
The others arrived in time to save me from any future knife treatment. The culprit was overpowered and thrown into a cell. Charlotte and myself were carried into a bedroom for immediate attention. Halivah rescued the missing portion of my penis which dropped out of my trouser leg, intending to keep it as a talisman.
THIRTEEN.
The foul disaster plunged the entire community into sadness. The high spirits and joy of welcome gave way to an oppressive gloom which spared no one its heavy weight. Chaim-Chersch took charge immediately by right of his extensive medical knowledge. Under his directions the bedroom was converted into a sleek, efficient surgical room. Servants were kept running to and fro with urns and pitchers of hot, scalding water. Sheets were torn up to serve as dressing.
When I regained consciousness, he was sitting by my side, feeling my pulse. Everything came reeling back in my head, and I tried to sit up and see what had happened. He gently pushed me back.
"Don't look," he said, "it's better not to see."
"But Doc," I cried, "I've got to know. It's gone, isn't it? The bastard trimmed me good."
"Be calm," he ordered, "I'm thinking."
"I can't stand it, Doc, you got to tell me how I stand. Don't you realize what it means?"
"I know, I know," he mumbled, nodding his head gravely. "Who doesn't know?"
"Give it to me straight ... Am ... Am ... I finished?" He didn't answer right away.
"Doc, for Christ's sake, tell me. What did the bastard leave me?"
"Hmm ... I suppose you got a right to know that; I'm just saying, don't jump to any conclusions yet. He took off about half your tube."
"Half!" I screamed. "Oh God, I'm done for. I'm all washed up."
"Not so fast. He swiped you funny ... it ain't cut off. One part of it's trimmed. We may be able to do something about it."
"Oh God, what can you do? It's all over for me! No more fucking and sucking, screwing and blowing! He made me a eunuch, like himself!"
He sent for an opium pipe to calm me down. All the rest of the day he stayed with me, refusing entrance to anyone else. The pains grew less and less frequent as the drug took its effect. By nightfall, I was completely subdued and capable of listening to his reflections.
"Champ," he said, "you have one good chance. Plastic surgery."
"Go on. I'm willing to try anything."
"You see, you still got most of the tube and half of the head. If I can get the flesh somewhere, a little bit of sculpture is all that's needed."
"Really, Doc, is it possible?"
"Sure it's possible. Lots of guys had it done during the war. If you knew how many of them are slapping asses with plastic balls in their bags, with reconstructed roots made of almost anything living? And I mean, they can really throw a good fuck!"
"Where we gonna get the meat from, Doc?"
"That's the problem ... but I think I have the answer."
Sure that at last I was calm enough to be left alone awhile, he went to consult with the Sultan. Donators were needed to supply the flesh. He explained that the most preferable would be meat from another cock, but no man could be asked to make such a sacrifice. On the other hand, the second best would be to use the female clitoris.
"Ah, say no more," said Halivah, his face lighting up. "We shall call upon my women, they will be happy to do it for him."
The Odalisques were assembled in the inner court, and briefly, Halivah explained what was needed to save my cock.
"I am not ordering anyone, just asking for volunteers."
The response was overwhelming. Every single hand went up, offering its owner's tiny organ for my salvation.
"What did I tell you?" exulted the Sultan. "They know what they're doing!"
"Fine, fine," said the doctor. "Arrange to have them up to the operating room tomorrow at nine."
The line of Odalisques, waiting to have their miniature penis removed, extended out of the room, down the hallway, all the way into the court. Chaim worked all morning long, taking a short break for lunch and a shot of whiskey with me, then resumed his labors far into the late afternoon. I got a few extra contributions from some unsuspecting sources. A group of tourists showed up, and the female members of the party, curious about the line of Odalisques, joined them, and before they realized what was happening, were let out minus their interior appendage.
By five o'clock he had collected enough of them in a tall pickle jar to plan the operation. The only anesthetic available was opium, so he had me smoking pipe after pipe, until I drifted off into outer space. For what he called "poetic justice" he used the very blade that had caused my misfortune. He worked in his shirt sleeves all night long, under the flaming glare of half a hundred oil lamps.
When dawn shone pink through the filigree, he lay down his instruments and surveyed the result. Unable to restrain his enthusiasm and pride, he woke me from my groggy slumber and showed me his handiwork.
Never had my eyes gazed on a more terrifying object. The more so, since it formed a part of my own personal possessions. The only thing that saved me from shock was the remaining deadness from the opium fumes.
"What is it?" I asked feebly. "I never saw anything like it in my life!"
My words crushed him, for he was expecting me to gush out in praise. He sat down, sullen, as if I had insulted his mother.
"You don't like it," he said slowly, painfully, "I can see you don't like it."
How could anybody like a thing like that, I thought to myself. My prick was nestled between my legs, hunched up in accordion-like folds. On each crest, a hard little nodule stuck forth, giving the ensemble the general impression of a rhinoceros hide suffering from a bad case of hives. It lay limp and flabby, like a pile of used rubbers.
"You did your best," I said, coldly. "At least it's repaired ... and you got rid of the swelling."
"You don't like it," he repeated, on the point of tears. "You don't like it, and don't realize what you got. I'd give my eyes teeth for a prick like that. You got a built-in French-tickler, all the way round, made out of a harem's worth of the finest clitoris in the world. You got an epidermis to drive a woman mad on sight, not to speak about when it gets inside her. Look at that beautiful head, flanged with the tiny, female heads! You don't realize what you got!"
"Doc," I said flatly. "Let's face it. It's ugly! It's repulsive, repugnant, hateful, deformed, warped, misshapen ... absolutely sickening. I was better off with half a cock than with this abortion you hung between my balls."
"By the Crescent of Turkey, I swear to you, this is the beginning of your careeer! No human being ever boasted a torture club with such power! But it has more than mere force! You don't know as much as I do about the female organ to be able to appreciate what I'm saying. You'll drive them mad! Mad! Mad!"
"O.K., Doc, O.K. I'd like to sleep now, if you don't mind."
Poor Chaim-Chersch. He walked, or rather, slumped out of the room, a despondent misunderstood surgeon-artist. I had too much feeling for him to say more, and just wanted to be alone in my misery. He had done his best and I wanted the whole thing to be forgotten. Already I was planning to leave the harem quietly, during the night, and avoid the shame and ridicule which would inevitably follow the revelation.
I fell asleep and was assailed by nightmarish visions of huge primeval beasts with elongating, ugly pustular necks stretching toward me, fronted by vile heads, ringed with a thousand quivering penis-shapes. A dream that would have done justice to the most cock-starved old-maid on this earth.
It was noon when I awoke, sweating coldly in the damp, uncomfortable sheets. Chaim had been back and had thoughtfully wrapped the mangled thing in bandages. By two o'clock I began to receive sympathetic visitors. They brought flowers and boxes of candy, and I tried my best to appear calm and hopeful; but my smile had a nasty twist at the edge which escaped no one. Even Zeb was unable to shake off my despondency, and he left, nervously chewing on a dead stogie.
They probably suspected I had ideas of taking off, for they placed two eunuchs, the very sight of which was enough to raise my temperature outside my door. The weeks went by, and every day Chaim came to examine his baby, and secretly checked to see if I had changed my mind.
One day he looked at me solemnly, and said, "Well, sport, it's all healed. A-One shape. You feel like trying it out?"
Though I had grown used to my fate, his words stirred up a glimmer of hope. I got up from the bed and went with him out to the court. Everyone was there, for he had told them in advance he expected me to be as good as new. No one spoke as I entered the yard. A nervous hush of expectancy clamped silence on every lip. I advanced to the middle of the court and turned to face them. The Odalisques were squatting in a semi-circle, five rows deep. Behind them I saw Charley, tense and drawn. Next to him was Mme D., supporting herself on Halivah's massive shoulder. Charlotte was holding her hands over her face, and the trembling hand of Elizabeth tried to comfort her. Zeb was frowning, trying to light up a cigar, but kept burning his fingers and throwing the matches away. I looked at them, grouped like a graduating class posing for its picture, then suddenly threw open my robe and revealed the blight between my legs.
Not a sound escaped from the petrified lips. Chaim turned white as a ghost and leaned against the wall, holding his head in despair. I felt a wicked thrill of revenge at his misery. The mangled root hung down like a rubber concertina, almost touching my knees. Many of the women turned their heads away, unable to bear the sight. To everyone, including myself, it looked like the end of my reign.
"Where would you get such a mistaken idea?" Marianne asked, looking at Hugh unsmilingly.
Zeb cornered the Sidtan and whispered rapidly in his ear. Halivah nodded, then clapped his hands. He gave some orders, and in a flash the musicians arrived, took up their instruments, and the first-string belly dancers leaped to the fore. They danced like the fires of hell were licking their groins. The frenetic tempo beat on our senses, inflamed our blood while the weaving torsos spelled out the voluptuous insinuations of the act of love. Dark eyes riveted me with their lewd stares as the downy abdomens swept in unbelievable gyrations. My groin seemed to swell with heat as I observed the dance. Slowly, majestically, the crumpled hose began to pump and rise. Every ounce of energy I possessed was surging into the erotic glands and corpuscles, red and white, blue and green, doubling and tripling their volume. The ugly nodules drew further apart on the rising shaft. Hormones delivered their magic secretions through the intricate ducts of the amorous glands, and the massive rod suddenly stiffened in all its splendor. The head poised in the wind like a male god.
En masse they flew from their places and endeavored to be the first to welcome back the king. Chaim stared at the shaft with wonder, his eyes filling with happy tears. Mme D. rushed from the Sultan and was followed by a wild eyed Charlotte and stuttering Elizabeth.
Zeb threw his top-hat in the air, which was the first time I had ever seen it leave his head, and gave out the tribal cry of triumph. Even the eunuch who had tried to butcher me, peered out of his cell in awe.
Drunken elation swept my dreadful gloom aside, and I jammed through the crowd to where Charlotte was trying to force her way through grabbed her and stripped her naked, hurling every one of her garments into the lustful faces that ringed us in. Though her face was colorless, her eyes betrayed the singular emotion that had her tense, waiting for the brutal attack. The wicked lizard lapped at her cunt hairs, discovered the crack, and bore in his knobby head and clitoris-studded staff. A million strange, peppery, biting thrills, twinged and twanged along the intricate nerve system Chaim had installed. Her cunt lips stretched up and down, sidewards and backwards, as the strange organ dug into her funnel. I felt him clipping his female nubs against the mucus-ridges that swooned with rapture. He touched on every minuscule particle of her senses, and in three powerful lunges she discharged a flow that didn't cease, even when I removed his pulsating body.
I took her friend, Elizabeth, in tow, and stuck her gash, veiled with panties, dragging inside three-quarters of her snazzy nylon unmentionables. She exploded as soon as the enormous ridge of his head tripped back the volatile head of her clitoris.
From then on it was pure mayhem in the courtyard. No sooner had the incredible tool passed through the sensitive lips, that each and everyone of them let out the sensuous froth of her passion. Chaim dropped his trousers to the tiles, and beating his chest with pride, tickled the titties of a beautiful model who lifted her skirts and danced a farandole around his grubby cock. Zeb entered the fray by buggering Mme D. when she stooped to pick up a lost garter.
"Keep up that playing!" ordered Halivah to his drooling musicians. "I like music when I fuck."
He took Mme D. by the front, not even realizing the African King was drilling her bowels from behind. The gate opened, and the English tourists appeared, punctual as ever, for five o'clock tea.
"Good heavens, dear," said one in a bowler hat, "they'll never get this film past the censors!"
"George," said his wife, "do you suppose they need any stand-ins?"
George didn't have a chance to give his opinion. Zeb had broken loose from Mme D.'s buxom spheres, and arriving unseen, was tossing the frill and fluff of George's wife's under things helter-skelter, all over George. By the time he had removed enough of the silk and nylon to see what was happening, his wife was slamming her ass vigorously in time with Zeb's heated blows.
"I say!" he fumed, "what is the meaning of this? Why this is an outrage!"
"Deborah! Why! Dammed if the bloody woman isn't out of her mind!"
"Come off it, Georgie," answered his sweating wife. "Go get yourself a piece of ass, and leave off badgering an honest woman ... Oof, that was a hard one!"
"I told you so," he said turning to a gawking companion, "I told you there's far too much liberty in the East."
"Well," answered his friend, unbuttoning his pants, "what have you against liberty?"
He disappeared amongst a group of fornicators.
George attempted to remove his wife by force from the King's embrace, but he was first bitten in the hand by the exasperated woman and then flung to the ground by a eunuch. He watched terror-stricken as the giant kneeled over him and undid his fly. The bowler hat rolled to the wall as his cock disappeared in the cavernous mouth.
I shouted across the yard to Hilivah, asking him to release the tongue-less prisoner. He was brought out and stripped in front of me. I told him to turn around and bend over. A horrendous scream panicked the crowd when the terrible weapon lanced his bowels and made hash of his intestinal track. Writhing in agony, he attempted to escape, but the outspread flanges of the penis-head held tight against the rictus wall. I plunged in again mercilessly and drove him to his knees.
"O.K., get up. I don't have any taste for your shit!"
He rose, a pitiful sight, floundered through the mad riot and escaped through the half-open gate. He didn't fare much better outside the harem walls as he was picked up two miles outside the city and clapped in jail for indecent exposure.
When Zeb relieved himself on the puffing Deborah, Charley leaped into view, brandishing his turgid cock in her face.
"Sure," she said. "Go ahead, that dark man came too soon for me."
In his haste, he overwhelmed her, knocked her down, next to George, who was about to spread his sperm in the eunuch's mouth.
"I say, dear, do you think it really is a film after all?"
"Film!" Charley butted in, prying apart her snatch and feeling with his cock for the target. "Why, Ma'am, this is the living, burning moment. Live it!"
George went out like a light as the eunuch gobbled up his sperm.
The sensitive Odalisques began to complain of a chill as the evening sun settled below the cypress trees.
One by one, people left the courtyard, wiping their streaming organs with odd bits of clothing. Everyone headed intuitively for the famous bedroom. Halivah ordered up a banquet to be served in bed, and when the last stragglers heard that, they finished in a flurry for all were feeling the pangs of hunger.
At least a hundred silver platters, laden with steaming dishes, spiced meats and fine wines, made up the biggest dinner ever served in bed. The plates were passed around from one squatting or reclining figure to another. The court musicians strummed the plaintive songs of the Orient, looking on from the doorway with the inscrutable mask of the East.
The Sultana had been laid up with a chest cold, but left her sick-bed to join the revelers.
"I haven't seen your new outfit," she said coyly, taking a pickle from my plate.
"Have a look," I answered, moving the meat on my platter away from her greedy hands.
"It's really impressive isn't it?"
I thought she was only going to give it a little kiss of homage, but her big mouth gulped in the head and swallowed him in, the way she had done when we first met.
"Be careful, will you?" someone said. "Your foot is right in my plate."
When the lug squeezed through to her stomach, everyone stopped eating to watch. Her legs went out straight, parallel with the ground, like a trapeze artist hanging by his teeth in the air.
"Deborah," exclaimed George, "just look at that!"
"Honey," said his wife, a little piqued, "if you were hung like that guy, so help me, I'd do the same."
"Nobody has a prick like that!" he answered.
Chaim and one of the Odalisques playfully grabbed the Sultana's rigid form and swung her forward and back along the shaft as if she were a battering ram. We could follow the passage of the prick by the bumping and jolting of her neck and spine. Zeb leaped over the platters and drew up between her legs, where her ass-hole gaped out at the world. He let her hole get his shaft on the rebound.
The orchestra obliged us by pitching into a Kazotsky. Charlotte kneeled under Zeb's artillery and swathed his ebony balls with her tongue. Charley, who had long been burning to fuck the lingerie woman, at last found his opportunity and caught her up, dog-style. His ass wasn't in the breeze very long before Halivah struck him such a blow with his cock, it nearly spilled the rest of them over me. Fortunately I had the wall not far behind to brace myself against her weight.
Mme D. wanted to give Chaim a blow job because there didn't seem to be any more available organs on the mass which hung off my prick, beginning with the Sultana and ending with the Sultan.
This latter grew jealous when he saw his new favorite making up to another man, and he released his grip and tackled her just as she was about to suck on the penis. They tangled in Zeb's feet and he lost his balance. The next instant, all of us keeled over in a wriggling mass, cocks throbbing in air, beating on stomachs and buttocks, searching hungrily for the wet, juicy cunts.
Now that their stomachs were satisfied, the guests were stimulated anew, and following our example, fell into each other's arms to recommence the orgy in style. Eunuchs stepped gingerly over the waving mattress, spraying musk and lighting incense in the comers. The copper lanterns swayed rhythmically over our heads, throwing tiny beads of red and blue lights over the naked flesh.
From far off across the bay, a steamer whistle blew a departing signal to the twinkling lights that ringed the Golden Horn. The nightingale in the garden answered its melancholy note with his brilliant variations and trills. None of this outdoor concert was heard in the heated interior, where men and women were tossing in copulatory transport, passionately devouring the sensual bliss and ecstasy of their bodies' contact. Long after the distant hum of the city had dropped off into slumber, the Harem's lights still glowed, and the orgasmic groans continued to emanate beyond the walls, humiliating the blinking nightingale into silence.
