With the publication of "The Sexocrats", the young author who is a member of the English landed gentry was reviled on all sides as "one of the most immoral traitors to his class since Oscar Wilde". This daring expose of perverse sex practices indulged in by the upper classes and nobility all over Europe shocked the critics. This censors' ban both in England and France attempted to stop the sale of the book, but it nevertheless had a wide and notorious underground circulation.
Some of the sexual aberrations described in the unusual characters encountered in the story can perhaps be clarified by these statements by the psychoanalyst, Dr. A. Berndorff:
"Lady Helen informed me that she often had sexual relations with two women during the same period of time. Her so-called 'twosomes' with women never lasted more than a month or so. She informed me that for some reason she never trusted blondes and could never have an orgasm with one. She would go to the cinema with two girls and go into the rest room with one and bring her to a climax by orally manipulating her vagina. Then returning to her seat, she would manually masturbate the other girl until she too had a climax. Upon returning home, she would submit to oral anal and vaginal stimulation by both girls simultaneously and this would induce her orgasm.
"She was also going out with Lord M., a prominent member of the government married to someone else. She stated that she had intercourse with him the second night they met and that it was a normal couplation. Afterwards she submitted to anal insertion of Lord M.'s penis. She asserted that this proved his homosexual tendencies and that anal intercourse was unpleasant for her. Of course, this was just an excuse since she preferred the love of her own sex.
"It is interesting to note that subsequently in her psychoanalyis Lady M. admitted that she would let her female lovers insert dildoes into her anus if they wished....."
These actual excerpts from the case-histories of a famous European analyst, Dr. A. Berndorff, prove that real life facts of sexual perversion are even more startling than fiction. In any event "The Sexocrats" is bound to broaden the reader's knowledge of current sex phenomena among Europe's upper classes considerably.
Continental Classics presents this dramatic story in its complete and unexpurgated form. This book is recommended only for the graduate student or the mature adult reader because of the nature of it theme.
Allan Saunders, M. A." New York City March, 1968
Archive Note: The large number of misspellings present in the original pocketbook are faithfully reproduced in this text. No attempt whatsoever has been made to correct those misspelled or misused words.
CHAPTER 1
Gay beneath its colour scheme of cream and green. the luxury bus seemed to be a part of Spring itself.
Sunshine flashed and coruscated from its immaculat paintwork.
The Corona Tour bus moved down the winding pais of the Vorarlberg. At the wheel, relaxed and competent, sat the driver. His name, on his travel documents, was 1st van. Istvan Lavoipierre. Nationality : Swiss.
Istvan smiled when he thought of it. Istvan. A name What was a name? He had many names, this big, genial, easy-going man. He had as many names as he had had loads of passengers. The Italians called him Stefano. To the English and to the Americans he was Steve.. Big Steve. Good old Steve. To the French he became Stefan. If he happened to be driving tourists from th Balkans he heard them calling him Stoyan.
But on his papers it said: Istvan.
He had switched the radio on, not so much for the music as for the silence that music permitted. Conversational silence, that is-because his bus, at that stage, was empty of tourists.
It carried only the Greek-born hostess-guide, Althea.
In the balm of the forenoon sun she sat in the seat across the engine-cowling between herself and her driver, Istvan. One thigh was slung over the armrest. Her skirt was bunched around her middle. Her right leg was thrust straight out against the bulkhead.
The June sun was warm and aphrodisiac Althea, exquisite creature of Nature herself, often felt sexy when in motion. She was randy now. It was pleasant dreamily to sit, bathing her cunt in the sun's heat.
For this reason she had exposed herself, splaying her thighs, offering those exquisite columns to the caress of the sparkling, dancing sunlight.
Istvan could see the spread of her pubic hair, closemuted, triangled beneath the wispy transparency of the white net nylon panties she wore.
She was beyond his reach. She seemed oblivious ot the effect she was having on her driver, lost in some private fantasy.
From time to time, beneath the nylon net, her labia would twitch deliriously, provoking I stvan to the very limit sit of endurance.
That is why he had switched on the radio. The music, he had hoped, would provide a diversion. He knew that conversation would have been fatal. To have, spoken to Althea then, would have meant entering her thoughts and to have shared her thoughts would have meant sharing her mood as well. And it was this that Istvan. busy with his driving, was striving to avoid.
He frowned in (concentration as he realised that Althea was proving, with every passing kilometre, far too distracting. Eyes closed in her rapture, she now bad one glorious thigh slung over each of the armrests of her seat. Istvan might not even have been there-and that is what provoked him most. She had reclined the backrest to its maximum and, dreamily asprawl, she had begun to finger herself through the glistening moisture of her panties. Every so often the would twitch in a little jerk of randy pleasure as her clitoris reacted to the stimulation she was affording it.
It was this-the deliberation of her sexual reverie-that fascinated Istvan.
Damn the girl, he thought Why couldn't she hurry herself to her orgasm, if that was what she was after? Of what could she be thinking, asprawl there in her seat, that she could be so deliberate, so dispassionate in her drawn-out, delicious orgy of self-gratification ? Of which touring-bus driver out of the many with whom she had ridden could she possibly be thinking now?
Istvan would have been delighted could he have known the thoughts of his beautiful guide at that precise moment. For they were thoughts intimately concerning Istvan himself; thoughts of the previous evening together in their hotel overlooking the night-time loveliness of Lucerne's lake.
Now she had slipped her fingers down inside the waistband of her panties, the better to savour their contact with her cunt. With blissful deliberation she kept the center finger upon her clitoris, allowing the others to probe idly through her generous bush of curling, virile cunt-hair.
In the welter of mucous from her vagina she found adequate lubrication to set those fingers feeling up her labia, darting in and out of her vagina itself, or dancing lightly all together upon her now-rampant clitoris.
But she was in no .hurry to experience the orgasm that was so near.
Idly, the better to savour the delight of her fantasy, she had opened her uniform shirt-blouse, and with her free band she was busy tweaking the rockhard nipple of her ample, unbrassiered breast.
The sight of that bosom, rosy and soft-textured, proved the last straw for Istvan. So well he remembered it from the previous evening, that his palms, firm upon the wheel, were nevertheless still able to transmit its firm softness up his arms and into his thoughts. Within the confines of his fly bis penis was now fully erect as be stole glances at the delectable woman on bis right. Nor could he discipline this prick of his a moment longer. By God, he thought, but she was lovely! And it was not that she was abandoned, or in any way coarse, as she lay back there. Not Althea! She was just so supremely a child of Nature. What she was doing to herself now was the simple act of securing relief. She was acting as naturally as she would have acted had she squatted to take a piss for the relief of a distended bladder.
Unable to endure the sight any longer, Istvan snapped off the radio button. There was silence in the bus, sudden and stark. Althea opened her eyes and sent a languorous glance towards her driver.
"For Christ's sake," she heard him say. "How can I go on driving, when you provoke me so?"
He tore at the buttons of his trousers. His penis, red and engorged, sprang magnificently into view, freed of the worsted that threatened to snap it in the frenzy of his desire for the body of the woman.
"Look!" he cried.
Althea looked. Looking, she remembered. Last night... Its entire randy length, plunged up to its very hilt into her crotch. And then she became all sudden, sweet feminine concern.
"Poor Istvan," she murmured. "I had no idea. Forgive me, 1 beg of you."
She immediately ceased frigging herself. But Istvan, knowing her sacrifice, broke in:
"Don't stop. Oh God, Althea, I know how dose you must be to coining. It's just-just that the sight of you was too much for me. You're so utterly lovely-so bloody natural!"
Althea raised her eyebrows quizzically, maddeningly.
"How else then?" she said in surprise. "I was thinking of us... last night, together there in Lucerne. It was so lovely, Istvan. And the motion of the bus-and then, there's the sun, so warm-and I got randy again. That's all there is to it."
"Forgive me," he implored. "It's just that... that the sight of you, lost like that in what you were thinking about, was too damn much for me. You'll never know, kitten, how exciting you are-how bloody provocative you can be."
"Poor man! Shame, then-shall we stop the bus?"
Istvan looked down to his lap where the might of his masculinity jutted up and out through his fly. A great globule of oily, prc-coital fluid oozed from its reddened helmet. It built up, up, up-then trickled down the curving head.
"Damn it!" he swore. "I hate being so little in command of myself. A man should be able to exercise more con trol!"
"Poor Istvan! Perhaps-you are over-controlling? I know your strength--now. Now-after last night. Shall we stop? This minute? I'm more than ready for you-right now... you know that!"
But Istvan, late already on the run into Innsbruck, was loath to lose any more time. A halted bus, a bus without its swarm of tourists milling round it like bees round their queen, draws attention. Were his bus to lie abandoned at the roadside the news would flash along the grapevine right into his Zurich headquarters. And Istvan would be held to account for the incident.
"I can't," he growled. " Damn it, Althea, much as I want it-we're late already. Ah, what the hell! Let's forget it!"
With that he jabbed viciously on the throttle and the bus lurched forward, jolting his rampant penis back against the material of his trousers. As it rocked back again, a strand of spunk looped down from its tip to the top of his pants.
"Poor Istvan," breathed Althea for the third time.
Quickly she bent forward, removing her hand from her panties in the same motion. She eased out of her seat and crossed over to Istvan'* cockpit.
Her hand went out, cool and caressing and smooth against Istvan's feverish prick. Perching herself on the engine cowling that separated their seats, she began to soothe that raging cock by drawing the loose skin beneath his circumcised flange gently upwards, then downwards again. Each time she did so, another great globule of spunk would be released so that within seconds the whole massive shaft was a gleaming, oiled piston.
"You wonderful child I" Istvan shuddered in pleasure.
Instinctively he had released his foot from the throttle the moment Althea had commenced her ministrations. Now he lay back in the seat, his eyes never leaving the road... yet he was given up, inside, to the pleasure her experienced fingers were causing him. He let one hand steal into her opened blouse, and Althea, feeling his palm cup one tit, obligingly undid all the buttons to reveal the other as well, in all its rounded glory, jiggling deliciousiy with the gentle shaking of die but.
He moaned, in the grip of exquisite pleasure.
Althea smiled. Never once did her fingers cease their titillation of his penis. And never once did that penis cease to provide its droplet of spunk on each forward motion. There was a froth, now, over her fingers. God, she thought deliriously, how I would love to tuck it for him I She loved the salty, sperm-warm taste of a man's lubrication. And nobody, she reflected, nobody gave so much of it, so generously, as did Istvan. But today she could not. The flat setting of the steering-wheel was between her lips and his tool. And, in any case, the continual spinning of the wheel, as Istvan adjusted for curves, was between her lips and the tip of his prick. It would have prevented her mouthing of his cock. Still, that could come later, she thought, with a fierce determination that stabbed right down to her cunt
There was so much fluid now that Althea switched her tactics. Instead of prolonging the to-and-fro motion she was using, she grabbed the slippery head tightly in her palm. Then, gripping it tight, she let it slither on its own delicious oils, into and out of her clenched fingers. Occasionally she would let its vibrant head escape through her tightly-clenched first two fingers, then through the second and third finger. Then she would brush fiercely over the entire helmet with her whole palm.
Istvan, meanwhile, felt his bowels melt within him at the unendurable delight of her masturbation. Christ! What skill the woman possessed! From whom had she gotten all this knowledge that only a man himself should know?
He looked down in sheer delight from time to time, fascinated to see how the head would emerge blue at the tip, and white where her strong fingers choked powerfully at it on its slithery way out of her grasp. Of all the fucks he had ever had, none had been as fantastic as this. This fucking, demented, delicious Althea! How had they kept so long apart?
And then he knew that the spasm was upon himthat his orgasm would soon occur.
"Don't stop!" he whispered, urgently, giving himself to her, as he tightened his grasp over her one titty. "Ah, for Christ's-sake, Althea, never stop now, kid! Because-" and be shuddered-"because I'm coming, I tell you! Ah, sweet Jesus! I'm coming-any second nowaah-h-h-h!"
"Then come, in the name of Christ, my Istvan, come! But what will you do with it-oh-h-h, God! stop the bus! Stop it, just one moment-so that I can swallow it for you-ah, give me that, at least! Nobody'll see us, Istvan... Istvan!"
She spoke, pleading, simultaneously with her man. But it was too late.
In great jets the white semen spewed forth, the first a full two feet into the air. Out it came in vast streams which Althea greedily sought to scoop up until her cupped palms were full of his semen. What escaped, ran down his penis. It splashed over his fly. Furiously Althea cupped her hands around the base of his tool, never ceasing her masturbation until the unendurable delight actually began to cause pain to Istvan. He squirmed in his seat, desperately seeking to escape the agony of Althea's gripping fingers. Then, with one mighty heave, he burst out of her dutches, leaving her only with a handful of white, amorphous, dripping sperm.
With a cry the girt fell forward upon her knees.
Greedily, pervertedly, she smeared it over her face till it frothed over her features, degrading herself in her agony of unfulfilled lust. Then she splashed the rest into her crotch, massaging it through the nylon of her panties in moaning, sobbing frustration, primevally striving to return to her vagina that which should have been its rightful due. She groaned in lust, her orgasm approaching.
Frantically she tore at her twat, with both hands. Istvan was powerless to aid her as he watched her demoniac climax rack her in its grip. She writhed in her lust upon the floor.
Long, luxurious minutes later, Althea began to recover, a blissful languour coursing through her limbs. She struggled, not wearily, but reluctantly, to a sirring position.
"Oh, Istvan," she breathed softly. "We're so good for each other, you and me... so very good! How have we been kept apart for so long?"
Istvan darted a quick glance over his shoulder at the woman behind him.
"Don't tell me now," he said, "that you're going to plan another attack I"
"Another? Oh, Istvan-I couldn't! I'm so completely satisfied now, my darling-I don't think I'd care if I never got fucked again, ever!"
"You'd care. And you will be. Fucked, I mean," grinned Istvan, casing his whole body with the bus into a sharp right-hand bend.
Althea rose, the still-wet semen matting the hair of her cunt, flowing gently, coldly down the insides of her thighs.
She passed down the centre aisle to the tiny toilet in the rear. Leaving the door ajar, she took Kleenex and hoisted up her skirt to wipe away the sperm. Her every movement was visible, in his rear-view mirror, to Istvan. He grinned, suddenly triumphant at the havoc he had wrought
Her toilet finished, Althea made up a pad of Kleenex, moistened it and came back to sponge Istvan's trousers. Obligingly Istvan spread his thighs and quickly, competently, the Greek girl -went about her task. When all was to her satisfaction, she returned to the toilet and flushed away* the soiled tissues.
"You want to eat lunch, maybe?" Istvan called down the aisle.
"When you're ready, Istvan. Personally I could wait till we get to Innsbruck. Aren't We too late on our run, already?"
"O.K.-we go straight through!"
Quickly, then, and with sure, feminine movements, Althea buttoned her unbound breasts back into her blouse. She smoothed her uniform shirt over sleek, perhaps over-generous hips, and fingerpatted her blue-black hair into order once more. A hitch and a twist to her stockings, a dab of powder and a touch of lipstick, and she came forward once more to her courier's seat fresh as the Alpine flowers themselves in the meadows speeding by.
CHAPTER 2
In a stately old brownstone residence about a mile from the centre of Innsbruck, the Baroness de Bierli laid down her pen and rang for a servant.
When the footman appeared she ordered a bottle of the cool, dark Bavarian beer which, on a warm day, she loved to take before lunch.
She was looking over her correspondence.
Her cheque to Corona Tours, of Zurich, was attached to the statement covering the hire of one luxury-class bus, to seat twenty persons, for one fortnight from that very day-with an option on a further seven days.
The bus, said a letter accompanying the statement, would arrive from Lucerne. It was hoped that the personnel would find favour in the eyes of their esteemed client. The driver, Istvan Lavoipierrc, was undoubtedly the finest in Europe. The hostess, Althea Dimitrios, had been especially chosen. She would accompany the driver for the first time; if she proved satisfactory it was the intention of the company to team the two permanently.
The baroness smiled. Could the managing director have had any idea, she wondered, why she had specified that the crew chosen should be both young, and with, as she had phrased her request, "minds that have been broadened by much travel. It is my intention to assemble several selected guests, picking them up en route-so the personnel you select should be capable of mingling with my friends without focussing attention, unduly, upon the fact that they are crew members...*'
The second letter was to one of the baroness's oldest friends, whom she addressed simply as Hermann von Wildersee, though he was, in fact, one of the oldest remaining members of the one-time Austrian aristocracy. Born a Hapsburg, and a prince of bis line, in his own right, Von Wildersee had long dropped all use of his tide when he moved from Austria to a chateau he had bought in the Rhone Valley, down the slopes of which ran his terraced vineyards.
In her letter, the baroness intimated simply that she would be arriving for a long-promised visit within ten days or so.
"There will be a dozen-perhaps more-of my guests travelling with me," she concluded the letter to Hermann. "This, my dear Hermann, should not unduly. strain your establishment, so I am sure you will be ready to receive us. Indeed, if you value still the things we once set store by together, you would not think of a refusal of your hospitality."
The baroness took another draught of beer. She smiled speculatively. The letter said no more than what she intended it to say. She signed it, slipped it into an envelope, and rang for the footman to mail it for her.
Then she lit a cigarette and sat back in quiet contentment.
She was a fine figure of a woman and, despite her forty-five years, endowed with a grace that would have been the envy of many a girl in her twenties. With her inbred nobility went that aura of refinement that wealth alone can give. She was beautifully coiffured, simply yet exquisitely gowned, groomed with refinement in every detail. And she was a widow.
She awaited now the four guests whom she had summoned to her home. She had bade them arrive that afternoon. In anticipation, for they knew the fabulous hospitality of the baroness, those four guests were speeding, that very moment, toward Innsbruck.
So, too, were Istvan and Althea...
As they rolled toward Innsbruck, now only a few kilometres ahead, Althea reached forward and snapped off the radio. She looked up at the comfortable mass of
Istvan, relaxed, yet rocklike in his strength, behind the wheel.
"Just what sort of trip is this one, Big Man?" she asked. "You said, last night, you'd tell me-remember? I'm really in the dark till you do."
Istvan shot her a look, liking what he saw. She was quite a courier, this Althea. Newly assigned to him, she had met him for the first time in Lucerne the previous day. Up to then, she had been known to him only by reputation.
But that had been yesterday...
Now he knew her as few men ever would-a woman beautifully sculptured of body, rich in culture, but, above all, a woman so obsessed by sex that it seemed her very intelligence stood in danger of being choked by her excess of libido.
And is that so bad? he thought.
"1 don't know very much," he said, smiling down at her. "But what I do know, 111 tell."
"Big of you."
"Nuts to that sarcasm. Or I'll beat you."
"You will? With a real whip? Lovely!"
"Tramp! O.K., then. I had to phone the boss from Lucerne. This is what he told me-that I'd have to pick you up, and get on over to Innsbruck. The Baroness de Bierli. She's doing the hiring. But not even he knew much more than that."
"The Baroness dc Bierli," murmured Althea reflectively.
"He told me we'd been specially teamed for the job, you and I. Something about the old girl wanting a 'presentable' crew."
"Presentable? What's she mean by that?"
"No clue. But nothing surprises me any more. Not in this game. Could be a load of Dominican nuns. Could be a bunch of sex perves, for all I know. Or the Innsbruck Boy Scouts off on a flipping jamboree."
"I'll plump for the sex perves, me. I've heard of this Baroness de Bierli."
"You have? What was the word. What's she going to turn out to be?"
"No monster, I don't think. I don't know a lot, except that she's stone rich. And they talk about her all over Europe. Not her, so much as her parties. Paris, Rome, Copenhagen-there isn't a city where there isn't a handful of the elite who'd cut off an arm to be invited to one of her parties."
"That so? I begin to see... but, like 1 said, nothing surprises me any more." %
"Anyhow, let's wait till we get there, hey? Before we start getting wrong ideas. We could be wrong, you know. No good getting there all sexy on the dolly, and find out we're taking a load of Scouts on a trip. What's the route, incidentally. You been told yet?"
"Not a word. That's all the boss told roe. Two weeks -and she gives the orders. But I got two hundred pounds for expenses, so it seems as if it's going to be some ride."
"I don't mind. I get it with you, don't I. The ride, I mean.
"Aren't you lucky!" "Like yourself?"
"You got me, pal. Actually it's me, Althea, who's in luck. If they never split us up again, you and me, it's too soon. I've heard plenty about you-"
"Plenty good? Or plenty bad?"
"Good. And bad. Mostly good-bad."
"Men," she said, "talk too damn much."
"Only about superwomen. And you're supreme, compared to most of them."
"I'm honoured the shareholders think so well of their company."
"Shareholders? Then, here and now, I appoint myself chairman of the Board of Directors. There'll be no more meddling."
"With?"
"With internal affairs. From now on, I run the show."
"I'm in your hands. And, for your information, I find them pretty capable hands, too. Held a few titties, those hands, in their time. So I don't see why you hold a few other fellows against me."
She paused a while, then asked:
"You married, Istvan? I heard that you were, somewhere along the road."
Istvan felt as if a whip had laid a sudden scourge across his heart.
Six months ago, he had purposely changed route to drive through the little Swiss town where he lived. Gaston, the restaurateur, would appreciate the unexpected busload of luncheon customers. For himself-he'd walk in and surprise his wife, Wildi...
He'd surprised her, all right. In bed. His bed. Naked. And in the arms of his best friend!
He'd dragged the wretch off the sweating body of his wife, and had beaten the shit out of him. Then he'd walked straight out of his wife's bedroom, out of his house, and out of her life.
He grinned, wryly.
"Was married. It went phut, though, right in my face!"
"Pity," said Althea quietly. "Divorced?" she added, after a moment.
"No. Don't know, rather. Maybe she's doing something about it. I'm not. Lucky there weren't any kids." He patted the engine cowling. "But this is my baby now. This is the only wife I've got."
"Hard to get it to bed, though," said Althea. "So big. So unyielding. So unfeminine-and, I'd say, so cold in winter."
"But she does what I tell her to. Doesn't talk back, either. Grateful for every kind attention--and she isn't unfaithful."
"Unfaithful? So, it's Istvan the Jealous, then?" "Something wrong with faithfulness?"
"No..."
Istvan looked down at her.
"I was faithful, Althea. Once. And for a long, long time." He spoke levelly, quietly.
Althea left the mocking banter out of her voice.
"I see," she said. And then, after a pause: "Yes, Istvan. I believe you could have been. Faithful. You, perhaps, of all men. Because you're a strong man. Not like some of the others I've known. Oh-but don't imagine I'm regretting them, now. I took them for one reason-because I enjoy being fucked. I was pretty selective, out of what was on hand. But I took them, knowing that men are, for the most of them, slime. I may have to be fucked by them-that's a biological necessity-but I don't have to go overboard about them. Love them, I mean. I owe no man anything in that department."
"So you condone infidelity, then?" "For me,-yes, Istvan. But if I were married, I would be very faithful. If I were married to somebody like you, for example. Like you were faithful to... to her..." "And if I'm faithful now?"
"Then you're not Istvan the Jealous any more, either. Besides, why be faithful now? Faithful-who to, for God's sake?"
"Exactly," said Istvan.
And they were silent then, each with their own thoughts, until the bus drew to a halt outside the baroness's residence.
CHAPTER 3
The Baroness de Bierli received them in her study, offering them armagnac, and setting them at ease with a charming, spontaneous affability. As they sipped the golden velvet of the brandy, the baroness inquired about their journey from Lucerne, listening entranced to the description of their nomad existence on the roads of Europe.
"Forgive me, Madame," he said, "but is it permitted we be informed of your plans? I'm afraid that so far I'm rather in the dark about this trip. Haven't even been given an itinerary.''
The baroness smiled.
"In good time," she said. "I don't want to be committed to time schedules. I detest them. But the route will be roughly from here down to Venice, then on to Rome, up the west coast of Italy, across to Cannes, and from there up north to a chateau near Montelimardo you know the place?"
"Where the nougat comes from?" Istvan grinned.
Quickly, Istvan'* trained mind visualised the route as if it had been mentally superimposed on his maps. Two thousand miles. Ten days. Say about two hundred miles a day. Nobody could call that strenuous travelling. And, if the baroness chose to operate on no time schedule, who was he to object? He smiled his acceptance.
"And now, I expect, you'll be wanting to change and freshen up a bit?" asked the baroness, solicitously.
She rang for the footman, who took Althea and Istvan in a tiny elevator to the fourth of the five floors in the baroness's mansion. There they were allocated bedrooms.
Opening the door of his apartment, Istvan found a chambermaid bustling about the bed, setting out the pyjamas from his valise which had already been brought up by some lackey.
"Wonderful!" he beamed. "This looks very comfortable."
The maid paused in her work and looked at Istvan expectantly.
"But of course, M'sieur," she replied. "It is the wish of Madame that you should have everything."
She was French, then. He had expected her to speak in German. He asked her about it.
"But no," she replied, blushing. "I am Austrian. But I 'ave live long in France, too."
"I see," said Istvan. "Tell me-a bath? Would that be possible?"
The maid indicated a connecting door.
"Through there, sir. Shall I run the water?"
"If you would."
As the chambermaid opened the bathroom door, Istvan could already heard the gurgle of water from open faucets.
He began to undress. He laid his soiled clothes over a chair, and set out the fresh suit, shirt and accessories he would wear that evening. Then, naked, whistling a snatch of song, he opened the door of the bathroom, catching his breath in surprise to find Althea already luxuriating in the water he bad thought would have been his.
"Kee-rist!" he exclaimed. "You?"
"Kee-rist!" she mimicked right back. "You. too? But come in. The water's fine. Looks like we share the bathroom-my own room's through there." She gestured to a door on the other side of the bathroom. She grinned, impudently. "You have any objections?*'
Istvan was about to reply when the maid came in again -through the door to Althea's room this time.
"What do you want?" asked Istvan, curt now after the succession of surprises.
The maid seemed totally unperturbed at the nudity of the splendidly-formed woman in the bath, or at the man standing, stark naked, before her.
"It is our duty, sir, to see that Madame's guests have every comfort. I forgot to mention that this particular bathroom is shared, sir." She stood, faintly apologetic, awaiting a reaction.
Althea, noting Istvan's momentary loos of composure, pressed home wickedly.
"So?" she said quickly. "If that's your duty-to render every service like you say-what are you standing around for? Can't you see that the gentleman needs a service?"
She arched an eyebrow meaningfully in the direction of Istvan's penis.
"If that is the Madame's wish," said the Austrian girl, docilely.
Turning to a closet, she proceeded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, to divest herself of her black uniform. Beneath the uniform she wore black panties and a black, lacy brassiere. These she stripped off in a trice, and turned to ease black, silken stockings from their suspender-clips. Her ample if peasant nudity was revealed in all its pink and rosy loveliness.
Istvan's prick leaped into full and violent erection. Althea lay back exultantly in her bath.
"My God!" Istvan swore softly. "The things that happen..." He threw a helpless look at his shapely courier, lying indolently back in her bath.
"Well?" she flung back at him. "Get on with it, for God's sake! What are you waiting for? For her to make the first pass-at you?"
Stung by the taunt, Istvan swung into action.
He advanced upon the by now far from reluctant chambermaid, and began to fondle her generous, somewhat pendulous breasts. He neared her body so that the tip of his lance brushed against the curly mass of hair below her belly. The glazed look in the girl's eyes was unmistakeable...
"What's your name?" he whispered.
"Karen, sir," was all she could whisper back, forcing her swollen nipples into his caresses, and arching her hips toward the throbbing cock at her crotch. She moved her hands to force the amplitude of her tits into his caress.
"And oh, sir," she breathed, "please have them! They ache so, now, for you-right this minute!"
"Here, then, Karen," he said, gently. And he ground his mighty erection into her thighs as he strove and strained towards her.
"Aaah-h-h!" she cried, rutting in sudden desire. And she clutched with hot hands at his throbbing staff, seeking to guide it between the lips of her cunt, already agape between her parted thighs as she stood on tiptoe to receive his battering-ram into her quim.
Entry was not difficult. This Karen, thought Istvan, had taken her full share of mighty cocks, that was sure. She was a fountain of slush. Istvan's massive organ disappeared almost at once, swallowed up to the hilt in that black forest.
The sight of the woman's tits flattened against the massive chest of the man she now knew that she loved proved too much for Althea. Excited beyond all power to control herself at the sight of her lover's possession of the Austrian girl's body, she leaped from the bath.
"So!" she screamed, a virago now. "Fuck the maid, would you! Take me literally? And what's the matter with me, then? You bastard, Istvan! You swine! And after what I did for you, this very afternoon! Then, if you won't fuck me-at least you'll suck me. That, I swear, you'll do!"
Istvan grinned as he listened to Althea's tirade. ' She was like that. It was a peculiarity that endeared her to him-her inclination to mouth obscenities when sexually aroused.
Althea advanced upon the copulating couple. She clawed and fought them to a lying position on the floor of the bathroom with the chambermaid's thighs splayed to receive Istvan's grinding hips. And then, dripping wet, she knelt before bis face' thrusting forward the black bush of her cum.
"Suck me!" she screamed. "Go on! Suck me! Give it to her in the cunt if you have to! Any fucking man can do that! To any fucking girl too. But it takes a real woman to get a man to suck her off! Most damned men are too lily-livered to suck a cunt. Think it stinks. Think it has a fucking disease, or something. But you, you bastard-you'll suck me. Yes, you will! Oooh-h-h-hhooooh!" And the moaning, sobbing, lust-crazed girl fell back upon her outstretched arms as she felt the tongue of Istvan probing around the tender area of her clitoris.
Without ceasing his reaming of the bowels of the chambermaid beneath him, he began, viciously almost, to draw out Althea's clitoris from its sheath, between her labia. Streams of her spunk poured over his face as he buried his tongue deep within her twat and Althea, now wild with desire, arched forwards deliriously to that darting, licking tongue and Istvan's sucking lips enveloping the entire maw of her gaping cunt.
The chambermaid was beginning now to twitch in the spasm of her approaching climax. Now it was no longer the blonde Swiss who was boring into her, it was she who was arching her spine to thrust fiercely at each incoming inroad of that mighty tool skewering away inside her. Istvan was doing the best he could to meet her furious demands on his questing masculinity. But he found difficulty in breathing, even, the way the furious Althea was hammering her hairy cunt at bis mouth-as if she were determined to scrape her very vulva over his teeth to derive the last possible ounce of sexual satisfaction from her man.
Suddenly she writhed mightily and Istvan felt as if his tongue were being uprooted, the way her cunt seemed to cling to it. And in that moment she drenched his whole face with the massive volume of her ejaculation. Istvan grinned. Let her come-let her spend, he thought. When all this is over, it's the sucking shell remember, more than his fucking of Karen!' He gave her all she was seeking, and more. And, feeling Karen unable to keep up the pace any longer as she, too, spent breathlessly and demcntedly beneath him, he redoubled the ferocity of his onslaught, suddenly feeling his own discharge coming, bounding down his spine until he shot his load deeply into the warm, wet, receptive cunt into which he seemed bored, balls and all, up to the very hips of him. Shot after shot of vital sperm he jetted into the Austrian, who rolled and writhed and moaned beneath him in such a fury that he marvelled how she was physically able to endure it. And as he fucked, he sucked-until the pain grew too much for Althea. Spent, and far beyond the power of coming any more, she flailed at him with her powerful arms, beating at his forehead, trying to thrust his face away from her crotch. But the strength of Istvan, now, was something she had never before encountered. The more she thrust him away, the more he came at her, salivating with the load of her discharge all over his face. She could not rid herself of him. She struggled. She beat at him. She screamed. If she did not force him off her twat that very instant, she would die! But the more she struggled and tore at him, and howled in her agony, the more he sucked-at the same time as he plunged, again and again, ever deeper and deeper, into the vagina of the sobbing, slavering, fainting chambermaid skewered beneath his powerful, pulsating, twitching loins.
And as he fucked away, Istvan thought, exultantly, Let the bitches mock at me-me, Istvan Lavoipierrel Be daunted by women? Me? No-no, no! Ill fuck them both out of sight. Ill fuck them and suck them, fainted, dead or demented before they can humiliate me!
And then, becoming suddenly tender in his victory over both of them, he thought: But ah, sweet Christ, what wonderful women they are! What breasts! What huge, glorious, generous breasts-especially the white-titted, rose-underlaid, brown-nippled bosoms of Althea! Nor were the pendulous, full, sagging mammoths of Karen to be denied their glory I If she were married, there'd be little left for her husband this day, he gloated. And, from the volume of sperm he had jetted into her, there'd be every chance of a pregnancy!
On he fucked until finally they both swooned away beneath the might of his simultaneous attack.
And Istvan arose then, majestically stepping over the recumbent forms of the two women, used and obscene and grotesque now in defeat.
CHAPTER 4
By the time the dinner had reached the coffee-cigarettes and-cognac stage, the surprises had lost their initial impact. But at first it had been as breathtaking as an icy douche.
First was the outrageous daring of the gown the baroness had chosen to wear. Before her guests she had appeared clad in a single robe of transparent nylon material, peach in shade, and threaded with gold. Beneath this gossamer outer garment she wore nothing at all, so that throughout the meal, her mature breasts, still firm and shapely, were as visible as if she had been quite naked. With her tits tapering each to its generous circle of browned areolae, she knew of course that she was infinitely more exciting than she would have been entirely nude. With her every movement, every gesture, those magnificent mammaries rippled and flowed beneath that mere breath of a garment. And, when she rose to fetch or carry some dish from a sideboard, the inverted V of her sexual garden was as visible as if she were wearing nothing at all.
Throughout the evening, however, the baroness had done nothing to call attention to her shocking attire. She sat, poised and elegant, immune to the effect she was causing. It was almost as if she had chosen, tacitly, to defy any of her guests to remark on her attire, or even to call attention to it by the slightest covert; glance.
Then, there were the guests themselves-six of them, in all, around the circular table. And what an assortment!
On the baroness's right was a lean, leather-faced, athletic man, blue eyes curiously a-twinkle. Heine Gorlitz, she informed them, was a circus aerial gymnast and highwire performer. He had been in almost every country in the world. And he had taken part in some incredible feats. "Once," said the baroness, "he crossed Niagara Falls on a high wire. And once he earned 100,000 dollars from an American cable-making concern-for walking one of their cables suspended from the top of two New York skyscrapers a mile apart."
Heine Gorlitz had nerves of the tensile strength of the steel wires upon which he performed. Yet he could sit, as he did throughout the meal, relaxed as a kitten, a man in control of every muscle and every emotion.
The Kandis were Senegalese. And they were black. They were, in fact, the blackest, most massive people, negro or white, that Istvan had ever seen. It was only their imposing stature that prevented the two negroes from being either gross or outrightly obese.
Theophjlus Kandi must have weighed fully three hundred pounds to his six-foot-three frame-a physique that made him seem actually short. His wife, Berenice, only slightly less tall than he, would have sent the scales to a full two hundred and fifty pound*-if not more. When the laughed, which was often, she jiggled and shook like jelly.
"And now," the baroness was saying, through a swirl of cigarette smoke, "this holiday ahead of us. I expect you are all wondering what it is all about-what form it'll take. Perhaps some of you can guest at it.
"Heine, here, knows. I have told him already. I don't want to tell the others whom we will meet. But, seeing that Heine knows, I think I should tell Istvan and Althea, here-and you, Berenice and Theophilus.
"We set out, tomorrow-all six of us. Istvan will drive us. Altheall look after us. We go-to Venice."
"Venice!" echoed Theophilus. "How marvellous!"
"And what do we do in Venice, Lillian?" asked Berenice.
"Perhaps I had better explain the whole purpose of the tour before I go on," said Lillian, Baroness de Bierli. She paused, to finish the last of her coffee.
"Two years ago, before Heine went to Las Vegas, he and I were on the point of marriage. That, most of you know-most of those who'll finally join us, indeed do know."
' Heine allowed his smooth browned hand to clasp that of the baroness across the table. He pressed it in an affectionate squeeze.
"The trouble was, I am a libertine. I explained it all to Heine. He did not believe me. He said he couldn't credit it. So, two years ago, before he went to Americathat's when this party was all dreamed up. That's why, too, I chose to shape it in the form of a luxury bus tour through Europe-well, through enough of Europe, then, to show him what I mean. Heine couldn't understand what it is to be a libertine. The philosophy of libertinism was too much, it seemed, for him to absorb. So-en finI promised to show him."
"Bravo!" grinned Theophdus, enthusiastically. "I expected as much. I told Berenice, driving over here, that we wouldn't regret the invitation."
"Now, to keep up your interest," continued the baroness, "I propose to tell you no more. The others won't know even this. And the others, you'll meet only as we stop and pick them up-for your interest, that is. That, you sec, is the twist. They will not know what we are all about. We will. That way they go on and on, discovering... It keeps up their excitement If I had to tell them beforehand, they might lose that excitement. And, as I've often told Heine, to a libertine excitement is all."
Istvan thought wryly over that last remark as the baroness rose, and shook down her diaphanous gown over her naked hips. Excitement is all. How right she was-and what a supreme practitioner of her own philosophy.
"Come now," said the baroness, "into the next room, so that the servants may clear away the table."
Dutifully they filed after her into the adjoining lounge. Diffused lighting, emanating from no apparent source, gave to the salon a rich, subdued glow.
"And now," said the baroness, seating herself, "on just that principle-that excitement is all-I wonder whether Berenice and Theophilus would put on an exhibition for us of the way they fuck in Senegal."
She said it as casually as if she had announced that her two friends were about to play a duet on the piano. But at the word "fuck," Istvan felt his spine tingle. My God! he thought. Just like that, she comes out with it!
"You mean-" asked Althea weakly-"right here? In front of ail of us-they'll do that?" Berenice smiled indulgently.
"It'll be no trouble at all, girlie," she boomed. "And you'll see-about two minutes after we get started, you won't mind a bit."
Althea's loins went weak and limp. A trickle of spunk escaped from her vulva and she felt it, coursing wet and chill and thrilling, over her panties.
Whithout a moment's hesitation, Berenice had slid her zip loose and was shedding her gown, baring to view the vast expanse of her emergent jet-black belly.
Two enormous mounds of ebony tit jiggled free of her brassiere. She tossed those two minor hammocks on to a chair as she eased white panties down thighs as enormous as columns. The incredible amount of her nudity staggered Istvan. My God, he thought-here is enough woman for ten men!
Freed of her garments, the mighty black-skinned wench gave an involuntary, sexual shimmy that sent her acreage of skin dancing and reflecting the light from a hundred of its rounded areas. She fondled, lasciviously, her enormous breasts, feeling their nipples harden under her fingers into gnarled walnuts of desire. And then, with a sigh that gurgled and sucked into her throat, she brought her fingers down to the great mound of cunt-hair in a lewd, suggestive gesture.
The baroness drew Althea down gently to a scat beside her upon a divan. At Althea's other flank was Istvan, in erection already. And, on the baroness's right hand, Heine sank to a sitting position beside his hostess.
Thcophilus was tantalisingly slow about his own undressing. Garment after garment he removed, and placed, neatly folded, in a pile on an adjacent chair.
Finally he had only his shorts to remove. And, as he did so, all but the baroness sighed involuntarily at the magnitude of the enormous penis that jutted suddenly into view atop the splendid balls that hung from his mighty, full-bellied trunk.
The man stood like the Gargantua of Rabelais himself. He clutched his rod in one huge, enveloping palm, and slicked back the skin over its helmet and two or three globules of pre-fuck lubrication trailed to the floor on clastic strands.
Before him, his wife gyrated and shimmied in some ritualistic exercise designed to stir her nerve And then, slowly, slowly, slowly but with infinite purposefulness, Theophilus began his advance upon the by now near-demented woman before him. And as he came, he frotteured himself, wetting his entire shaft with his own welling lubricity.
"This you have to watch," said the baroness, "but closely."
Istvan thought she breathed the words a trifle more hoarsely than necessary. But never for a moment did he take his eyes off the rampant, bobbing prick of the Senegalese giant, who was shambling slowly, inexorably, towards the woman he was bent on possessing.
"What you're about to see," resumed the baroness, "is something quite fantastic. These people are far ahead of us. Their whole attitude is so much more advanced, for all they're black."
And at that moment Theophilus made physical contact with his randy, sex-flaunting wife. He growled, deep in his throat, as would growl some jungle gorilla. He let go of his penis and the massive structure, stiff and throbbing, leaped up to a forty-five-degrce angle as it melded into the amplitude of her mighty belly. He bore down upon her, carrying her into total collapse when her knees bent against the edge of one of the room's two great divans. Down she fell upon her back, and as she fell she arched her legs up and around the bulk of her husband's mighty torso.
by so doing she laid bare the open and pulsating tunnel of her vagina. Red, angry and inflamed, it gaped for its piston. That did not take long. Like some primeval brute, Theophilus drove powerfully into his sobbing, panting wife.
Receiving his prick into the lush warmth of her peristaltic cunt, the woman let out an animal yell of gratification.
"Aaaah-h-h-h-aaah!" she screamed, in the ineffability of her delight. "Pierce me, great man of mine! Fuck me, deep into my bowels! Let me have the whole length of you! Let me be bored by you-gore me! Gore me! Fuck me, bull of my jungle forest! Elephantise your cock up me-your wonderful cock! Up my plumbing, deep up among my pipes! Fuck, fuck, fuck me! Never stop! Fuck me now, Theophilus, like you've never fucked before! Aaah-hohol Fuckfuckfuck me!"
And as she screamed and babbled her obscenities into the room, she wrapped her great thighs about his middle, using her heels to kick powerfully down upon each descent of her husband's massive hips into the womancrotch of her.
An orgy of fantasy now possessed the spectators.
The baroness bent forwards, her full and pendulous breats downslung from her torso, with their nipples ham merhard against the transparency of her covering. Spittle drooled from her mouth. Prom somewhere deeply below her larynx she screamed and crooned like some Irishwoman at a wake. Involuntarily she had begun to sling her tits from side to side, between their nylon-net covering.
"Oooohhh-h-h-b!" she moaned. "What magnificent fucking! Did anybody ever see the like of it! Ah, Christ, if there is a man among you, take me now! At least take my titties! Frig them! Titillate them! Whip them -hurt them! Take them between your fingers and twist them, twirl them, tweak them! Oh, sweet Christ, but I turn to jelly inside me, when I think of what that wonderful woman must be enduring! Ah, Heine, in Christ's name, take me, take me now-bore into me as he is boring into her! Istvan! If you be man at all-take my titties, take my breasts, slap them up-fuck me! Pleaseplease, I implore you, let me no longer endure that fascinating sight of fucking! Fuck me like that-as wildly, as grandly, as magnificently! Fuck roc as they are fucking! Mightily! Nobly! As wonderfully!"
Heine first acceded to her demented commands. He stole an arm around her, letting fall a band to cup her dangling breasts and he furiously began to flick with his fingers at her hard, elevated nipples.
Istvan, meanwhile, near demented himself, plunged bis hand deep up the diaphanous skirt and, amazed, watched his four fingers disappear into the aristocratic cunt as soon as he had made contact with the dripping, swishing mash of her cunt-hairs, aflame between her spreadeagling thighs.
Berenice was approaching her first climax. Urging herself to unthoughr-of heights of sexual acrobatics, the black wench was flogging the hips of her husband down and ever deeper into the maw of her cunt. She was coming;. She wriggled her arse and half her spine to meet the slashing, downchopping ardour of Theophilus above her. And suddenly her entire body burst into one shining ebony acreage of perspiration, iridescent almost, as her orgasm threatened to rend her apart.
Instead of coasting to a decline then, however, the incredible woman seemed to thrash herself to even wilder, more grandiose efforts of copulation as she sought to render to Theophilus the same measure of sexual relief as he had brought to her.
"And now," whispered the baroness, brought back to sanity by the sight of that outburst of sweat, "watch this! For this is the essence of their love-lore. She's come, now, with every cell in her body. Now watchinstead of relaxing like we would, she'll flog herself into the effort to make Theophilus come. That'll bring her into heat again. So, as he comes, so he'll strive to finish her off again. Then it'll be her turn, you see? And then his again-and then hers. And so they go on, till the God-knows-how-manyeth time-when they might succeed in one final simultaneous orgasm. And only after that will they die, these two! Ah, these magnificent Africans! If only we could fuck like they do!"
She said all this while she was splaying her thighs wide to meet the onslaught of the fingers of Istvan, deep within her vagina. And Istvan, himself excited now beyond the power to control, realized that no control was called for: the party was, by this time, a free-for-all. He frolicked and fornicated fingerwise at the cunt of his aristocratic hostess, and he felt his own cock rising to uncontrollable proportions. And then, with a shudder of delight he felt fingers, climbing, feeling, probing-and he knew, his whole physical frame exulting, that it was
Althea who was after him! Instinctively he parted his thighs, the better to aid her, and his entire penis sprang into view as she succeeded in opening bis trousers.
And now Theophilus was boring down and into bis wife, and her howls of anguish rent the room as he seemed to split her vast, wet tunnel with each boring downstroke. And more and more furiously, Theophilus fucked, relentlessly, over her sobbing cries of painpleasure, as he felt his own discharge upon him. And then it came! And be was as a thing gone berserk in that room as he writhed over Berenice's sweat-drenched body, evoking in his audience a tidal wave of lecherous desire. Each of the women felt, physically, that mighty negro discharge pouring into her own cervix, and each of the men felt he himself getting rid of that flood, spouting then, steamy and white-hot, from the dp of the black tool encased up to the hilt in the red vagina.
Althea could contain her own feelings no longer. Her cunt aching to contain the volume of that jetting spermfluid discharge, she arched down and upon the penis she had unloosed. She fell to her knees as she encompassed its helmet-head deep within her puffy, passionate lips. She remembered, too, when, longing and faint with desire in the bus, she had craved the flow of the saltyoily stream of juice it had been pouring. And now, her skirts tossed up around her arse, she knelt to the tool of the Swiss, easing his entire sexual battery out of its trousered prison. Hard and rampant from their nest of curly blonde hair, both prick and balls were in her clutching fingers, disappearing down the avidity of her eager, sucking mouthcaress.
Watching her, and watching the now-increased ferocity of the Senegalese woman approaching her second orgasm, the baroness could no longer contain her own passion.
Desire had swollen all of her womanparts to the bursting point. She was lust-crazed now. She ripped and tore at the single garment she wore, until she had shredded herself, rather than undressed herself, into stark nakedness. Breasts swollen, cunt aflame, belly guivering, she lay in rut upon the divan. And as the last stitch of thread was cast from her, she clutched at the still fullyclad body of Heine, drawing him to her, over her, covering her.
"Fuck me," she screamed. "Fuck me, Heine, with every item of your athletic body! Tear off your clothes, I beg of you! Let your prick spring out! Cram it, balls and all, into this aching twat of mine! Come into me! Fuck me! Or let me fuck you-in such a fuck as you have never known! Ah, these Kandis! How they fuckhow I wish I could fuck like Berenice does! He comes! She comes! Then it's him again! Then her! And so they go on-and what can we know of such bliss, we who die each time we've been fucked, we who flake out each time we've been reamed, who lie, spread-limbed, loose-titled, dead to the world each time we get an orgasm! Ah, Heine! Fuck me now, but fuck me now, nownownow, this very minute, I beseech you!"
And hearing her rant and rave, the desire of Istvan was increased a thousandfold. He arched his prick into the mouth of Althea, eager to give her what he had, in spite of its being his third discharge in twelve hours. And as he felt her sucking him, he crammed his toes into her naked cunt, feeling his great toe make sliding, wet contact upon her clitoris.
And all the time, before them, the woman Berenice was grinding her massive hulk against the sturdiness and stature of her man, seeking to prolong the erection that had brought her to such magnificent satiation only minutes before. He, unharmed by his first orgasm, was again fulfilling every demand made of him.
To the right of Istvan, the trapeze artist had shed himself of his trousers, and with a wandlike yet enormously long sinew of a penis was probing deep within the vitals of the aristocrat, now nude and slavering bestially from her lips, lying twitching beneath the gymnast's loins. In and out he stabbed viciously, and Istvan, out of the corners of his eyes, kept count of the contortions and the gyrations being performed by the magnificent woman to extract from her lover his full measure. He cupped the baronial tit that had swung free of Heine's caress. He tweaked it maliciously, deliberately, painfully, knowing that the baroness was long past feeling pain, and far past caring, at that moment, who might be causing it. And as he titted and tweaked the breasts of the baroness, he thrust his raging prick into the very tonsils of the Greek girl salivating over his loins-the while he watched, hypnotized, the endless copulation of the Senegalese couple, sweating all over their satinsmooth black bodies so that a thousand surfaces shot back the light, rippling over their muscled, well-fleshed surfaces.
And suddenly there was the moaning and slushing and cuntthrusting squish of the coming of the white bodies. Althea came first. She wriggled. She writhed. She danced as if she had, impaled up her vagina, a length of hot rubber hose. She came. She climaxed, gloriously. She squirmed, like a fish on a hook, and she discharged all her womanslime over the toes of Istvan, who, arching his loins into her receptive mouth, released great white strands of jetting semen deep into her throat.
Simultaneously, the baroness let go. Far beyond the worry of pregnancy at her age, she took the full meed of sexual discharge from whoever bestrode her. She twined thighs and calves about the athletic body of Heine, and cum sucked him in her agony of trying to give him synchronised satisfaction. And, with a bellow of lust, Heine shot jet after jet of come into the twat of the baronial cunt.
The four, dripping with semen, finally fell apart. Eyes glazed in their satiation, they watched the inexorable fucking of the pair of mighty colossi who had not ceased the ferocity of their intercourse since Theophilus had advanced, penis raging and rampant, upon the arching vault of his wife's thighs. On and on they went, fucking, fucking, fucking-none could have said who was the sexual aggressor and who the despoiled, in the ardour of that embrace.
First Berenice would come. Then Theophilus in his mighty, masculine ejaculation. Then she again, randy to the point of yet another soul-tearing orgasm...
Spent, now, their penises flaccid lengths of spineless cord, their cunts agape and sticky with the slime of spent semen, the four upon the baroness's settee watched, now, the final orgasm between Theophilus and Berenice.
Theophilus now stood up and lifted the entire body of his two-hundred-and-fifty-pound wife, cleaving her to his torso with a terrible strength, dreadful to watch. As he did so, she clasped her huge arms about his shoulders and wrapped her thighs about his hips so that her feet met, engulfing his thicklipped mouth in a huge, slobbering kiss, wet as a swamp.
Kissing they came. Each came together. Each came, mightily, palpitatingly, together. The entire room seemed to rock as, screaming, wet, sweaty and satiated, the two of them collapsed, writhing upon the carpet in that orgiastic hell of sex. They fell, where they lay. They shot into spasm, once or twice. Then they were soil.
The others were also still. One by one, they fell asleep, the languour oozing out of their limbs.
Then, one at a time, they rose. They rose silently, so as not to disturb the others still sleeping-and stole off to their rooms.
CHAPTER 5
Once through the Brenner, the weather had warmed. The lovely Dolomite country was at its most beautiful.
Althea sensed that the tourists would need no microphone tour-chatter from her. She retired, instead, into the rear-built little galley-cum-bar, and prepared tea for her passengers.
"Come and sit here with us," invited the baroness, after Althea had served the mid-morning refreshments. "Tell me-you are Greek, are you not?"
"Greek-born, madame. But I've been in and out of so many countries I honestly couldn't claim any particular nationality any more."
"An interesting job?" asked Heine, with suave charm.
" Absolutely the most wonderful," she enthused. "Never know who we'll take aboard next. Never know where we'll be going. Never know when-and that's the beauty of it!"
"The gypsy type?" asked big Berenice Kandi. "YesI think I'd love it, too. You certainly suit the life."
"That I don't know, madame. But the life suits mehue. I don't think I could do anything else, I love it so." Althea was warming to the graciousness of her companions.
"Tell me," said the baroness. "The events of last night-did they surprise you?"
"Lou of things surprise me, Baroness. But sex? Never! I think I could live for sex... for the infinite variety in it. I'm young, I know. But each new experience thrills me
-so very much."
"You were not-well-embarrassed, then?" asked Heine.
"I will confess that when I first came into the room last night, one thing simply flabbergasted me. Took my breath away." She turned, apologetically, to the baroness. "Your dress, madame. But it soon passed. You sec, I ended up admiring your supreme courage in wearing that gown. And even more-the wonderful grace with which you carried it off."
The baroness smiled. She was at the age when compliments pleased her.
"Had you ever been before to any party involving mass fucking, then?" she asked.
Althea smiled. Her thoughts went back to the bathroom orgy.
"Once, madame. Only once. But then there were only three of us-not six, as there were last night."
"Two men?" asked Berenice. "With you?"
"Two of us girls-with one man," corrected Althea..
"You enjoyed it?" asked Theophilus.
"I have enjoyed every act of intercourse I have ever taken part in," she replied. "Every one. Some, though, more than others. Much more."
"So that last night's party was little novelty to you?" asked Theophilus.
"Oh, no. Please don't get that impression. It's just that last night I seemed to have hit a new high in sex experience. I have never, but never, seen such magni ficent fornication as that between you and Berenice. It was splendid. It was the most splendid, the supreme experience of my whole life. I can't begin to describe the excitement of it-*
"You see?" said the baroness to Heine. "A born libertine! Althea's young, now. But the material is there. The open mind-the ability to be impressed-the ability, afterwards, to exult! Possess these qualities, add to them the determination to revere all experience-the determination not to be stupidly and conventionally 'shocked', as they say, by what is novel and out of the ordinary... and there you have the perfect material for the creation of a libertine. Once, however, you allow shock to creep in, or even the semblance of disgust, and pouf! what is left? Nothing!"
"But Lillian," asked Heine quickly, "is not the horizon a very limited one? After all, what opportunities-"
"Opportunities? To the peasant, to the dolt, to the uniniated-they must seem to be small! But, once over the barrier-a whole new world opens up to one."
"You mean-there is really no limit to opportunities? That people exist who would take one into their circle?"
Theophilus laughed uproariously.
"Ah, Lillian," he boomed, slapping his hefty thigh. "If we-if people-only knew!" Then he grew thoughtful. "But perhaps it is just as well. Imagine too many converts to our way of living!"
"That's precisely my point," said the baroness. "Oh, Heine, I've tried so hard to explain. You could live out your lifetime, right among people like us, and not know we exist. You could meet us in hotels, at house parties, along the boulevard cafe's-and to every outward appearance we are just as ordinary as you yourself.
"Cross once over the fence, however, just once-and, provided you come into our midst in the right open frame of mind-every ounce of heaven on earth is yours. Yours for the taking. That is why Althea, here, is so fascinating to me. For a woman, especially, the transition is a hard one. Women are so stupid-such creatures of fear. They cling, so fiercely, to tradition-to convention. What'll people think? What'll people say? What'll I think, myself, tomorrow? That's how their thoughts run. And, by the very existence of such thinking, they remain in their stolid emotional grooves all their lives. They can't climb out. It's not in them to take that vital first step!"
"You're so very right," laughed Berenice. "Oh, well -it's perhaps better that way. On the right side of the fence-out there," and she gestured to some peasants tilling the fields along the roadside, "there are too many women. Not enough men. On our side, God be praised, there are men for every woman-dozens of men!"
Istvan, listening with amusement to the conversational snatches that reached him, thought that the black woman had summed up the whole position pretty accurately. With so many women available, in the conventional existence, it was small wonder a man would seek for himself one only-to cleave to her in marriage for the rest of his life; to seek to keep her for his very own. But, with the available women reduced to a minimal few for every available dozen men-why, the women would just naturally have to be capable of sharing themselves around. Thereby there would be a constant stimulus for them to give every possible pleasure, just to stay in the race. So who would benefit? The men, of course! And who would be getting the benefit? Who-but the women? It was ideal.
Althea, mildly excited once more, turned the conversation back to the events of the previous evening.
"What so utterly captivated my imagination was the quite inhuman way you two kept on and and on at each other. How do you manage that?" Berenice shook with laughter.
"You whites," she said. "Always asking us that. Why, in Senegal, we all fuck that way. Because-what other way can give so much enjoyment, so indefinitely prolonged ?"
"In Europe," said Theophilus, "you people amuse me. You set such store on this madness of mutual, simultaneous orgasm. You break your backs to achieve it. You're so busy, each of you, thinking about pleasur ing the other one, that to me the miracle is how you ever achieve the wonder of orgasm for yourselves."
"Whereas we," continued Berenice, "regard sex as the most selfish thing there is. That's just exactly what it is, too. A cunt, a raging penis, both exist solely to be pleasured-to be given the utmost satisfaction. Not to give it. To be given it. To get it. Don't you see?"
Istvan, hearing this, thought it an odd philosophy. How completely at variance, how completely the opposite, of all his thinking on sex up to now! What successes he had had, and they had been numerous, had come, it seemed, solely because of bis rare quality of being able to assure satisfaction to whatever woman it was whom he happened to be straddling. Now here was the bounteous Berenice, stating exactly the opposite!
"Then why," he asked, "do you still continue to fuck, once one of you has come? To come-to have come, that is-surely that is to have received the maximum of pleasure? To have got from the fuck all you wanted?"
"Because, Istvan, there is nobody who cannot come twice. Once you have come, you go on-not to bring pleasure to the one who hasn't arrived yet, but to reach your second climax. And after that, if it's possible, your third-or even your fourth. If, in the meantime, your partner arrives at a climax-why should he cease then? He'll come again, won't he? Why not let him strive then, for as many orgasms as he can manage?
"The point I'm making is that you fuck for what you can get out of it-not for what you can give to it."
"But that supreme endurance?" persisted Althea. "Where in the name of God do you get that from?"
"Africa," murmured the baroness, "is an ancient country. An ancient country-with a distinct civilisation. Vast. Mysterious. In Africa there are insects and animals that are unknown to us in Europe. What herbs, what plants, in its vegetation-"
"All of which we know, very well, in my country," said Theophilus. "There arc aphrodisiacs that you, in Europe, have never dreamed of. We gather these things. We dry them. We make them into infusions. We eat them and drink them. We put them, all of them, to our use-when it becomes necessary."
Agog with excitement, Althea asked: "And these things, Mr. Kandi-where can we get them? Here in Europe, I mean?"
"It is not good, girl, to use things like these when you do not physically need them," said Theophilus gently. "You, for examples. I doubt that you would ever need them."
"Ah, but no-you could be so wrong. Oh, I'd give my two tits to be able to fuck like you and Berenice did last night-on and on and on-and never to tire. But with me, it's different. Once I come-I'm done for. I'm dead, almost. It takes so long for me to get randy again-all I want to do is to sleep-sometimes for ever!"
"Shall we help her, Berenice?" Theophilus asked.
"In good time, Theo-in good time," said the baroness, quickly. "Not yet, I think?"
"Quite right," said Theophilus. There are other methods, without resorting to herbs and insects..."
"You'll tell me of them?" Althea asked. "For Istvan and me-you'll teach us? Once we leave you, we're on our own again. We've so much to learn, and there's so little time."
"But you need so little teaching, you two," said Theophilus kindly. "Don't worry, though. We'll teach you -what we can."
"And the aphrodisiacs? Where can one get these? I mean-for later... for years later, when one wants them," she faltered. "I won't be young for ever, you know."
Istvan grinned, feeling himself included in the girl's request.
"We're never without our supplies," Berenice confessed. "We write home, to this and to that village in the jungles-and they send us the things we want."
"But perhaps-if you gave me just the right things, I could overcome this collapse that exhausts me so, after I've come for the first time."
"Just have patience, Althea. Well see. We'll see. But is there anything wrong, then, with Istvan?"
Istvan chuckled out loud.
"If there is, I'm not being bothered by any complaints up to now," he said. Even as he listened to their chatter, he could feel the surge of desire repossessing his scrotum and exciting the root of his rod.
"Have you known Istvan long?" asked the baroness.
"No, madame. Not long at all. We met, for the first time, in Lucerne-just two days ago," she confessed.
"So keen on him? So soon?"
"Madame, with men you know in a flash."
"You know, then?"
"Past all shadow of doubt. But you see, this tour must end. In two weeks-three weeks, then-we part from all of you-all you wonderful people. People 1 could scarcely have dreamed could exist. We must go on. Other tours. Other countries. Istvan, perhaps, with some other guide; me, with some other driver. I don't want it so. But that's the way the ball's going to 000005."
"And you would remain-a libertine?" asked Heine.
"If Istvan would allow it-and if he were to be one with me," she said.
"So? Istvan, what do you say to that?" asked Theophilus.
"About becoming a libertine? Fine! I'm all for it, With one proviso, though-that I pick my company. And that's not going to be easy-you see, I'm afraid I started in too close to the top."
The baroness smiled at the implied compliment both to herself and to her guests.
Only she knew what was still to come...
CHAPTER 6
In their Lido hotel, bedroom doors opened wide to the balm of the morning Adriatic breeze, Istvan awoke early, still in the bed of the delectable Althea, asleep, breathing easily and softly, next to him.
He grinned, conscious of the fact that he was stark naked--and that Althea's body was equally nude.
He'd had every intention of returning to his room, the night before. Only one tumble on the bed with her -that had been his promise to himself.
And then she had undressed, and at the sight of the nude sculptured loveliness of her ample body, he'd succumbed... And here he was, the next morning, still lying where he had collapsed at God knows what hour the previous evening.
Oh, well, he reflected, stretching luxuriously in the stiil-warm sheets-one less bed for the hotel staff to have to make up. Whatever happened somebody was sure to benefit.
As he swung his legs gently over the side of the bed and got up to relieve his bladder Althea stirred. She rolled over on one side, her bountiful tits squelching deliciously together. Lithely, Istvan bent to kiss their nipples.
Althea awoke.
Drowsily she reached up for his head, drawing his lips to hers.
Long moments later, they drew apart. "All very well," said Istvan. "But if I don't piss, right now, I'll burst a bladder on you!" "Come!" she said urgently. "Quickly, Istvan. I've an idea."
Istvan followed her into the bathroom. Althea ignored the water-closet and stepped over the rim of the bath. Naked, she lay against the cool pink porcelain, her knees up in die bath and spread so that the gash of her cunt opened deliciously beneath its mat of curling, jet-blue black hairs.
"Now you stand up there," she commanded. "On the sides of the bath-right up! Put one foot on each rim. That's right."
Standing as she had bid him, Istvan knew suddenly what was wanted of him. Holding his prick to aim the jet of his piss right into the gash of her cunt, he let go. At the same instant, Althea allowed her own piss to escape and a stream of straw-coloured urine splashed upwards to meet the descending, fountain of Istvan's cascade.
The two jets merged, deliciously, at body-heat, directly upon the clitoris of the recumbent girl. She thrilled to the sudden delight. Afraid to move, in case she would lose contact with the stream of piss, she lay back and luxuriated in the delicious sensation she had so perversely provoked.
Istvan grinned down at her. What a woman, he thought, admiring the inventiveness of her sensuality. Together only three days, now-and already, thisl And why not-if it brought her pleasure? Had not the two of them become, overnight, two libertines?
Over coffee, Istvan asked: "What do you make of the crew we picked up here last night? Quite a party, I'd say.
Althea, nude and statuesque as she relaxed into an easy chair, replied: "It's building up, isn't it?"
"I'll say it is. My God, but there was no doubt about Reginaldo and that fellow Leslie I I'd forgotten that faggots like that still exist!"
"They're certainly a pair of fairies. Hut you know, Istvan, there's just something about those two in particular that fails to disgust me. Most times, men like that send a shudder up my back. But these two? Funny, I just don't seem to mind them."
"Come to think of it-you're right, hon. Me too-I must confess they nauseate me, these pansy fellows. But
I never once actively disliked either Reginaldo, or Leslie, all last night."
"Maybe it's because they have such charm. Perfect manners-both of them, I thought. Poor buggers-1 don't know whether to pity them or to envy them."
"That's just what I've always thought. Pity-or envy? Ill tell you what, though-Heine struck me as showing rather more interest than I would have expected. That bloody baroness-she's up to something, throwing those two at Heine. Hell, 1 thought it was she who was for Heine."
"She's deep, all right."
"Well, the party certainly thickens. Me, 1 could ride with this mob for a year and not get tired of them. Never a dull moment-with them, or with you either."
"You say the nicest things. I always did want a guy who appreciated me."
"You're nice to say nice things to."
Althea bowed in mock acknowledgement. Istvan uncoiled his length from a chair and, naked, crossed to refill his second cup of coffee.
An Olympic statue in his flatguited, muscled, tigerlike litheness, Althea thrilled to the glorious iiv�ht of him.
"And those other two?" he continued, sitting down again. "What'd you make of them? An impressive dolly, that Anaka-Lec number. Polynesian, wasn't she? And her pal-Dr. Shane McGarrity. My God, what a name!"
"What I saw, I liked. The doctor seems to have scads of money. And I liked the way that Polynesian dish walks. Easy. Fluent. Bit like you-only less like. No, Istvan-what I saw, I liked."
"You mean-you'll defer a final judgment?"
"Like the man said. But-you want a long shot? litis, then, and mark my words: that Polynesian wench's going to turn out to be one of those nympho jobs you hear about." "What makes you say that?"
"1 don't know. Nothing. Nothing in particular. Just flying by the seal of my pants. I'm a girl-and girls know these things. Anyway, that's how I'm tipping it."
"You basing it on her? Or on him?"
"Both-I suppose. Ask yourself-why would a fellow like the doc latch on to a woman like that? They're oceans apart, really. He's a medic-and she's still a raw native, underneath whatever polish he's given her. Ask yourself that, hey?"
"Well, the baroness did tell us that he'd spent twenty years in the islands..."
"So? Wouldn't you think a fellow*d get tired looking at all those niggers, out there in the South Seas? Be only too glad to latch on to white girls, once he got back among them again?"
"Oh, I don't know. There's something fascinating about a black skin-even a golden-yeller. Any man goes for such stuff. Besides, they don't wear bras, if you recall -remember Bali?"
"Never been to Bali. And, from where I sit right now, I don't care if I never go, either. You'll do-till the boys from Bah move in, brother I"
Istvan grinned.
"Besides," Althea went on, "she isn't bad-looking, either-especially in the bust, bosom and belly department, is she? And what a lovely name-Anaka-Lee!"
"Nice name-I'll concede that. And I was watching that figure. Real sinuous..."
"You like them sinuous?" Althea cocked up an eyebrow.
Istvan pistolled his finger, and pointed it at Althea. "I like 'cm that way-your way. Suits me finer than anything else I've ever seen."
He stood up.
"Anyway, let's get dressed. The hell with the queers, with Shane McGarrity-or Anaka-Lee. Let me get dressed, anyway. You needn't worry, of course. You never wear anything. Why some Latin cop hasn't locked you up long ago for public indecency I wouldn't know."
The party lazed all day on the sands, soaking up the Venetian sunshine and chatting idly among themselves. The baroness was content. They were getting to know each other. Occasionally, one or two of them would venture out into the Adriatic, then return and allow the sun to dry the salty water from their bodies.
Their attitude towards sunbathing was in itself indicative of their natures. Tabulated, it was something to this effect:
Anaka-Lee: Tall, sinuous and honey-brown already, she rolled through a full circle of 360 degrees, packing as much tan as possible on to a supple, muscular body that was covered by the barest minimum of bikini. No amount of sunshine would ever worry her.
Dr. Shane McGarrity: wealthy cosmopolite and veteran of the tropics. Much the same as his Polynesian woman, he burned the rosy glow that turned, overnight, to brown. He had an athletic, well-preserved figure of the tall, string-bean variety.
Heine Gorlitz: Soaked up all the sun that the Mediterranean could give him. Lean and beautifully lithemuscled, his was a superbly-kept figure, carrying not an ounce of fat. No winter could ever pallorisc the previous summer's sun for him.
Istvan and Althea: The very nature of their work ensured an all-year-round evenness of tan. Tourists "followed the sun." They, catering for tourists, followed the sun with their busloads of passengers. There was no risk of sunburn with these two.
Lillian, Baroness de Bierli: She wore a full-torso swimsuit, probably out of deference to her matronly spread, acquired over many years of pampered, easy living. Still magnificent, she was, nevertheless, careful-spending much time in the shade of the parasol, and tanning only in short "takes."
Theophilus Kanii: Black and glistening with health, he frolicked gleefully for hours in the water. Came out into the sunshine simply to dry the salt into white flecks over his vast body-then was off, once more, into the waves. A man of inexhaustible energy, Berenice Kandi: Since it was equally impossible for the sun to have any effect on her, she lay and revelled in the nakedness permitted by the vivid orange bikini she wore-its bare minimum of covering strained to something utterly ludicrous as it strove to contain the amplitude of her vast body.
Reginaldo Baretti and his friend, Leslie Haines: The epitome of male grace and an almost-feminine daintiness, these two took no more than ten minutes' exposure to the sun's direct rays in any hour. Their conversation: "Reggie hates me to tan. And really, for Reggie I'd do anything, but anything. Wouldn't I, Reggie, my love ?"
"Am I so demanding then, dah-ling? You should scold me if I am, really you should."
" Ah, but you know I couldn't. I couldn't ever. You're always so gentle with me."
"Oh, I do hope so-you're such a pet, you know."
"And besides sun-tanning, I always think, looks so awful-on certain people, that is."
"I've always said exactly the same. I see no aesthetic sense to it-you always lose it in the winter, anyway..."
CHAPTER 7
They were sitting over after-dinner coffee in a private salon attached to the suite of the baroness.
Setting down her cup, the aristocrat said: "It's not supposed to be an all-out affair, this-but I did think it might be amusing for some of us, to watch Reggie and Leslie at work. After all, it's not many who can claim that they're ever seen two fairies in action. Any takers?"
"Not me," boomed Theophilus. "What Berenice and 1 went through last night is enough to last anybody a couple of days. And I know myself. If I watch any sex, tonight, I know just what's going to happen."
"So do I," said his wife, "and I'm here to tell youI want no part of it. My cunt's still sore, still bruised. C'mon, Thco. This isn't for you and me. We're off to bed."
The baroness looked inquiringly at the two homosexuals. "What do you say, Reggie? Leslie?"
Waving a deprecating hand, loose upon its wrist, Reggie protested: "Oh, Lillian-really. Of all the outrages-and in front of all these people-"
"Nonsense," said the baroness. "You shouldn't mind. You've done it before. Remember Copenhagen, last year:
"Oh yes, I remember. No need to get nasty. One doesn't mind so much if one knows people. But here, after all-why Leslie and I have hardly met some of you. Leslie may be embarrassed, too, you know."
Leslie seemed far from embarrassed. Sipping coffee from a tiny cup, pinched between two fingers of a hand whose little finger stuck daintily out, he murmured: "I don't see why we shouldn't, Reggie. Alfter all, it's not as if there are any outsiders. We're all Lillian's friends here."
Reginaldo conceded the point. But he still pouted.
"You're a beast, Lillian, sometimes, you know. You really are!" he protested.
"Beast? Why? There's no telling what'll happen to the rest of us if you put on a good show," she said, smiling. "Remember Copenhagen?"
Reggie relented.
"Oh, very well then," he simpered. "But you'll have to promise, now, that some of you at least will also take off your clothes and start something. You can't imagine how Leslie and I hate to be naked-quite naked, I mean -in front of so many girls. You've no idea how embarrassing it can be!"
Leslie had already started to disrobe. He was undoing an elegant cream silk shirt, peeling down to under vest and shorts. There was a willowy, undeveloped grace to his body which, in anything but so effeminate a youth would have been considered downright skinny. Reggie was as devoid of poundage-a mere white sapling in physique.
Stripped now to complete nudity, they stood facing each other. Their pricks hung, flaccid and unaroused, arching gently over their scrotums.
Unobtrusively, the baroness dimmed the lights. There was now just enough illumination for the two principal actors to be seen. With a knowing glint in her eye, she went then to sit on the broad arm of the chair in which Heine lolled backwards.
The German gymnast found his gaze drawn in fascination to the play of the two pederasts who were now pirouetting on tippytoes so that they might absorb the "fee!" of sex, the better to activate their libido. Pricks still flaccid, they twirled in ballet-like postures before each other.
Then Leslie, arching his torso backwards, began to activitate his hips to and fro. This caused his tool to slap up and down against his boardflat stomach and the very sound of sinew upon flesh was sufficient to start the erection of Reggie. He ceased his gyrating and felt with his fingers, as if in surprise, the thickening shaft of his cock.
"Oh, dear," he groaned, as if it were all some great, dimly-understood mystery. "Here it comes, Leslie. Look at it, darling! Doesn't it utterly fascinate you?"
Leslie laughed. He laughed, not as men laugh. He giggled, as a girl giggles. "But of course, you silly thing! You know it does-it's so exciting-making. Let me touch it, darling?"
Reggie minced over towards the other man, who knelt quickly, and reached for the well-remembered contours of that opposite penis, now at face-level. He fondled it, lovingly. "Oh, but it's divine! So divine! And so utterly mine!"
by now, Reggie's erection was turgid enough to be able to stand out, horizontally, unsupported. Leslie drew his tongue blissfully along its undersurface, supporting it only by the lightest pressure of his fingcrtipj.
And then he said: "Aaa-h-hl And now it's happening to me, too. I do declare, I'm getting quite excited I"
Entranced, he stood up-without, however, relinquishing his tender grasp upon the organ of the other man.
"Look, Reggie!" And, with the excitement of a schoolgirl, he held out his own member, drooping but thickening, over four supporting fingers of his elegant, womanlike hand. He was shyly proud.
The two faggots moved daintily toward a divan where, still in the light, they sank back, their heads against the cushions, leaving their legs to dangle over the edge of the divan. Now on their backs, their penises protruded upwards.
Leslie plied his experienced fingers over the prick of his friend, to bring up that organ into its final state of randiness. As he did so, Reggie was busy masturbating his own tool.
Finally Reggie arched over, and clasped the helmet of his friend's penis into his pouting, wettened mouth. Leslie allowed a sigh of pure rapture to escape through his parted lips as, ever so gently, he eased his own prick into the caressing mouth poised above it.
This was the love ritual that all had heard about, though few had seen the fabled copulation of homosexuals, since the days of Caligula's Rome the most prevalent form of perversion in the world. Every movement was so dainty, executed so casually, that it seemed the most natural progression. Thus it was no surprise to see Leslie slide back to a prone position, wriggling so that he did not disturb his penis inside the clinging wet lips of Reggie's mouth. When he lay, fully extended, upon his back, he drew Reggie around so that Reggie was now crouched oppositely above him, Reggie's own tool but an inch from Leslie's gaping mouth below.
Leslie continued his gentle masturbation. And now, the pre-spunk began to exude. With wicked enjoyment, Leslie forebore to begin his own sucking at that stage. Instead, he collected that oily fluid until the entire head was shining, iridiscent, under its slimy deposit-and then massaged, with infinite pressure, all around the flange. Leslie knew, as few women do, just how randy it could drive a man. And he persisted to exactly that point when he knew his loverboy could bear it no longer. It was only then that he slid the top of Reggie's tool into his own mouth.
Now, punctuated only by the delicious noises of cocksucking, the two of them, silently and skilfully, went about their simultaneous mouth-to-cock copulation.
Those watching reacted characteristically.
Heine Gorlitz was perhaps furthest gone in erotic stimulation. The gentleness, the grace, the exquisite effeminacy of the two fairies had so overcome him that he had unabashedly loosed his penis from its fly, allowing its enormous length to jut up and outwards from his thighs. As he watched the performance of Reggie and Leslie, he stroked its sinewy length pensively and tenderly.
The baroness, watching him masturbate, smiled wisely. She was herself in the grip of desire, but she had the aristocrat's full measure of self-control. Later, when Heine's libido had been fully released, she would help him. But not now.
She was watching, alternately, her two friends upon their shared couch-and the antics of Anaka-Lee. The dusky, honey-skinned Polynesian had thrown herself back into her chair, knees drawn up, was frigging herself in full view of any who cared to look her way. She wore no panties, and her fingers had churned up a froth of spume that glistened and dripped from her silky cunthair.
Watching her, in turn, and allowing his gaze to wander over the entire company, was the doctor. This sort of thing gave him every whit as much pleasure as did actual copulation itself. He liked to study people's individual reaction to sex... to determine who would masturbate alone, who would masturbate mutually, who would be driven into the final ecstasy of actual fuck, who would abstain altogether. Idly, he caressed his own cock, to keep up the titillation be was feeling so exquisitely.
Oblivious now to the effect their cocksucking was having on the party seated around them, Reggie and Leslie went at their delectable mutual after-supper orgy of each other's sexual juices, both pricks in full view and not hidden, as in man-woman fucking, in the wallow of thighs, of cleaving bellies, and of agitated buttocks flaying into each other. There was nobody in the room who could not see, exactly and accurately, what was going on-who did not know precisely what Reggie and Leslie were up to at any stage of their love-play. And the effect of that passionate, coupled cocksucking had spread to all who watched, motionless save for their masturbation, excited but not yet unable to endure their excitement.
It was Althea who made the first movement. She had kept her skirt in throughout the strange performance. But deep within her vagina the juices had begun to flow, and she allowed her labia to glide deliriously over each other, and so over her engorged clitoris, in the most imperceptible of movements.
Without a word she reached out for Istvan. With his own prick erect and jutting from his pants, he sank down upon his knees in front of Althea, who now drew up her skirt to expose the full loveliness of her dense'y covered twnt, scintillating light like scattered jewels from where the hairs had caught up their load of lubrication. And as she exposed herself, Istvan went down and into the delicious reddened tunnel of her vulva, his tongue gliding over her clitoris.
Reggie, crouched over his friend, felt himself racked in the grip of orgasm. In fierce little jabs, he sent his organ-tip into and out of the tongueing mouth of Leslie, rigid beneath him as he felt Reggie at the point of discharge. Considerately, Leslie released his own tool from Reggie's mouth, and concentrated upon the sucking movements necessary to coax Reggie's load from its column. His turn would come, when Reggie had spent. And then he felt the hot semen arrive, in little jets, and he sucked away, gathering the entire discharge into his mouth. Far too delicate and dainty to swallow it, he waited until Reggie's orgasm was completely spent, then spat the full load of come, still hot and steamy, into a Kleenex.
Reggie had sunk to his elbows after the fury of his climax, and Leslie inched himself forwards through the thighs of the faggot who bestrode him. That left Reggie on knees and elbows, and exposed his lilywhite buttocks, the arse-hole agape over the tightened scrotum-and it was to that target that Leslie now addressed himself, operating from a standing position at the end of the bed. Devotedly he drew the other man's backside towards his now rampant cock, and it seemed to those who watched that the arse-hole knew exactly what was expected of it. It puffed out like some sea-anemone as the rigid piston met it-and the plunger was forced, sinking and swishing, deep and solidly into its cylinder. Reggie whimpered in the onsetting ecstasy of pain. He raised his head in sweet martyrdom as he felt that penis probing
6i straight up his rectum. But he knew, full well, the delight that was Leslie's at that moment; knew, too, how best to prolong it. He strained back at the thrusting cock, and a look of ineffable bliss spread over his finely-chiselled face.
Though the changeover had blotted out the view of their organs, reversion to anal copulation had at least been a physical movement-an exchange of two bodies in space. It served to release the charge of passion that, by now, had the audience in its grip.
The baroness moved first. She slid from the arm of Heine's chair, fell to her knees and whipped her skirt over her back, presenting to the German a backside encased in black, wide-legged panties. She spoke not a word. Words were unnecessary. With a gesture of supplication she pulled aside one leg of the panties, to reveal her own tight little arse-bud, rosy and intriguing above the turgid, swollen Hps of her cunt.
The gymnast gazed at this unfamiliar view of the baroness, mesmerised with the lewdness of her pose.
He knew what she was begging him, wordlessly, by gesture alone, to do. He sighed, unbuttoned his fly completely, and knelt to the rounded, wellfleshed buttocks of the baroness.
His cock was fully eleven or twelve inches long-a whiplike sinew of raging, spunk-drenched flesh. He presented it to the anus of the crouching woman before him, wondering, as he did so, whether it would ever make entrance into that unlikely fissure. Nor was he long in finding out. The baroness strained backwards, feeling that probe at her anus, and loosed all the muscles round her ring. A full-rumbling fart rang through the room, and at that very instant the slimy sinew slid in and up, up, up-right into the very o Jon of the crouching baroness.
At the sudden and unexpected crack of the fart, both Reggie and Leslie winced with delight. Leslie, at the arsehole of his friend, plied his task with redoubled efforts.
Istvan burst out laughing deep into the cunt of Althea, for the life of him unable to restrain it-in spite of the fact that only a split second previously, his licking tongue had had Althea so frantically close to her orgasm.
It became infectious. They all burst out laughing.
Leslie, near coming before the baroness had whiplashed her fart into the room, now brought on his orgasm at once, so that, having got it over with, he could concentrate on die others. He and Reggie drew apart, and both of them stared in delighted surprise at the sight of so much perverse fornication taking place all round them.
"For Heaven's sakes," he said. "Just look at them, Leslie! Not a normal fuck going on in the entire room. Did you ever-but really I"
Shane McGarrity recovered first. But be made no move in the direction of his nymphomaniac Polynesian. Instead, he tore off his trousers and shirt and, naked, went to lie athwart the baroness's face. The rigid rod quivering before her lips, she extended her mouth to receive the head of it, now in the double delight of having one cock in her bowels, and. the other slavering its load of juices in her mouth.
The lascivious sight of the ravaged aristocrat triggered olf their collective lust.
Istvan had by now abandoned all thought of cuntsucking Althea into orgasm. With a mighty growl, from deep down in his throat, he lifted her from her armchair, stripped her, and lowered her to the floor where she lay, an odalisque or superb nakedness. It was the work of a second to shuck off his own clothes. He stepped into position.
Althea, so close to coming already a moment ago, needed no urging. She spread her alabaster thighs and swallowed up the well-remembered turgidity of her lover's cock deep into her vagina. She shuddered deliriously as its helmet banged and thudded away at her cervix. A virago in her delight, she screamed: "Fuck me-ooohh-h, sweet Jesus-Fuck me! Ah, Christ, Istvan-never stop. If you stop now, I swear, I'll kill you! Ooooh-hoh! but fuck me, or 111 kill you-kill you, I tell you! Give it, man, Give it-screw it into me. Deeper-go on! Deeper! Ram it up my cunt, damn it-ah, shit-but I'm so randy now, I could die! Die, I tell you! Give it to me, Istvan-into me, man! Fuck, ah, fuckfvekfuck meee-e-e!
At the sound of her tirade, Anaka-Lee stood up. In a moment she had unsipped her frock and sent it cascading into a silken flurry at her exquisite feet. She bounded over to the demented Althea. Naked, she squatted over Althea's face, her cunt presented to the Greek girl's slavering mouth.
"Suck it, Althea!" she moaned, in the grip of her insatiable passion now. "Suck it, darling, please. Stuff your tongue right up it! Ah, Christ, but it's so hot, soo-o-o-o fucking randy, it'll explode-any moment now! Suck it-oooh, please, Althea-oooh, now, please. I'm so fucking randy now, I tell you, I'll come in a second!"
More by instinct than by any ability to hear the Polynesian's supplicating words in her demented state, Althea latched at the palpitating cunt with her lips. And as her tongue probed into the vagina, the Polynesian shuddered and shook as she went into the spasm of her enormous coming.
The squelching noises of the communal fornication all around them now proved too much for Reggie and Leslie. Their own passions began to rise again. Slowly their two cocks, excited already by one orgasm, began to stiffen for the second time.
An idea occurred to Reginaldo. "Dan-ling," he whispered to Leslie. "Oh, I say-what fun! D'you see what I see? Look! the doctor-see his behind there? It's free, isn't it? And then, look! Istvan-there, slipping it into Althea-see his arse-hole? Isn't it a divine thing? See what I mean?"
Leslie caught Reggies's excitement. "But dare we? Oh, Reggie-I'd love to, of course I would-but dare we? What if they proved rough?"
Reggie gave his answer by deed, not word. Naked already, he approached the stalwart Istvan. He waited his chance, behind the buttocks flailing away over the supine Althea. Then, seizing the split-second timing, he suddenly plunged forward, once only, ramming his oiled penis expertly into the anus that had needed to beckon and wink but once at him.
Leslie grew bold in his turn. Lying behind the prone Dr. McGarrity, he darted his lance between the arsecheeks ahead of it. Once, twice, he let it slide and then, under its own lubrication, buried his prick inside the doctor's rectum.
Caught completely by surprise, Istvan and the doctor let out two simultaneous howls of pain and outrage at the sudden abuse of an aperture that had never been so imposed upon.
But ro the homosexuals, these v/tru not the fast anal virginities they had ravaged. They knew the sudden shock-a shock of revulsion almost-that accompanies a first ramming of the anus. They knew, too, how best to stop the wriggling that inevitably takes place, as the ravaged one strives to rid his rectum of the alien rod. They knew how to overcome this first reaction of revulsion. One or two rapid plunges, and the original shock soon changes to an intense pleasure, and, thereby, accep tance, even if only on an experimental basis.
Within moments, they were proved right. After the first shock of disgust and embarrassment, neither Istvan nor Shane McGarrity raised any further protests. Each submitted-tacitly accepting that as libertines, they were in no position to object to anything anybody did to them.
Istvan went on fucking Althea, who with gusto was sucking Anaka-Lee, who had already drenched her face with one discharge, and now quivering in the throes of her third. The plunging buttocks of Istvan provided all the movement Leslie needed. Keeping his rod in position, he let Istvan do all the physical work, the while he knelt back to relax in the unbearable enjoyment of what was happening, inside Istvan's rectum, to his own pleasure-wand.
The baroness, lewd and obscene as she crouched beneath Heine, grinned as she reflected on the turn the evening had taken-Heine Gorlitz having his first initiation into female buggery, high up in her arse-tunnel, she herself avidly cocksucking the manfluid of Shane McGarrity, he in his turn consumed by the pleasure of having his penis sucked so expertly at the same time that his bowels were being reamed by his first copulation with a faggot 1
The party was now at its fever-pitch of crescendo. Already Althea was coming, jetting her load around the cock of Istvan, whose ejaculations she was absorbing deep into her very womb. She gave herself up to the fierce rapture of orgasm.
The baroness was also coming-superbly and violently.
So, too, was the doctor.
And Anaka-Lee was coming, again.
And so were Reginaldo and Leslie, jerked off into orgasm by the twitching of the men into whose arses they were jammed.
Shrieks and roarings of pleasure burst out as the copulating foursomes thrashed and writhed in the grip of sex. Bodies broke out in copious sweats. Semen oozed everywhere. Beads and streams of it shot and trickled from tits, from salivating lips, from arses, from cunts.
Tiny moans, weird and primeval, replaced the first transports of wild screaming. One and all sank into the diminuendo of delicious aftermath, breathing easily and naturally now after their orgy of breathless sexuality.
Only Anaka-Lee was still active. She needed this vast acreage of lascivious, sperm-drenched nudity to trigger off her desires once more. With her cunt inflamed by her four previous orgasms, she was in rut again, clitoris erect, labia swollen and turgid. With her eyes on ihc sea of nakedness, she was fingerfucking herself into her fifth orgasm, tweaking the nipples of her tits with her other hand as she worked herself up into the zenith of her masturbation.
Finally, wildly and obscenely, she came, Then she, too, collapsed into insensibility...
CHAPTER 8
The baroness kept her party three days on the Lido. Her purpose was to allow the ten persons to get to know each other better.
by the end of the second day, Lillian found her party had tended to fuse into two groups of four. The baroness herself, with Heine and the two homosexuals, were one group. Their pleasure was over on the mainland, mingling with the crowds of tourists in the winding, narrow streets between the Rialto and St. Mark's Square.
For Dr. Shane McGarrity, however, with Anaka-Lee and Istvan and Althea-there just was not time enough to do all the swimming and sunbathing they crammed into each day. They hated crowds-so they left Venice alone.
The Kandis swam, or went shopping, with equal enjoyment. Today they had joined the group on the beach. The huge negro was eying the tourists enjoying them selves in pedalos out in the open sea.
"Let's get three of those things," he said. "And let's get the hell out to sea in them-somewhere where we can shuck off these swimsuits end loll around with no clothes on. Somewhere far out, where nobody's going to see us-what say, anybody?"
A beach attendant pushed three pedalos into the surf and the trio of vessels was soon a good eight hundred yards out from the shore, bobbing lazily up and down. It was far enough for them to strip. They lay, their bodies naked and exposed, relaxed in the seats of their making nothing but the most desultory of conversation. After a long pause, Anaka-Lee spoke. "I wonder," she said, "whether it'd be possible to fuck underwater?"
Her startling question stung them all into attention. It did more-it showed the lines along which several of them had been thinking. Theophilus, indeed, provided visible evidence of this. His massive black penis was already swollen into a half erection.
Berenice was unbelieving. "You mean to say you've never found out yet?" she asked, incredulously.
"Oddly enough, I haven't," confessed Anaka-Lee. She paused. "But you see, here we arc, out in the sun and naked-and it's nice. I don't know how it's affecting you, but as for me-I'm about 3s randy as I've ever been. I often get that way. It's the way I am, I guess. Sometimes I do something about it-and sometimes I wait till the feeling passes off by itself.
"So I'm lying here, all hot for fucking, and I got to thinking, watching the water-what it'd be like to be fucked actually in the sea. And I wondered... You see, here I am with my cunt all warm and wet and squishy. I'm about as ready for the knife as I've ever been.
"Suppose, now, I had to dive overboard. Wouldn't the shock, of the cold water sort of dry me up, inside? Wouldn't it douse out the old libido? Phhht! Just like that? What'd happen to the urge-the desire to fuckyou know, that delicious feeling that spurs you on till you just naturally have to be fucked to get any sort of relief at all?"
"But of course it can be done," said Althea.
"And I damn well know it can be done," chuckled
Berenice. She, like Althea, was surprised at this naivete on the part of the Polynesian.
She glanced over at the now erected prick of her husband, bobbing and throbbing gently now from his huge underbelly, probing up into the sunlight.
"You slip over the side, Anaka-Lee," she said. "Theophilus is just the boy to show you what you want to find out. Go on-you're not going to lose any of the urge, girl. I'm here to tell you that. Theo's done me underwater a score of times. It's the loveliest thing that can happen to you. Go on! Over you go! And you, Theophilus-you're going to show her!"
Anaka-Lee needed no second bidding. She slid, rather than splashed, into the water that was her element. Gracefully, she floated in the water as Theophilus, giantlike and huge as some hippo, swam lumberingly over to her.
For all the shock of being submerged in cold water, she was still as randy as ever. She dived, and swam beneath Theophilus Kandi, playfully flicking his massive rod as she passed below him. A few yards away she broke surface, and Theophilus turned to swim toward her. But Anaka-Lee submerged again, merrily taunting: "Come and get it, boy! It's right here, when you want it!"
This time she came up between the floats of the centre pedalo. Reaching up her arms, she clutched at the floats for support. It was an attitude that showed off to perfection her incompatible shoulders, rippling under their honey coloured skin. Lazily her big breasts floated, their nipples hard and puckered as much by the grip of the sexual desire upon her as by the cold water.
Theophilus swam over to Anaka-Lee, treading water. His penis could be clearly seen, jutting toward the straight-haired silkiness of the black cunt.
Suddenly the sex-hungry Polynesian spread out her legs, encompassing the mighty trunk of the African at hip level, and drawing him toward her with an urgent tug of her heels.
In he came, and she quivered through her superb frame with the delicious shock-surprise of the penetration of that rampant ebony lance into and right up her vagina. Theophilus sent his enormous arms about her body, and held her to him, her breasts squashing, naked and buoyant, against his black chest.
It was a position that, out of the water, could only have been accomplished by a powerful man and a very petite woman-the man, planted between the woman's legs entwining his hips, swinging her up and thrusting her down over his penis, using her as a mobile cylinder which he slides up and down over his stationary piston.
That was what was happening in the crystal clarity of the water beneath them, and four heads craned to observe the joyous ritual. Two peruses throbbed into erection at the same time as two vaginas tensed with the sudden ooze of lubricatory fluid. Dr. McGarrity, Istvan, Althea and Berenice were missing little of what was happening to the aquatic fornicators.
It took a mere five or six plunges of that incredibly thick negro weapon that was impaling Anaka-Lee for her to dissolve in the throes of her first coming. Her delight was obvious. Little crooning noises escaped from her as, not letting up for a moment, she strove to cram all of her vast fuckjockey into her cunt. And Theophilus, boring manfully into her, knew that he too, was approaching his ejaculation. He modified the ferocity of his fuck, contenting himself with a slow, deliberate squirming of his rod into its hot, ciliated tunnel in longer and more satisfying probes.
Anaka-Lee, however, took no thought for the prodigality of her pleasure. Possessed of an insatiable sexual appetite, she simply allowed other muscles in her twat to absorb the deeper-probing heft of Theophilus's manshaft. And within seconds she was off on her second orgasm, writhing and twisting as she clung to Theophilus in the grip of her body-wracking climax.
"My God, but how does she do it?" cried Althea, knowing that these orgasms were no mere put-on affairs -knowing that they were as genuine and physically wracking as any they themselves had ever endured.
"There are women like that," said Berenice softly. "Multiple orgasms-isn't that the medical term, Doctor?"
"Multiple orgasms-that's quite right," said Shane McGarrity. "Very rare. But Anaka-Lee is a classic case -one right out of the textbooks. She goes on and on, spitting out one climax after another. And she enjoys every one of them-the last one, if possible, more even than her first."
He glanced at Istvan. "When Theophilus is finished," he said, "you go in. She'll take all you can give her as well. And when you're finished, I'll take her on. Don't worry about her. Leaving Anaka-Lee in-between orgasms is nothing to her. She'll finish herself off on her finger, and then bring herself on again after that, if she still feels like it."
Theophilus was ejaculating. Great streams of white semen floated from the locked thighs of the couple as he jetted enormously, time and again, into her clutching, squirming vagina. When his convulsive hipthrusts subsided, he withdrew his member on a trail of strand-like threads of white sperm that floated up through the sea between and around their two bodies.
Istvan caught the glassy look in the eyes of the Poly nesian girl that betrayed how totally she was engulfed in the tidal wave of her libido. In a moment he had slipped from his pedalo, and was in the place Theophilus had occupied. The near-demented girl clutched his body vigorously to hers, and wriggled her cunt to receive Istvan's member. With not the slightest pause, or even any sign of relaxation she encompassed the fresh erection, smaller but just as welcome as had been the massive African phallus, and busied herself, sexually and gloriously, upon it. Again and again, machinegun-like, she shot off her successive loads until, within minutes, she had sucked forth the drenching and copious squirting of her second fucker.
With Istvan limp and spent, clinging to the float of one of the pedalos, Dr. McGarrity took his turn at that insatiable cunt. Maintaining a rhythm that can be achieved by a man with a woman only after, prolonged and mature acquaintaince, Anaka-Lee, on the point of another discharge, thrashed about in a veritable frenzy of abandon. Her tits, floating hugely, seemed to be expanded to the bursting point. Her stomach heaved with her exertions. Her sleek, satiny buttocks arched, never-ceasingly, to their greedy, gluttonous task. And finally the doctor shot his load into her and ranged himself weakly alongside the two previous copulators, exhausted by the incredible Anaka-Lee.
Oddly enough, Berenice and Althea seemed quite content with their enforced abandonment. They were in different pedalos, looking down at the orgy taking place underwater. Perhaps, had they been together, they might have given way to their emotions-but the crossing from one of these fragile craft to another on the open sea is not easy. Perhaps, because they were women, they were better able to control themselves. Both, however, felt the engorged oppression of women aroused and then left unsatisfied-a feeling that persisted long after they returned to shore.
Full of sheer joie-de-vivre, Heine was flexing his muscles in a panther-like stretch. Lunch had been superb, and the day was scintillating.
"Christ, but 1 feel fine," he enthused. "I don't know when I ever felt better I"
Spontaneously he bounded from a standing position in die centre of the room into a perfect bandstand. Hack arched, head thrown back, he froze upside-down into perfect immobility.
Then, incredibly slowly, he transferred all of his weight on to his left hand, raising his right arm, spokelike, at right angles to his shoulders. This, one of the most difficult of gymnastic feats, was doubly so in sports coat and flannels. Springing lightly to the balls of his feet, he stood up, smiling.
"Oh, what a gorgeous ability!" breathed Leslie. "How graceful-how superb!"
"That?" said Heine, contemptuously. "That was the worst one-armed handstand I've ever tried!"
"But just think," murmured Leslie, adoration in his . voice, "of being able to do a handstand at all!"
"Anything's possible-with practice," smiled Heme, "But a single handstand, fully dressed? That's not easy, man!
"Why don't you undress then?" asked Leslie.
"Perhaps," put in the baroness swiftly, "he doesn't care to undress-in front of you and Reginaido."
She was remembering Heine's prompt and uninhibited acceptance of her anus, aware that such a predilection, dammed up for a lifetime, can suddenly become released in a man. She knew, too, how little it would take to spark off a recurrence.
Heine shot the woman a quick look. Swiftly he flung jacket, flannels and shirt to a chair. Shedding his underwear and his shoes and socks, he stood naked among them -physically as perfect a male body as any that had been sculpted in Italy. And then, with the traditional "Houpla!" of the trained acrobat, he sprang a full three feet into the air, jack-knifing over to land gently upon both hands, as springily as if he had pounced upon rubber. Easily and perfectly he arched his legs upwards, heels together, head back, in the classical handstand pose. And then, with a sharp "Allez!" he swung easily over on to one hand, extending the other arm to full stretch. He remained thus, immobile and perfect, for several minutes. Then, slowly, he drew in his outstretched arm, and cased his weight, once, more, on to both palms.
"Oh, you utter darling, Heine!" said Leslie in adoring tones. "Oh, Heine-but 1 could eat you up-really 1 could, you know."
He advanced shyly and clasped the gymnast round his inverted hips. He plunged his face into the German's bins. To accommodate his perverse caress, Heine, still in a handstand, extended his legs apart. Expertly, Leslie tongued the gymnast's limp penis and it began to rise, hard and sinewy as a cane. Before it had come (u full erection, Leslie had his fingers upon its incredible slender shaft and Heine, lust suddenly overtaking him, swung back lithely to an upright, standing position.
That was what Leslie had wanted. Clasping the muscled buttocks of the nun, he now knelt to his task, gently sucking the tool of the athlete. He could feel by the sudden delicious shudders of the penis in his titillating lips and over his serpent-like tongue, that Heine
TJ was abandoned to an ecstasy of perverted homosexual enjoyment.
The sudden encounter had not left Reginaldo Baretti unmoved. His eyes narrowed in sudden jealousy. He made a movement to advance upon Leslie, his lover, so flagrantly unfaithful. But the baroness, noticing this, raised an imperious hand. Reginaldo got the wordless message, and smiling apologetically, he relaxed.
He watched the perverted sight-far more exciting to him than that provoked by voyeurism at any amount of normal man-woman fornication. Reginaldo felt a fire of lust burning within his loins-a lust aggravated by what he considered a flagrant infidelity on Leslie's part.
He resisted as long as he could. Then he dropped his trousers and advanced upon the pair coupled, ecstatically, mouth-to-cock in front of him. With a plaintive, feminine cry shuddering from his throat, he minced around until he stood directly behind Heine, upon whom he advanced inch by inch, until his erection was pressed upwards between the muscled buttocks of the gymnast.
Daringly now, as if expecting a rebuff at any moment, he laid his hands upon Heine's Ranks, quivering with homosexual delight at the feel of man flesh beneath his fingers. Finding his advances not repulsed, he was suddenly emboldened to grasp the German in the grip necessary to draw back his own hips for the plunge that would drive his fiery tool into that athletic anus.
This he did, then, choosing the moment when the arse-cheeks were at full distension. The shaft paused once, imperceptibly, at the very bud of the arse-holethen it plunged through and in.
At that moment Heine knew the twin emotions of extreme disgust and unbeatable excitement. Here he was, suddenly, with a penis up his rectum-and another nancyboy sucking him off! It was a confused emotion, but, by and large, not displeasing. If this be libertinism, he thought, if these weird but delightful experiences, so suddenly sparked off and provoked, were part of the philosophy of the baroness, then what had he been doing all his life that he had not become a participant sooner!
He abandoned himself, utterly and completely, to the enjoyment of the perverse delights he was experiencing. He had to do nothing except to stand, relaxed and unresisting. One man was sucking him, delightfully. Another was fucking him-and that was equally delightful. Sooner or later, what would be, would be-as the Italian song had it. The kneeling fairy who was so delectably salivating over his penis would soon receive his own squirting discharge. Up amid his bowels another prick was exquisitely probing. Sooner or later it, too, would shoot out its load of white-hot, dammed-up semen. What else, then, for him to do, but just to relax and to let things happen?
He did-to the gloating satisfaction of the baroness. Could Heine have seen the expression on her face then, he would have seen as well the satisfaction of someone who has attempted an experiment and who has seen it come to a successful conclusion...
CHAPTER 9
The glittering mobile palace of Istvan's bus rolled along Rome's Via Veneto. The ever-present scooting hordes of Lambrettas and Vespas scattered before it, parted, and joined, once more, their gay and noisy parade in its wake. Pedestrians gaped at it, in their gaze the envy of the local inhabitant for another new and invading tourist band.
Magnificently, importantly, ignoring the vulgar interest it was creating, the green-and-cream bus rolled along, individual and aloof. Up the winding Via Vencto it went, through the Old Wall, and onwards.
Several kilometres out of Rome itself, along the Via Appia, was the villa of Dino Carotti.
Carotti was a cinema cameraman. He was, at that very moment, riding the crest of the wave of popularity that comes to people in show business once they have been pronounced "fashionable."
Three years previously, he had filmed his first hit movie, moving him up from the obscure periphery of Cinecitta into the glittering limelight of fame. A second even more superb film followed. The mantle "photographic genius" settled even more firmly over his wide, elegant shoulders.
Then came his epic in black-and-white. It was a documentary called "Eye In the City"-which needed no story-sequence whatever to proclaim the miracle his camera-artistry.
Carotti was acclaimed universally. He was lionised at Cannes. His genius was applauded in Hollywood, London, Tokyo-wherever films arc made, or spoken about.
Wealth came to him. For ten years ahead, Dino Carotti could now command his studios-and his price.
Dino Carotti stood three inches over six feet in height, tapering down to the slender hips of a Gary Cooper. Tailored, invariably in silver-grey, he was that typical to type of black-and-grey Roman over whom a million shop-assistants were prepared to swoon; a man beautifully barbered, beautifully groomed, charming, vivacious, elegant.
The villa in which he lived, with Italy's reigning and most voluptuous actress, was not his own. He rented it.
"Why buy the place?" he had said, once, to Felicity Velda, the svelte and sinuous film beauty for whom, alone, he had rented it. "From Carotti, today, they could ask any price. And they would get it-I'm let Carotti make one bum movie, hey? Just one! After that? Pouf! Carotti is out-on his ear. Out-and in the gutter, for all they would ever care. And then, when Carotti wants to sell? Their price-again! Just half of what the house would be worth. And Carotti would have to accept it!"
It was to Carotti's villa that the baroness's party was going.
Awaiting them, nude in the sunshine of a lazy summer afternoon, were Felicity Velda, Dino, and Felicity's dose friends, Elaine and Hildegarde.
Elaine and Hildegarde were lesbians-members of that strange cult which is the perfect love of a woman for another woman.
They were an oddly-assorted pair.
For, Whereas Hildegarde was a powerfully-built Amazon, muscled and fleshed and hipped like a man except for her pendulous, powerful tits, Elaine was almost exactly the opposite. Perite and boyish, she scaled hardly a hundred and ten pounds to Hildegarde's robust and carelessly-carried hundred and sixty.
Elaine's hair was boyishly cropped. She had the pale body and figure of a stripling. Her pelvis was narrow and boyish so that when she walked she seemed to progress as men do, moving from the waist. And she possessed only the tiniest pair of titties-mere mounds thrust up from her torso, velvety and pointed only the least little bit towards her small, pink nipples. She boasted almost no hair at all over her cunt. Her nudity was like the nudity of a pre-adolescent little girl.
"I think I'm for a dip," she announced suddenly. Her body a white flash, she dived into the pool, creating scarcely a ripple over the surface.
"I'm damned if I know how she takes you," observed Felicity Velda to Hildegarde. "I mean, you're so-so overpowering, next to her."
Hildegarde chuckled. "Physique? It means nothing, Felicity. It is the heart of that girl that counts. Her heart's bigger than your pool, there."
That, indeed, was precisely the impression created by Elaine. For all her petite little body, she had the flashing eyes of inner strength.
"How long have you two been in love now?" asked Carotti, lazily.
"Three years," exulted Hildegarde. "Three wonderful, glorious years." A shudder gripped her as she thrilled to the thought of her beloved.
"That's longer than a whole lot of marriages last, these days," observed Carotti.
"And why not? We lesbians know a togetherness that is more, much more than marriage!"
"See, Felicity? I always told you-marriage is out!" quipped Dino to his mistress.
"Bastard I You know I want you!" she flashed back.
"And when you've got me? What then?"
"I hate you, Dino Carotti!"
"Not now, you don't. But you would."
"Your trouble, Felicity, is you're too complex to marry Dino," observed Hildegarde.
"Complex! Me, complex? He's the complicated one."
"No, honey. You are. You're a star. You're beautiful. Your breasts, your cleavage, your fabulous plunging necklines-there isn't a kid in Italy who doesn't know them. And you know it. You know you're popularand you know you can't be without the adulation of that mob. So poor Dino would have to share that part of you.
"So?"
"So, in marriage-you don't share. You share nothing! You live for one person, one thing only. Like Elaine and I live."
She paused, and Felicity and Dino considered her words. Then, gently, she went on:
"Secondly-your fabulous vices. Look. You're a narcissist-look at your insane love of clothes. And then, those damned whips you're always yakking about. Narcissism, clothes, whips-and that dependence of yours on the doting of a million fans! All this you want-and Dino's expected to share it all." She laughed, merrily. And as she laughed her exuberant tits jounced and jiggled.
Dino lay back, amused to see how Felicity would react to this ruthless analysis.
The actress said: "So? I dress for Dino alone. I undress for him alone. And the whips? For Dino's enjoyment alone."
Hildegarde raised her eyebrows. "You really believe that?" she asked, smiling.
"Of course I do! For whom else, then?"
"For you!"
And Hildegarde indicated, by no more than a swinging of her naked nipples, the voluptuous curves of the equallynude Felicity. The star's tits stood out, high, firm, and more beautiful than any marbelled Florentine statue, unconfined by any brassiere. The rest of Felicity's body was as statuesquely perfect as her incomparable bust.
"What you're trying to say is that I love myself more than I love Dino, then?" asked Felicity.
"Exactly. And it's not a fault-not if you admit it," said Hildegarde, levelly.
"I'm not sure I do admit it," said Felicity.
"No matter. The point is that you and Dino are on the only perfect basis, right now-lover and mistress. As husband and wife, however-you wouldn't last together a year."
"But I want him-so very much," pouted Felicity.
"Don't worry, kitten," said Dino, lazily. "You've got him. Till I find somebody with all you've got-you'll do."
"And that you can depend on," said Hildegarde, with finality.
Felicity was disappointed-but appeased.
The bus had finally arrived, spilling out its vivacious load of vacation-bound humanity amid the foursome around Carotti s pool.
"How splendid!" exclaimed the baroness as she took in the intimacy of the lush nudity of Carotti and his three guests. "Charming-and so utterly natural, Dino! Why not let's all take a swim? It's been such a long drive since Florence 1 What about it?"
"I'm a starter," boomed Berenice. "Theophilus? You for the water?"
"And afterwards a pastis, here in the evening sun? What better?" assented the huge African.
Dino and the baroness took swift care of the introductions. The nakedness of Dino's guests served to dispel any sense of formality. Anaka-Lee was first to strip. Dr. McGarrity needed no urging to follow suit. He dropped his garments where he stood, exposing his lean, tropic-toughened frame to the afternoon sunshine.
Hildegarde, her great bush of cunt-hair a swirling, tangle of hirsute delight, moved rapidly among the new guests, setting out new mattresses and proffering garden chairs around the side of the swimming pool.
Elaine had swum over to join the newcomers. Great globules of water over her slender body, she evoked the ardent admiration of both Reginaldo and Leslie, whose own unclad torsos hers so much resembled.
The baroness, Althea and Istvan undressed as well, plunging into the cool water with happy cries.
A gaiety infused the whole group. Istvan, diving beneath the pair of queers, would tweak a shrunken cock into semi-erection, and then swim happily beneath an established couple like Anaka-Lee and the doctor, darting a finger into a ready-oiled cunt, twanging an already half-turgid cock.
He made one such pass at Althea, and felt his powerful body encompassed into her reaching hungry grasp.
"Not yet," he sang out, happily. "Later, dear. You'll just have to bite on the bullet for a while!" .
"You," said Althea, "are nothing but a pig, Lavoipierre! Cockteaser, that's what you are!"
But, with a froth of bubbles, Istvan, released now from the tension of driving, did not even hear Althea's taunt.
He joyfully jiggled the bounteous tits of Berenice, wiping a disappearing finger beneath her mound of tangled public hair as it sailed by over his hand. He spied die phenomenal length of Shane McGarrity's cock, and gave it a quick, provocative toss-off.
He swam up close to the baroness and flung an arm about her shoulders, encompassing both her floating bubs in his momentary grip. Their nipples hard already, he dangled those two great hillocks in his palms. Then, playfully milking at their nipples as he swam away, he left her to seek her own release in that pool of nubile nudity.
He swam to the edge of the pool and heaved himself on powerful shoulders over the edge, his own penis as limp and unaroused as if he had been at his first Scout picnic
"Signor Carotti," he gasped, out of breath, "I haven't had so much fun ever since I first found out about little girls!"
"Absolutely the first," laughed Istvan. "But there've been so many fantastic *first times' on this trip, I seem to have lost count! What fabulous people!"
"There's a point," said Carotti. "You couldn't get just any crowd to cavort around like these people."
"People miss so much," lamented the driver.
"When they allow themselves to become hidebound and hogtied by convention, I agree," said Dino.
Istvan dried himself on a handy towel. From Felicity Velda he accepted a can of iced beer, and sank down into a nylon-strapped garden chair. He raised his glass to Felicity, toasting her. Appreciatively he set down the can after he had taken a long swallow.
"If anybody had told me," he said, "this morning, that I would be sitting, this evening, stark naked with Felicity Velda, also stark naked-I'd have bet my whole damn bus against it. Yet look-here we are, Istvan and Felicity
-and not a stitch of clothes on your entire fabulous body!"
Felicity indicated that the compliment had pleased her. She compressed her incomparable breasts together. Their curves became more prominent-more inconceivably lovely than ever.
"You like them?" she said, archly.
"I've been half in love with you, I think, since I saw your first film," Istvan confessed. "I've lain awake nights, wondering what it'd be like to sleep with you-to see you stripped. And now-look!"
"Look all you like," she said. "I love being undressed. Clothes bother me-except to go out in."
"I've got to admit I'm not quite accustomed yet, to all this," said Istvan gravely. Then he smiled again. "But I'm learning-fast."
Gradually, the party emerged from the pool. Soon all were taking iced drinks from a bar-table that had been hastily set up. Only Dr. McGarrity and Althea were still in the water. And they, the memory of Venice's Lido still with them, were openly engaged in love's oldest activity, oblivious to the others around them.
It had been Althea who had started that brief encounter in the water. Finding herself playfully spurned by Istvan she had deliberately set her cap at the doctor, Istvan had not realised the intensity of her desire at the moment of their encounter. When he had swum away from her, she looked about for somebody to entice into her willing hips-and she had found the doctor. It had taken but a moment of promiscuity for him to rise to full erection, and Althea led him to the deep end where she took advantage of the diving ladder to steady herself in the water.
Her cunt was wet with desire as he came at her. With her titties floating, hard-nippled, high in the water, she was ready for him. As he came at her, she yielded. Up went her limbs in the tepid water-and she arched the hips of Shane McGarrity into her aching, cocklustful cunt. She scissored his body between ardent thighs. He floated with his hips boring deep and delightfully into her slime-wet crotch. It took but the motion of the water to agitate cock within warm, receptive cunt. Her titties floating, swollen and at the peak of randiness into his grasp, it took little to bring her to orgasm.
And as she came, she screamed out her obscenities, gloriously unaware where she was, or who might be within earshot-oblivious even to whom it was who was engashed within her:
"Ooooh-h-h-hl Fuck me, Istvan," she shouted, shivering in ecstasy. "Fuck me-hard! Please-I implore you! Now-now when I'm hot and soo-o-o-o randy! Oooh-h-h-h, but Pm coming, I tell you-and it's loo-oovely! Fuck me-fuck me, deep into my twat, right in the juice of me, Istvan! Ram it into me, give it to me, boy! Never stop! No-o-oo-not now! Don't stop!"
Dr. McGarrity merely grinned-and redoubled his efforts to bring on his own approaching orgasm simultaneously with hers.
And then her coming, a writhing and spasmodic bodyjerking affair beneath the surface of the water, was over. Wearily, she dragged herself up the steel ladder, and it was Istvan, grinning with vicarious delight at having caught his name uttered by her in her spasm, who went to help her in her flop-titted exit from the water.
The sight of her, and of the already droop-pricked doctor was enough to provoke everybody into varying degrees of sexual readiness.
But the baroness intervened. Seeing the turn that was imminent, she put up an imperious hand.
"Not now," she said. "Save it up, people. Later is still time enough. Let's not rush this thing-it'll be just as exciting if we all hold off a while. Till after dinner tonight, perhaps? I think well all be the better then for just a little abstinence right now."
CHAPTER 10
The baroness had cut her guests off too abruptly. They sat around, morosely, their excited passions curbed now, for none wished to afford their aristocratic hostess the displeasure of disobedience.
Deliberately tantalising, she had literally forced her guests into the application of self-control. Cunts collapsed, inwardly flaccid, and dripping love-fluids down the inside flesh of sculpted thighs. Penises drooped, the unsatisfied cocks subsiding into slackness over a still-tight sac of balls.
But the baroness knew what she was about.
She knew, for example, that Dino Carotti, like every true libertine, had bis secret and especial vice, his peculiar perversion. With one-like Felicity-it might be a penchant for the whip. With another-like Anaka-Leeit might be nymphomania. Or the perversion of homosexuality-overt, as it was with Reginaldo Baretti and Leslie Haines, or covert, as it was with Heine Gorlitz. There might be the exhibitionism of Theophilus and Berenice Kandi, or the devout lesbianism of Elaine and Hildegarde-or even the absorbing capacity for adjustment to new experience that was the mark of Istvan and Althea.
With Dino Carotti the deviation lay in the making of odd, offbeat movies-and the delight with which he would exhibit them. Nothing gave him greater pleasure. Some of his finest work, it was said, had been captured on eight and sixteen-millimetre film, every metre of which had been privately developed and printed. And every reel lay in his villa-too torrid, any of it, for public exhibition.
It was for a showing of some of these movies that the baroness was angling. And, after dinner that evening, she put the proposition to him straight.
"Dino?" she asked, naively, "a performance this evening, perhaps?"
"The movies, you mean?"
"What else? So many have not yet seen your work. And I-when last did I view it?"
"But gladly, Lillian. Come on, then, everybody-into the studio."
He rose and escorted his guests to a huge, glassed-in porch which ran, like some great gallery, along one entire side of his villa-his private projection studio.
There were no seats. Instead, there were enormous pulled cushions, mattresses, deep-piled carpets scattered over the polished parquet floor.
Running the curtains together over the glassed-in walk he said: "Get comfortable, everybody. There aren't any seats-but you'll find the cushions very comfortable. The screen, you see, is purposely slanted up there. You see it best if you get supine-if you stretch full out."
He pressed a button, and a silver-glassed screen slid down at an acute angle from the far ceiling.
Another button plunged the room into darkness.
A third-and a gentle whirring started up at the back of the long hall. Within moments, a searching light probed out and upwards toward the white of the screen and a whirling jumble of letters of the alphabet spun dizzily around, diminishing finally in speed to a full stop, to spell out the title:
"This Way... If Madame Pleases!"
The first sequence was an innocent shot of two pleasantly-clad Roman girls, in brilliant sunshine, at a ticket window. It might have been any box-office. Money passed over the counter, in exchange for two tickets.
A panned shot, next, showed that the box-office was one for a public swimming bath. A woman attendant mouthed the words: "This way... if madame pleases!"
Weirdly, the words became suddenly audible.
They were spoken in Dino's voice, into a microphone beside the projector. They contrived to lend, now, the actual dimension of sound to what was otherwise merely a silent movie. The party of guests nestled down expectantly, as they followed the swaying rumps of the two girls on the screen overhead.
The attendant showed them into a vast, open, changingbooth, and gasps went up from those on the floor at the sudden acreage of feminine nudity revealed by the camera. There were women of every shape, of every age, and at every stage of undress in that change-room. Some stood stark naked. Some were still fully clad. More than half of them were at every conceivable stage of disrobing.
Dino's lens would wander up the massive thighs of some fifty-year-old, following tantalisingly the rise of an underslip up a pair of ageing, puckered thighs, buttocks and wrinkled belly-and then, without ever seeming to leave the subject, would discover some pair of perfectlyformed teenage breasts, sliding free of a brassiere. He would start a shot at the black tangle of some matronly pubis-and dissolve the scene out as the camera left the unformed, undeveloped torso of some girl, not yet nine years old. Long shots of naked breasts would suddenly funnel into the roundness of one single belly over which could be discerned the underglobe of one single, perfect tit, shot from some incredible angle From that one breast, the lens would reach out until a concerted movement, yards further down the room, revealed the majesty of ten pairs of splendid buttocks as their owners bent forward, in synchronised unison, to slide shoes under a long, wall-length seat.
One moment, the concentration would be all on cunthair, and the diversity of growth of this hair over the public mounds of forty different women. The next moment, the gaping slash of a single cunt would be exposed, all red and shining and oiled, as the camera panned to the uncrossing of one single pair of legs in the act of pulling off a stocking. The next moment after that, it would be breasts, pair upon pair of breasts, teasing, tantalising, exciting and wonderful, every pair different in size and shape, weaving round and round in a carrousel of mammary bounty...
And all the time, Dino was delivering a running commentary.
"What you are looking at now," came his soft-timbred voice over the loudspeakers, "is my idea of what must be the ambition of every Peeping Tom in the world to behold. I shot this whole series cooped up in a shower cubicle in a public bath right here in Rome. I used about six different lenses-as you'll see. Everything from closeup to full zoom, and telephoto, too, sometimes. It wasn't easy-but it gave me one hell of a kick. If I'd been found in that shower-cubicle I'd have been put away for about ten years. But it was worth it. This is the very essence of voyeurism. To my way of thinking, every Peeping Tom in the world would give his right arm to watch what I've got down on film, on this very reel. You know the types. They're on the record in newspaper reports all the time. Standing on chairs to peek over hotel fanlights, hanging out of apartment blocks, to see into windows across the street, taking every chance of getting a stray glimpse of some woman undressing, or actually stark naked, if they can manage such good luck. The funny thing is, they're always disappointed-never satisfied. Each naked body they see is disappointing. Too fat. Too thin. Too much like the last one they sawtoo reminiscent of the familiarity of a wife. And they go on looking, looking, all their lives. Well, people, here I've tried to capture it all-all on one film. I had a friend at this swimming-bath. With his help I got into that cubicle-and this is the result. I filmed it, because I believe there is a bit of the Peeping Tom in every one of us. After all, who could pass an open bathroom door in any hotel, if there was a naked woman in the bath. Even if she was seventy-everybody would stop for a look. ..And who doesn't know the shock of looking out of a bedroom window, and right into another one just across the street, where some dolly's getting dressed or undressed. We're all Peeping Toms-to some degree. And that's why I went after this bit."
The camera lingered on a colossal pair of tits. They filled the entire screen, obscenely large-elephantine in their gigantic moulding. Dino's voice dropped into the room, softly: "You are now observing, friends, tits the like of which nobody has ever seen before. This shot wasn't taken at the baths. This one, I got on a ship going through the
Red Sea, once. They belonged to a Chinese dolly-and she was so unbelievably ugly that I could never have brought myself to photograph her face. I could see she had interesting tits, though, no matter what she woreand one day I persuaded her in my cabin to strip. She was hardly twenty-five, and these enormous watermelons you are seeing right now belonged to her. How she carried the solid weight of the things is what surprises me-but I suppose she knew nothing else. What can one woman know of the weight of some other woman's tits? And she'd had them since they began to bud on herso to her it must have been natural. But I'll swear no brassiere made could have contained all that flesh. Even if there was such a bra it would have had to have shoulder straps of steel-or rope, at least. Anyhow, this that you're seeing is the absolute most-so I cut this sequence in, right here, in this film."
His voice trailed off, and the camera panned up and down the dressing room once more, offering a teasing glimpse of some torso seen before, and finally, again, those incredible Chinese bosoms.
Monumental, swollen to the contours of some Rabelaisian exaggeration, they occupied the whole area of the screen. And the camera, merciless, captured them from above, from below, from each side.
What had been screened so far would have been enough to excite every viewer in that room. What helped matters considerably, however, was the sexy silkiness of Dino's voice, delivering the spontaneous commentary as the movie unrolled. Hands stole into hands, blouses were tweaked open, and hands fumbled for hot, randy breasts. Smaller, ringed hands fumbled at buttoned, zipped flies, and fingers darted in to pluck warm, throbbing pricks from their hairy, scrotal beds.
"And now," came the voice of Carotti once more, "This Way... If Madame Pleases."
The great mammaries faded out of focus, and the scene swiftly shifted to the consulting room of a prominent corsetiere in Naples. She was seated at her desk, her back to the camera, evidently at the end of a discussion with a client who was blotted out from view by the nearness of the woman's back to the camera. Slowly the camera inched round to take in the client's face. As it came into view, everybody gasped. The woman client was none other than the wife of the Prime Minister of Italy!
Dino, hearing the astonished intake of breath, chuckled into the microphone.
"All achieved," he announced mischievously, "with the full collaboration of the Signora-but not a sequence of what you will see known to Her Excellency. I was behind a window-curtain, you see-and the lens projected through several apertures cut into the material of the curtain. Now watch this-"
Signora Albanese, the corsetiere, stood up. As she moved round the desk, the wife of the Prime Minister was already disrobing. She went calmly about her task of stripping, oblivious to the probing lens of the camera.
First came her blouse. Then, mincingly, as if she were some young girl instead of a matron in her fifties, she shucked off her skirt. Signora. Albanese helped her client to wriggle her slip up and over her head. Her Excellency stood, stripped now, to her brassiere and girdle. At the sight of the woman's panties, awry and untidy, wrinkled about her thighs, the incongruity of the sight of the First Lady of Italy in so homely a predicament sparked off a spontaneous roar of laughter. Femininely, she patted their ruffles straight. Then she removed them. Still facing that devastating camera, she tucked the fingers of each hand into the elastic waistband of her girdle, and inched this down over her wriggling hips.
This was strip-tease at its most blatant, and the star was none other than Her Excellency herself I
Divested of her expensive clothing, she had become just what she was-a fat, fashion-conscious, pampered old woman.
With her girdle dragging over the mass of her hips, the black triangle of her cunt-hair came into shocking view. As the girdle was slid downwards, one knee lifted up into freedom, and, as Her Excellency swung the leg slightly outwards, her labia parted and the fleshy gash of her cunt was suddenly exposed. Next, with hands expertly feeling at her back for the catches of her bra, that garment came off, too-and the sleek, full, but pendulous and ageing breasts of the Prime Minister's wife plunged down her spare-tired belly.
A second gasp of shocked discovery burst from every throat. For those matronly breasts were marked, beyond all possibility of doubt, with the crisscrossing lacerations of the whip!
The great woman then turned slowly to one siderevealing her back, over which lay great, livid weals, criss-crossing cruelly over her fair skin, carved deep into the flesh of buttocks, of hip, and of shoulders.
"Christ!" swore Felicity, then. Her teeth were chattering and clenched in the wrack of her sexual amusement. "Whoever flogged Her Excellency like that, certainly knew what he was doing!"
"HushI" breathed Theophilus Kandi, close to her. He reached out a hand to where he thought Felicity's mouth was, to stifle her. But he missed, and Felicity groaned: "Ah, sweet mother of Christ-but Yd pay a fucking fortune to the man who'd thrash me like that!"
As Felicity groaned in her paroxysms of lust, so others were groaning, as well
"Well, fancy that!"
"So-what do you know about that, bey?"
"The old bitch-for Christ's sakes! Nothing but another flagellant!"
"Well-it certainly takes all sorts..."
Sex was now rampant in that room as further sequences showed Her Excellency being fitted, and clothed once more, over superb new foundation garments.
The moment of lese majeste had passed.
But the aftermath of sexual discovery was upon them all. Hands groped everywhere, clutching flesh-none knew whose prick she held, whose tits he was fondling, whose belly be was caressing, into whose cunt his fingers were sliding.
Istvan felt complete nudity at his side, and ran his hands over a torso, expecting it to be that of Elaine. Electrified at the discovery, he reached the crotch, only to encounter a jutting, quivering length of prick. Probably that of Reggie or Leslie, he thought, since the thigh was so smooth and devoid of hair. The length of it was warm and silky under its coating of fluid, and as Istvan withdrew his hand he felt another clutching palm slide down that penis, lovingly stroking its contours. Istvan fumbled around him until he felt naked flesh once more. It was the thigh of some woman-and he followed it up until his fingers disappeared deliriously into a hot receptive cunt that avidly reacted to his caresses.
The tempo of the film-had now sped up. Scenes were shorter, more stark, more urgent. If there was sexual urgency among the viewers, it was more than matched by what was being screened.
A well-known duchess was now descending from her opulent car outside a popular Sauna bath frequented by the elite of Rome.
Subtly ignoring the strip-tease of her disrobing-undre*sing sequences had been screened, plentifully, by this stage -the camera picked up the socialite dowager, again, this time sweating with a dozen more of Rome's society hostesses, revealed in all their plump and ebullient nudity. The skin on their rotund flesh gleamed wetly. Their natural actions appeared ludicrous before the pitiless eye of the camera. One would tweak an itching nipple. One would scratch beneath a tit. One would raise an arse-cheek from the stone seat, in the obvious action of releasing a fart.
Hilarious as it was, however, nobody was in any mood for laughter. It was lewd, provocative sex-and they gloated over the nudity of women whose proud names were a byword throughout Europe, scratching, feeling, sweating in the steam room-totally unaware of the searing truth of Carotti's wicked lens.
The duchess passed into an adjoining room. She was lying, now, gross and supine, upon a massage table in the centre of a white, aseptic private room. Hands were pummelling at that aristocratic flesh. Over her fat tits they stroked, and down her belly, and into and out of her hairy, untidy, and unlovely crotch. Over and over she was turned. Her knees went up, and the great slit of her twat, gross-lipped, hung-exposed in its entirety.
The masseuse left the room. The beaten, pummeled, spent and weary duchess was seen rolling wearily over on to her back. From a position no further, it seemed, than the foot of the massage table, so cleverly did the telephoto lens function, there came into focus once more the incredible sexiness of the parting of two massive, overfleshed thighs, dimpled with fat.
And then the duchess's fingers were at her cunt, and as naturally as would any woman in the world, imagining herself secure in complete privacy, and having the urge to do so-she began a delicious orgy of fingerfucking. All her fingers were in play, each a master of its masturbatory task. The whole disgusting sequence sent a shudder through every woman who, watching, knew herself to have been guilty of just such a sexual lapse, not once, but many times.
Suddenly the fat duchess went rigid as her orgasm came. Her fingers were electric at her twat, hairy and fat and obscenely dripping with spunk. In the might of her coming, she snatched with both hands at her cunt, rending it open now with all her fingers, ramming her fungertips into it, and through it, and deep down into her aching-hot vagina, and the turgid lips of that cunt seemed to puff up and clasp themselves around those fingers.
At the obscene sight, body unashamedly coupled with body. Massive, -excited, dripping penis probed into slushy, hot, excited cunt. Mouths clamped over naked, bobbing nipples. Hands felt feverishly up thighs, encountered other thighs in the agony of copulation, stroked balls and prick and cunt-whatever was available. A prick would slip out of one cunt and lewdly strive in the darkness to find another. A cunt would be savagely unscrewed off some penis, to go, silent but twitchinglipped, about its search for some other rod upon which to impale itself. A half-dozen times Anaka-Lee came her full load, and cared not whether she found her relief upon a finger, a penis, or a tongue. Theophilus and
Bernice, though accustomed to take their sex together, had lost each other entirely in the crawling melee of man and womanflesh.
And now, in quick sequences, the camera was peering into women's public lavatories, into a public bath-house on Paris's Left Bank, into women's fitting-rooms in Rome's big department stores, into the barracks of a women's regiment on the outskirts of Bari, into two or three rooms in several notorious Naples brothels. It was sex, rampant and gone mad-an obscene orgy.
"What you are about to see," continued Carotti, "is the most rare-I think the most exquisite shot I have ever taken. I ask your full attention. If you like, 111 stop the film a moment..."
"Ah, for the sake of sweet fuck itself, stop it, Dino!" came the demented voice of Anaka-Lee, impaled on a penis whose incredible length had penetrated, it seemed, right through her cervix and into her very womb. "Ah, Christ-this I gotta have. This one, please God, and please Carotti, I have to have, full and forever, and as long as ever it can fucking well last! Stop it now, while this goes on-please!" Her voice throbbed with passion.
Anaka-Lee's insane screams had spoken for all of them. Dino stopped the film.
The whores in the brothel froze into sudden immobility, clumsy and gauche, deprived of the illusion of movement that had heretofore given grace and a kind of beauty to their undulations.
Below Dino's projection stand, hips ground into hips as the fornicating mob strove for release.
CHAPTER 11
Dino Carotti allowed one full minute, and then another, to tick by, aroused himself now by the thrashing sex.
Then, sure of his sated audience, he allowed his projector to whirr into action once more. Miraculously, the blowsy and obscene prostitutes took on once again their former grace. They swayed, once again, and undulated provocatively before their unseen clients. Finally the clients themselves were brought into focus, and the two women fell back, each coupled to her man, upon a couch. The bought and paid-for intercourse, the five-thousand lire fucks, were in progress.
It was the end of the sequence.
And now, the movie switched a sound-track. And slowly, mistily at first, but then clarifying itself out of the mist, the face and form of Elisabetta Stocchi came into focus.
She was singing. Softly, into that room, fell the molten honey of that incomparable voice-the lilting cadences of Italy's beloved coloratura. The notes were sure. The *one was full. The soaring rapturous flight of the treble could only have been achieved by Elisabetta.
Gently, the aria ceased and faded out. Around that face, another background seemed to swim hazily in, building up into focus. Finally it was established. Elisabetta Stocchi-seated across a desk from Rome's most renowned obstetricirn.
"This," announced Dino, "you should not miss. This I took from his own consulting rooms, during one of mi his afternoon sessions. He did four cases, that afternoon. I filmed them all-then I found the fourth one wasthis! Watch now-and listen."
Elisabetta was a woman-any ordinary woman-before her physician. But she was unmistakeably the same Elisabetta whose voice had thrilled audiences over the whole world. Her agitation was controlled-but it was obvious.
"I am desperate, Signor Minotti," came her voice, urgent and pleading, over the sound-track.
"And I, Elisabetta," replied the doctor, "am sympathetic."
And then she told of her anguish in desiring a childbut of her refusal to bear the child of her wealthy husband, Alessandro Stocchi.
"Stocchi!" she fumed, beating an imperious fist upon the gynaecologist's desk, "is a dolt! He has every attribute-of a peasant! For his money-for his money alone, I married Stocchi! For his money, I tell you-and for the position he could offer me, in the society of Milan...!"
"And is that position," asked the doctor, softly, "so unbearable, then?"
"Position?" fumed the singer. "The bell with position, now! I have all the position 1 want-it's I who give position to Stocchi, now!
"No-it's Ronaldo Garcia. You know him. The actor-some say he's Spanish. He's Tarzan. He's Beau Geste. He's every romantic, dashing cavalier since Fairbanks!"
"He loves me, this Garcia. I want a child. But-" and she hissed the final words-"it must be his child, I tell you!"
"Then sleep with the man, Etisabetto," said the doctor gendy.
"Oh, Signor Minotti," she sighed, hopelessly. "Do you think I haven't tried? A million rimes, that's all! But he's an idiot. He spurns me. He says he's afraid of me-that he's a Catholic! That it would be a mortal sin. Oh, he's an idiot! I don't love him-but oh, what a body he has! Like a superman!"
"Elisabetto," interposed the doctor, "do you rememher what George Bernard Shaw said once, long ago, to some woman? 'Suppose the child is born with my body and your brain?' Remember that?"
"I'm not interested in Shaw."
"Then try harder, Elisabetta-to sleep with Garcia."
"I've given up hope. That's why I'm here. Look, Signor-this artificial insemination one hears about. Can't you do something along those lines? Tell him you have a patient-and that you have selected Garcia to be the donor? Can't you do that for me?"
The doctor tapped with his pencil upon his blotting pad. "I see," he said finally. Then: "Strip, Elisabetta."
A nurse appeared on the screen and repeated, unobtrusively, the title-words of the film: "Pardon me... this way-if Madame pleases..."
The nurse led the fleshy, well-built operatic star behind a screen. Seeming to follow, the lens of Carotti was on hand, at once, to record the final, ruthlessly-intimate nakedness of the most beloved star of Italy's operatic stage. It revealed how her ample, globular breasts stood, proud and upright, even though deprived of their brassiere. The camera showed the star's nude, shaven cunt a mere slit with the two lips cleaving together to disappear into the V of her thighs. For what mysterious purpose had she needed to shave? Her statuesque thighs were revealed, tapering each from the upward thrust of her powerful torso. There she stood finally, naked, unashamed-breathtakingly lovely.
In came the gynaecologist again, this time in surgical dress, his hands encased in rubber gloves. He gave the girl the cursory, impersonal glance of doctor to patient.
"Lie down," he commanded. "There."
He advanced upon her, and ran gloved hands expertly over her bosoms, palpating them, and then letting his fingers travel over her mound of matt-smooth belly, observing the spontaneous reaction of her hardening nipples, her goose-pimpling skin. Raising her knees, he parted her thighs, and the rosy, naked slash of her cunt came into focus.
Into the opened vulva he inserted his probing fingers for the examination. He plunged two fingers inside the vagina, probed around, altered their angle of incidence. He felt, estimated, felt again, reading her insides with his fingertips like a blind person reads Braille. Finally he withdrew bis now-warmed fingers from their sweet, feminine tunnel, stripping them of the rubber gloves as he did so.
"Mmm-m-m," he said, profoundly. WI see. That'll be all, Elisabetta. You can get dressed now."
"You'll help?" she cried gratefully, as she swung to a sitting position.
"I'll help," he said. "I'll get Garcia here, this weekif I can. If I can do anything to persuade him, then you'll have his child."
A calendar indicated the time lapse of two day*.
A cleverly-angled shot revealed Elisabetta once more. She was completely naked, lying on a different table in a tiny partitioned cubicle. In the adjoining cubicle, on the other side of the partition, stood Rinaldo Garcia, slowly undressing and quite unaware of the other patient, so delectably naked and so unbelievably close to him.
With Rinaldo was Signor Minotti, softly, persuasively, reasoning with the actor.
"Go on," he was saying. "And-wear this condom. In a moment, through that door, will come the most beautiful nurse in all the hospitals of Rome. She works with me sometimes. She has prayed for this. She has begged it of me. She's stupid, perhaps-but you're her one great love. With her, it's all-consuming, all-pervading! And when have you, Rinaldo, turned away the attractions of a beautiful woman? AU I ask is that you wear this french letter. I know her parents very well. I wouldn't like her to be got with child."
Rinaldo had finally disrobed.
"You?" he asked, pointedly. "Do you remain, watching, while all this is going on?"
'I'll be-where I will be," said the gynaecologist.
The door opened, and as the naked girl, her titties jouncing, her buttocks swaying, minced into the room, the doctor disappeared through a curtain that hid the entrance to yet a third partition.
All three cubicles could now be seen.
In the centre one, Rinaldo was advancing with a huge erection upon the lush, nubile body of the blonde eighteen-year-old. In that instant, he became for her Tarzan and Barbarossa and Beau Geste and Zorro all merged into one. The nurse, wordlessly, awaited his onslaught, collapsing willingly upon the bed as Garcia pressed his powerful body to her lush, youthful, yielding curves.
In the adjoining partition, powerless to help herself, Elisabetta lay upon her couch, thighs parted and a-splay, feverish fingers busy in her gaping, lascivious cunt. The more the sounds of the frantic copulation came through the partition, the more furious became her own onslaught upon her own opened, spuming, raging cunt.
Meanwhile, in the third cubicle, Dr. Minotti himself, his penis erect and protruding through his gown, was masturbating himself unmercifully.
And as the mighty superman and his teenage partner collapsed in the sweet, consuming delight of their fuck. Dr. Minotti jerked savagely erect. He was coming, and he reached for a wide-mouthed wine-glass, into which he caught jet after jet of his violent ejaculation. Smiling, he placed the sperm-filled wineglass in a tiny oven heated to the exact temperature of the human body;
And, in her own booth, the soprano arrived at her own climax. Legs jerking spasmodically, she clamped her masturbating fingers upon her clitoris. She twitched. She jerked, bodily. She writhed and tormented herself in the agony of her, orgasm. And finally she fell back, spent and exhausted.
by some miracle of camera art, Dino had succeeded in dimming the lights on the screen, so that a deep sense of mystery suddenly pervaded the scene. Faintly Dr. Minotti could be seen entering the partitioned cubicle of Elisabetta. He approached her. And he parted her angered, inflamed labia, while she lay, unresisting, spent by the fury of her discharge.
The doctor produced, now, a test-tube-thick syringe. On the surface of an opaque glass tray stood the wineglass full of his own semen and another object-the wet, half-filled french letter that had been worn by Rinaldo.
The doctor took up his strange syringe, and, ignoring the french letter, whose hot contents were spilling on to the tray, he took up the wine-glass. Drawing up the entire contents of his own semen into the syringe, he lient to the cunt of the operatic star-and in one plunge of his thumb squirted the entire product of his own masturbation deep up the cervix of Elisabetta, who, beside herself with lust, received the entire load of bodywarm discharge deep within her vagina, high up into her sex-wet cervix, swooning with the delight at having received what she thought was the discharge of Rinaldo! As he left her, Carotti's relentless camera lingered upon the doctor's gloating face, contorted now in a hideous spasm that betrayed his perverse satisfaction over the monstrous substitution.
There was a pregnant silence.
Elisabetto's child had been born four months ago. And here, in the projection studio of Dino Carotti, was the evidence, naked and incontrovertibly true, that her child was that of her gynaecologist, and not that of her husband! Dino Carotti had dared to capture, not only her announced intention of cuckolding her husbandbut the double-cross that had been wrought upon her by her doctor as well!
"It's monstrous!" cried the baroness. "Dino! Swear you didn't fake the whole thing!"
Dino smiled. "The camera," he observed wryly, "docs not he."
"But, my God-Dino! Can it-can it possibly be true?"
"You saw what happened, didn't you?"
"But do you realise, man, that you have evidence right here that every gossip columnist the world over would give her right hand to possess?"
"I do not make movies to show to gossip columnists, Lillian. I make movies-mostly for my public. And sometimes, I make a movie or two for the amusement of my friends." He sent a glance around the floor of the projection studio.
"Tell me," said the baroness, excitedly. "Has anybody else seen this film?"
"One or two," replied Dino. "The film has its uses... You see-"
He indicated, delicately, the sea of bodies draped obscenely over the floor, dimly visible in the half-light that now flooded the room.
"Can't they-won't they talk ? Won't they tell others?"
"I hardly think so," said Dino evenly. "I never ask for secrecy. I expect it-that's all."
"But Elisabetta-she is my friend!"
"Well?" asked Dino. "Would you talk? Would you let on, to anybody else?"
"For heaven's sake-no. Why-one word of this, and the girl's career could be ruined for ever! Christ! The greatest gift to opera-the greatest single voice sincesince Caruso himself 1"
"Exactly," smiled Carotti. "Who'd harm so precious, so universal, a loved one? For that matter, who else but we know of the perversion of the Prime Minister's wife? And what of all the other intimacies I have revealed in this movie?"
Silence again fell, as, in reverie, the group did a mental playback of the unbelievably wicked documentary.
Then, one by one, or in couples, they struggled wearily to their feet, picked up their discarded garments, and moved off, thoughtfully, to their rooms.
Only the baroness remained, too stunned by what she had seen to move.
Dino crossed to where she sat, cross-legged, upon a cushion, her cunt gleaming blue and gaping through her sperm-flecked bush. He sank down beside her.
"I'm going to have you tonight, Lillian," he announced casually. "I'm going to have you tonight, for two reasons," he stated, as flatly as if he were telling somebody the time. "First, because even I can get randy, you know-"
He indicated his erected cock, trailing slime through his fly.
"And secondly?" asked the baroness, when he did not go on.
"Secondly," answered the Italian, "because tonight, you finally rid yourself of Heine Gorlitz. Personally, I think you've lost him-to Reggie, or to Leslie. But tonight, you lost him again. This time, to that girl you call Anaka-Lee. So come..."
"You, Dino," murmured the baroness, as she melted into his embrace, "are a genius. A photographic genius. And, I suspect, a psychiatric genius as well. But you are also-a shit I"
And she parted her generous thighs to bis silent, insistent hips.
And, as he entered her-she sighed...
That ecstatic first evening at the Carotti villa was something for which the baroness now allowed a respite. For in the aftermath of that evening had come the slow shock of new experience.
Not all, however, felt it to the same degree. The Kandis, stolid as two-thousand-year-old trunks in their own jungle forests were impermeable to the effect of what went on around them-Voracious in their appetities, they ranged apart from each other only to confirm, when they came together again, what they both knew-that only in each other lay perfect fulfilment.
Nor did Althea and Istvan suffer any scar. They had been content to enjoy the unfolding of a greater, and ever-richer, experience. For both of them, this had proved to be experience shared. In the long hours of the night, clasped sexlessly in the arms of each other, they would recount, with nothing but joy, the unfolding of each day's new delights.
But for Reginaldo and Leslie, for example, the buffettings of the baroness's party already spelt the beginning of the end. Each had perpetrated his first homosexual infidelity-their first since their love had begun for each other. The period of adjustment was upon them.
For Anaka-Lee, for Dr. McGarrity, and for the athletic German gymnast, something new had begun, as well. The Polynesian girl, all her lifetime spent in the seeking, had discovered at last her measure of satisfaction. That cervaical fucking! She gazed, starry-eyed, upon the German whenever they met.
For Shane McGarrity, ten years her companion during their wandering through Europe, the cessation of the appetites of his heretofore insatiable mistress had rolled away an enormous weight of pressure. And the doctor had begun to eye the powerfully-built Hildegarde with a new and ill-concealed light in his eye.
And Hildegarde, starved all her life for the admiration of a man she could really love, forced heretofore to be content with a lesbian for whom she was neither physically nor mentally suited, was not slow to accept this sudden and welcome show of masculine attention.
For Elaine too, her three years of intense devotion to Hildegarde seemed to be coming to an end. She had thrilled to the first piercing of her vagina by a solid, throbbing, blood-containing male prick. Whose it had been, she knew not. She knew just this-that it possessed the satisfying yielding of lustful masculinity, instead of the hard, unfeeling rubber of the dildoes she had formerly been accustomed to shove up her twat. And the latent fire in her smouldering eyes bespoke a seething desire to discover what man it had been who had thus infused a breath of new vitality into her heretofore passive, receptive cunt.
The baroness, perceiving what was taking place, metaphorically rubbed her hands with satisfaction.
She allowed one entire day for the effects to sink inby themselves. She took no further part in underlining anything for anybody who could not yet understand. Understanding would come.
She permitted a second day of naked, indolent dalliance at the side of the shimmering, blue-watered pool-a day devoted to the pleasure of intellectual conversation, to the sipping of tall, iced drinks, and to the luxury of frequent plunges into the soothing water.
Towards evening, she called Istvan and Althea. Istvan wore the briefest of shorts. Althea was entirely nudethe way she liked most to be, once her innate shyness, almost teenage modesty, had worn off.
"Tomorrow morning," she said. "Can we get rolling, early?"
"As soon as you wish, Madame," replied Istvan. "The bus is always ready." "At eight, say?"
"The destination?" countered Istvan. "Cannes," replied the baroness. "In one day?" asked Istvan. "Cannes is far from Rome."
"Where is half-way, then?" asked the baroness. "La Spezia?"
"Spezia will do," replied Istvan. "Eight hours, Althea?"
"Six-if we take lunch in the bus," she replied, equally confidently. "The road's very winding. It's not so much the distance as the slow travelling."
"Fine," said the baroness. "We leave, then, at eight?"
CHAPTER 12
The Hotel Majestic in Cannes occupied a commanding position along the beach-front. Its wide public verandahs spilled out a kaleidoscope of gay, umbrella-awned tables over a close-cropped lawn. To the right sprawled the gently-swaying masts of the yachting colony. To the left swept the probing finger of Cap d'Anubes, far into the incredibly blue Mediterranean. And forward, ahead, lay the shimmering expanse of sea itself.
That evening they were all assembled on the balcony of the baroness's top-floor suite.
Three Americans had joined the party-Capt. Jackson Willoughby, veteran Air France pilot, and two air hostesses, Rhoda Langtry and a tall, sultry Negress, Thespie Jones.
"They work for different airlines," said the baroness, introducing the two girls. "It's obvious why. But they both come from the same state-Arkansas. They grew up in towns not more than fifty miles apart. And only here, in Europe, can their friendship grow and prosper."
"It's sure hell, this black-white thing," growled Theophilus. For once there was the fervour of deep feeling in his words.
The others made no comment.
"And then," said the baroness, "there's Capt. Jackson Willoughby, here." All turned.
Jackson Willoughby would have been recognised as an American anywhere. He was as American as a dollar bill, a packet of Luckies, a Coca-Cola bottle, or canned Pabst.
They saw a man in his mid-forties, with the clear blue eyes of the aviator, with the unshakeable willpower of the pilot who has to so often deny himself the luxuries of women, of tobacco, of liquor so that he may be hard and fit to fly. Around the corners of his eyes played the cross-feet of a sense of humour that was quick to shine out. In his handshake reposed the steel of the airline commander. His suit, and his manner of wearing it, bespoke the cosmopolitanism of a man many years from home, yet to whom home was wherever he happened to be.
"Hi, folks," he grinned. "Glad to be aboard."
Each wondered what was to be the speciality of the newcomers.
And, as if divining their thoughts, the baroness splashed soda from a syphon into her glass, raised it, and whiplashed her reply to their unspoken question right back at them.
"Thespie and Rhoda here, are about as advanced as any of us," she said. "You see-they don't fuck apart. They fuck together. Whoever takes on the one has to take on the other, simultaneously. Or, if two tackle one of them, both must tackle the other one, too, at the same time."
"At the same time?" queried Istvan.
"At the same time," echoed Thespic, softly.
All probed in imagination-and all derived some impression, even if only the most fleeting, of what the baroness was getting at.
"That's right," said the baroness. "I don't think either of these two has ever had a screwing alone. That right, Rhoda? Thespie?"
"Not in a hell of a long time, Baroness," said Rhoda. "Got no use for it, that way. Can't seem to come, by ourselves."
"And Captain Willoughby?" asked Felicity, a shade of insolence in her tone.
"Captain Willoughby, you'll find, is perhaps the greatest libertine in the world today," said the baroness, suddenly calm. Felicity had the latent power always to annoy her.
Greater than you, you old bag? thought Felicity, still insolently. Something disturbed her, deep insidebut she was still too polite to show it.
"Captain Willoughby's been everywhere in the world. There's nothing he hasn't learned-from the East, from the Eskimos, from the Arabs, from the Watusi-or even from us,-here in Europe," said the baroness.
"Hashish?" murmured Felicity.
"Hashish," said the captain, quickly, "is fine-provided you, and not the hashish, stays the boss."
He eyed the impudent actress imperturbably. So this, he thought, is the luscious Felicity Velda. Wonder how those tits'd turn out, once you got her to bed? Spare rubbers, perhaps?
As if divining his thoughts, the actress smoothed down her frock and brought her hands up suddenly, constricting the upper hemispheres of her breasts so violently that they threatened to overflow the very confines of her gown.
"Which is exactly what I wanted to know," said the captain, cryptically.
Carotti mentally chalked up the score. One-love, in favour of the pilot. A smile flickered over the photographer's face.
The baroness returned to her subject.
"Listen," she said. "There's nothing any of us thinks we can do, or can invent-that he can't out-do, or outinvent. Just don't say I didn't warn you-or that I didn't invite you to try."
"Some build-up, Lillian," said the captain affably.
At which the doors of the baroness's bedroom opened, and two more people entered-Thys van Grondwijk and his wife, Alouetta.
The baroness made the introductions.
"Some of you know the van Grondwijks already. Those who don't-well, here they are. Thys. Alouetta. More money than the Rothschilds. More love of good living than Escoffier. Been here, there-everywheresince we last met."
"But happiest of all to be with you, Lillian^-and your people," said Thys, genially.
The Van Grondwijks were a white counterpart of the Kandis. Their physiques were akin. Their readiness to laugh was akin. They were as alike bodily as they were in personality.
"We were talking about specialties," said Hildegarde, once the two Hollanders had been given a drink. "What's theirs, Baroness?"
"Yes," said Felicity. "You've been pretty generous in your build-ups. I never heard you give me one, though. How do they rate, these two?"
"You'll find them right up your alley, Felicity!" the baroness flashed back.
Felicity raised her eyebrows questioningly.
"The whip-isn't that what you've always been wanting?" asked the baroness.
"Ah, yes!" sighed Felicity, en captured.
"Then meet the master-the masters-of all time, since Dc Sade himself! Thys, Alouetta, meet Felicity Velda!"
Thys van Grondwijk looked at the beautiful Italian girl with a new interest.
"Not the Felicity Velda?" he inquired.
Regally, slowly, Felicity rose to her full height. By a mere forward roll of her shoulders she suddenly seemed to expand her breasts by a good four inches. The satin of her gown moulded itself to their glorious contours, disappearing inwards at the cleavage between them.
"The Felicity," she stated, simply.
"Aha," commented Alouetta van Grondwijck, cryptically.
That was all there was to it. But there was a subtle undercurrent of violence in the words.
Cannes sweltered, white and raw, bleached by the sun. The breeze-what there was of it-was from the land. Is was hot, foetid, oppressive
Along the esplanade sauntered the tourists, stripped to the bare minimum of bikini or swim-trunks, their bodies brown or reddened beneath enormous-brimmed straw hats. They sprawled, shirts unbuttoned to the waist, sipping iced drinks beneath the garish brightness of multi-coloured parasols.
It was too hot to talk. It was too hot to loll abed. There were but two alternatives-the cool of the water, or the shade of the cafe parasols; perhaps, alternately, a little of each. Though it was morning, everyone limply awaited the benison of evening, when the breeze would change and sweep in, cool and welcome, over the sea.
Slowly the day dragged to an end.
The baroness's party, now nineteen in all, took dinner in the spacious restaurant. They sat, not as one party, but in more intimate groups of threes and fours. Evening cocktails and a swim had freshened them all considerably.
After dinner, they retired to the large lounge in the baroness's suite. On either side of this elegant salon were the two bedrooms of the suite.
As they sat, idly chatting, Capt. Jackson Willoughby voiced their collective thoughts with a simple request.
"You gonna throw any light, yet, Baroness?" he asked, easily and naturally.
"Light?" queried the baroness. "Light? On what?"
"On what's in store for us-that's all," said the captain.
"Oil-I see," said the baroness. "Our plans? I wonder, now? There's that element of surprise, you see. I planned to make some use of that, you know."
"And why not?" boomed Berenice, merrily. "Things go on happening like they have been-and I couldn't care less where I am-tomorrow, next week. Or next month, for that matter."
The baroness scanned the faces of those about her. There were a few who had the fatalism, the acceptance of "let-things-happen" that was the forte of the Kandis. They were the contented, the complaisant ones.
There were others, however, who had been betraying an inward uneasiness-brought on, she knew, by the events of the past few days. This uneasiness was neither fear, nor nervousness, nor apprehension. It was, rather, a conglomerate of all three emotions.
Such were Reggie and Leslie, Elaine and Hildegarde, and Heine Gorlitz-if that man's iron control could be said ever to betray any inner emotion whatever. Then there was the conflict between Dino Carotti and Felicity Velda. In that latter relationship, the baroness was thinking, there lurked the beginnings, perhaps, of a crack-up. And why not, then? The two had been living together now for the better part of two years. And that, God knows, was at least a year longer than she had expected it to last, even when the attachment was formed. Felicity was too haughty, too intensely selfish.
"Then 1*11 leave things just as they are," she said. "With this proviso-that if anybody feels he or she can't take the suspense any longer, please feel free to come and talk to me about it. This I can promise, thoughthere's plenty of fun ahead of us. That I can assure you.
"I'm all for that, Baroness," said Willoughby. "Your kind of fun is what I can take lots of. Sorry I spoke."
"Don't give it another thought," smiled the baroness.
The small talk resumed, this time with a more vivacious ring to it. Ice clinked in tall Tom Collinses. The party seemed to settle down once more.
Then Istvan spoke.
A look of genuine puzzlement wrinkled his brow as he asked the baroness: "Mind if I put a question, Madame?" About Rhoda and Thespie?
"Go right ahead."
"You were telling us," Istvan recalled, "that anybody who has one of them has to have the other one as well, simultaneously?"
"That's right," smiled the baroness. "Isn't it, girls?"
"Too true, it's right," said Thespie definitely. "We get it anyway else, we just can't come-that's all there is to it!"
"We]l, that part I can understand," said Istvan, gravely.
"What bothers me is the other bit. That if two tackle one, both have to tackle the other as well. I'm sorrysorry if I'm being dumb about this, but I just don't get it."
"Damn good point, that," interjected Dr. Shane McGarrity. "I'll tell you something. I've been wondering, myself, about just that very thing."
"And so've I," confessed Heine Gorlitz.
"You mean-you don't understand?" asked the baroness, surprised.
"I certainly don't," said Dr. McGarrity.
"But it's perfectly clear to me," said the baroness. She looked at the two girls. "Can't you explain it, Rhoda?" she asked.
Rhoda shot a quick and mischievous look at Thespie. The negress caught her meaning at once.
"Rather show you, than talk about it," said Rhoda gaily. "That is-if nobody objects. I don't. And Thespie won't. What say?"
A thrill gripped them, immediately. It was the old but each-time-new excitement aroused by exhibitionistic sex. It was a feeling with its roots deep in the fear of convention, of shocking somebody or another-perhaps even the fear of being discovered in an act that had been thought intimate and private.
"So? Who do we get to work with?" asked Thespie brazenly.
Her eye fell full on Istvan. But Istvan, whose question had prompted this sudden turn, bowed out gracefully.
A quick thrill of adoration racked Althea at Istvan's gesture of withdrawal. She stole her hand into his.
Thespie caught the significance of Istvan's refusal.
"No takers?" she taunted. "So-well pick two, then. Hows about you, skipper-for one?"
"Can't frighten me," the captain sang out, cheerfully.
"And what about Dr. McGarrity?" asked Rhoda.
"The poor, tired, almost-clapped Doctor McGarrity," echoed the doctor. He stood up, however, and crossed over to stand beside the aviator. "If you only know what we've been through in the past few days. However -Dr. McGarrity it is. You bought it, kids-you drive it, then!"
"Right!" said Rhoda, alert now, and businesslike. "Now, Istvan-the part you don't seem to understand is that business about if two tackle the one of us, both have to tackle the other one as well? That it?"
"That's it," said Istvan.
"Fine," said Rhoda. "So we strip, now? Good. Then choose your weapons, you two-Thespie or me. And don't be gallant-whoever you choose is going to get not one bit more than the other one. You'll see!"
Swiftly, the four disrobed. Dr. McGarrity presented a forlorn sight as he stood, penis a-droop, and something in his self-pitying observance of his own condition led to an outburst of merriment from among those who watched.
"Change places, Mac?" catcalled Cariotti, whose own penis was already throbbing to erection at the mass striptease.
"Not on your life!" said the doctor. "It'll work-just give it time!"
And it did, too, as the smooth, chocolate-skinned negress knelt at it and flicked her now-naked titties horizontally over its drooping head. Her body was superbly moulded and her tits, shapely globes of incomparable beauty, felt actually warmer than the rest of her bodyheat as they caressed the tip of the doctor's tool now beginning to swell.
Stripped at last, Rhoda alio came into the fray. She came at the doctor from behind, her glorious body alive with lascivious, lewd intent-ready, already, for penetration.
Her breasts were as statuesque, each in their way, as those of any woman in the room. They were subject to one flaw, however; one was larger than the other, a defect common to thousands of otherwise superbly-sculpted women. But even the lesser of her two tits was full, rounded, voluptuous. Dr. McGarrity felt the warm body of the white girl pressed against his back, and reached behind him to clasp her buttocks, already working, so that he might draw her hairy mons veneris right into the twin globes of his arse.
The captain was ready, penis throbbing over his contracting scrotum as he moved, gently, the better to observe the magic being wrought by the negress on the doctor. Without touch of hand, using only the lobbing bouncing of her bosoms, Thespie had brought the reluctant cock of the doctor into as rigid and raging a weapon as he had ever displayed for action. The captain marvelled.
"Looks like it's gonna be you, Thespie," he sang out. "Any girl can do all that to a sleeping prick, and that's the girl who can have me!"
"No objection?" asked the doctor, proud again of his awakened manhood.
"None at all," said Thespie, randy already herself, "Whatever I get, Rhoda gets, too. That's the way the matzo crumbles, man!"
"Show us, then," said the doctor.
"Right," said Thespie. "So it's me you want? That it? I lie down-so." Flaunting her black nudity, she crossed to a divan.
"Now you come into me," she said to the doctor.
"That's right-right in the cunt, man!" She shuddered in delight as her vagina swallowed up the length of Dr. McGarrity's tool. She wriggled, involuntarily, upon the heft of it.
"Now," she said. "Come on, Rhoda. You lie there. Now, doc-you suck her, or fingerfuck her, see? Have her any way you can think of. She'll come at you any way you want her. All you have to do is to satisfy yourself, satisfy me, and satisfy her-all at the same time. You understand?"
Dr. McGarrity smiled, benignly. This he was going to enjoy.
Then he went limp with surprise as the negress, suddenly and without any warning, wriggled free from beneath him and escaped, just at the instant he had hoped she would open up to him. In his mouth was already the warmth and the softness and the taste of the lush cunt he had hoped to tongue.
"Now-supposing both of you want me," went on Thespie, her breasts rising and falling magnificently as she spoke. "Say one in the mickey, and one in my mouth, hey? O.K. That still leaves you each a head, each a pair of hands-so you slam a tongue, or a fistful of fingers, into Rhoda. You follow?"
She thrust herself quickly against the body of Dr. McGarrity.
"Or suppose you get up my arse, and you, skipper, want it in my cunt? You're still free, both of you, to deal with Rhoda, see?
"Or else we can try it even another way. We all lie round in a square, and each one sucks the other off. I take you, Doc You take Rhoda. Rhoda takes the skipper. The skipper takes me. That one clear?"
"That's the way we'll do it, then," said the doctor. "That last way."
As they took up their positions, then, the foursome became oblivious to the presence of the others. Each in the grip of desire, they lay hastily, greedily, in the positions each felt instinctively must be adopted. Their caresses had degenerated, now, into a rough tearing at one another. Voraciously, mouth sought for prick, mouth slavered at wet, distended, engorged cunt. And, as tongues slid upon clitoris, as licking spit-wet lips clamped down upon toolheads, the four of them shuddered in unison. Soon there was the panting urgency of mouthbreathing, the lascivious swish of tongue slashing along gaping cunt, and each was away...
The sight of the four bodies interlocked in fuck, and the visibility of each fornicator's action, swept the audience into a fever of desire. They craned forward, greedily jostling each other for vantage points around the four corners of the sexual square.
Berenice shouted encouragement to the quartette coupled in lustful copulation, naked and sweating openly before them.
"Get into it, fellers!" she called. "Go after what you want. The more you get, the more you're going to want to give! Don't you forget that, now!"
"That's telling them!" grinned Theophilus. He patted his enormous wife affectionately over her pantieless buttocks.
"I've heard about that philosophy of yours, Theophilus," called out Alouetta.
"Only thinking worth a damn, in sex," he declared, majestically. "You want to try it, perhaps, with me?"
"I've wanted you ever since I've beard about you," she laughed, unashamedly.
"So long as I get Thys, why-have him, by all means," said Berenice, generously.
People separated into watching groups as the fresh foursome began to undress. The-homosexuals and the lesbians remained, watching avidly the four-square oral fornication being enacted before them.
But the others sensed that a new contest, a more mighty and even more impressive one, was about to commence. They fell back, leaving the rest of the floor to Berenice and Alouetta, to Thys and Theophilus.
Alouetta was first to peel down to the buff. The wealth of white flesh she presented to the assembled gaze was almost past human comprehension. Great tits like inverted basins jutted and ballooned from her mighty torso, their nipples hard and half as long as the teats upon the udders of one of her native Friesland cows. Her rotund belly divided at the V of her vast, sparselyhaired sex into thighs sturdy as twin tree-trunks.
Almost her exact counterpart except for the blackness of her African skin where all of Alouetta was gleaming white was Berenice. She was greater than Amazonian but was superb, carved ebony in the excellence of tit, of thigh, of belly and buttock. She was all sex... black sex.
Toward the two women advanced the two naked men, slowly and deliberately, like a pair of gross, big-bellied Japanese judo combatants. The black man bore down upon the white woman. The black woman spread open her colossal thighs, and prepared to receive the onslaught of the white giant.
Not a man in the room then but whose juices were oozing from his upright phallus. Not a woman but whose cunt was a palpitating oven of passionate heat.
Heine, breathing strangely and deeply, reached for
Anaka-Lee. She came, entranced as if under the influence of some hypnotic drug, into his muscular arms.
"Strip!" he commanded, harshly.
Entirely possessed, the Polynesian reached for the hem of her satiny gown, shucking it over her head. With the tossing aside of her single garment, she stood revealed in all her nudity.
Heine was not much more tardy in his disrobing. Together the pair fell to the floor beside the first foursome who, joined in their sexual square, were beginning to moan in the transports of their approaching communal orgasm.
Heine's possession of Anaka-Lee unleashed their emotions.
Istvan leaped to the baroness, who had contrived to jerk one great mammary from out of her corsage. He was already nude. He bore the baroness to the floor without giving her time to disrobe, sliding her skirts up above her waist as she collapsed, whining and weak, beneath him.
"Ah-hoh!" she cried, jerking spasmodically. "Now! Now, this moment! Puck me! Plunge it into me-ah, for Christ's sweet sake! I'm afire! I want you-soo-o-o much. Oooh-h! Give it to me, whoever you are!"
Althea, equally randy, had stripped to the skin. She squatted athwart the eager, slavering tongue of the baroness. Seeing her, Istvan arched his back, boring down with his genitals deep into the baroness's quim, and arching up to make way for bis beloved to be sucked by the woman he was fucking. The baroness squirmed and shivered in her rut, striving to contain all that Istvan was screwing into her; striving, in her turn, to give equal satisfaction to the sweet-smelling, squelching, seductive cunt she was sucking and tongueing.
Most of them in the room were now coupled, or preparing for it. Four had achieved orgasm by now. They lav, spent and oblivious. The others were still seeking relief. Jackson Willoughby was with Felicity. Dr. McGarrity, spent and roused again, was rolling round the floor, copulated gloriously into a surprisingly active and receptive Hildegarde. Somebody had dimmed the main lights, leaving only the diffused illumination of sidelamps.
In their search for relief, only two people, Elaine and Leslie, had been left out. Unheeded by any, these two now found each other. They stepped, together, daintily over the mass of writhing flesh upon the floor. Together, on tiptoe, they passed, wraithlike, through the door of one of the adjoining bedrooms.
There, in privacy now, the homosexual laid the slim girl upon the bed. Naked, as was she, he bent towards her. Blindly she reached for that slim man-body that was so nearly a counterpart of her own. She drew him toward her, and Leslie, shuddering, presented the heft of his manhood at her sex.
Shivering, she activated the shy, unaccustomed muscles that opened her vagina. Jets of lubricating fluid were released as Leslie made his entrance. Feeling himself plunging deliriously down some dune of sort, warm, allembracing beach sand, he collapsed upon the slender body of that beloved girl, who now tasted the sublime difference between dildo and the sinewy warmth of male actuality. Tiny, feminine cries bubbled and spilled from her as she relaxed beneath him, all delicious inexperience, yet as ardent and afire as was he to learn.
And they were suddenly one, the homosexual and the lesbian.
They clove to each other, and in their cleaving, and in the agonising ecstasy of their simultaneous orgasm, they knew that they had found one another.
CHAPTER 13
It was past two o'clock in the morning when the first of them, lying spent and recumbent where they had collapsed, began to stir. They were Thys and Alouetta van Grondwijk.
Surprisingly lightly for people of their bulk, they tiptoed up, felt for their clothes, and minced their way over the mass of bodies toward the door.
Two alone, in that room, saw them go.
One was Capt. Jackson Willoughby. His senses were so trained to the alert in the face of every danger, real or imagined, and every unusual situation, that Alouetta had barely inched her vast womanhood to a standing position before he was aware of it. Being aware, he decided to watch her departure from his position, recumbent now, over the naked and glorious body of Felicity Velda.
He did not relax the even rhythm of his breathing by so much as a single quicker aspiration.
As Jackson Willoughby felt the van Grondwijks leave he felt the body of Felicity stir beneath him. He silently rolled over and off his beautiful prisoner of love. Without uttering a word, the two of them collected up their scattered clothing and, stepping warily, trailed the two Hollanders into the adjoining bedroom.
Capt. Willoughby sensed that Felicity no longer wanted him, sexually. There was something else now.
He took Felicity's elbow as they stepped delicately over the tangle of bodies, some nude, some semi-nude, their garments awry and creased over their twisted bodies. And, the door of the bedroom scarcely closed behind Thys and Alouetta, Capt. Willoughby opened it again.
In the Maze of sudden light, Felicity seemed to the captain to have become wide-eyed, and in the grip of an obsession he could not fathom. It intrigued him.
Thys and Alouetta turned. They had eyes only for Felicity.
"Please," said Felicity. She spoke the word haltingly, imploringly. Her lovely arms were extended before her at shoulder-level, in an eloquent gesture of supplication. Beneath those arms, the fulness of her superb breasts, now raised, was divinely apparent. Her torso heaved and collapsed, betraying the intense emotion under which she was labouring.
"Felicity 1" said Alouetta, gently. And Thys said: "Why, child, what's the matter?"
"The matter," breathed Felicity passionately, "is that I want you two-so very much!"
"Sexually?" asked Alouetta.
"Sex!" howled Felicity. "No! Not now. Any more sex, tonight, would revile me-digust me! But the baroness said-Lillian said, that you two... Ah, sweet Jesus-can't you see, please! I implore you... the whip! I want the whip! Please, Thys,-Alouetta-won't you? She quivered, throbbing, in the grip of her emotion.
"The whip?" echoed Thys, naked, magnificent. "Now? This minute? Do you realise it is past midnight?"
" Midnight-schmidnight!" screamed Felicity, howling 128 like an animal. "When you want it, you gotta have it! Don't you understand?"
How could they, accomplished in the art of flagellation, not understand ? They knew. An unspoken exchange of words took place between husband and wife.
Thys reached for the heaving, undulant body of the actress. He drew her toward him. "But do you realise, child-the cries! The torment! It's past midnight! We'll be heard-and if we are, what of that, hey?"
"Ill be brave!" squealed-Felicity. "I'll utter no sound! But please, Thys-Alouetta-please, whip me!"
"Nobody can be brave, Felicity," said Thys, imperious as he added, "when it is I, Thys van Grondwijk, who wields the lash!"
"Then let's go somewhere-the beach!" panted Felicity. "What about the beach? Nobody's there-at this hour?*"
"The beach," Jackson Willoughby put in, "is out. She'll scream. With this whip business, they always do. One scream-somebody picks up a phone-and in two minutes the cops are on our backs.
Felicity shuddered, involuntarily, in anticipation.
Willoughby went on: "I think I've got a better idea. About three miles from here, on the back road to Nice, I've got an old glass-house. Side-line of mine. I had a partner once, in the flower business-you know, carnations and stuff. Well, it didn't work out. But I've still got the property. The sheds are empty now, but they're still there. And I've still got the keys."
"But how'll we get there?" asked Thys. "Taxi? At this hour?"
"Personally," said Captain Willoughby. "I was thinking of the bus. And that fellow, Istvan. I like the boyand that girl of his, Althea."
Wonderfu!" beamed Alouetta. "Good idea. Tho* two have a great capacity for new experience." "That's the way I feel about them." While he went black to the salon to wake Istvan ant Althea, Thys poured a stiff round of cognacs. "This'l wake us up," he grinned, as he passed the drinks around He stopped before the still-nude Felicity. The actress') eyes were bright, her lips parted-her whole frame tensed by anticipatory excitement
"Your dress," he commented, thoughtfully. "You have something in satin?"
"Not the white," said Thys. "Go put on the whispered.
"I've one in black and white-both satin," she black one. And nothing-nothing at all underneath."
Felicity quivered, gloriously, at the thought This was a perversion in which she often indulged, preferring, when this mood was upon her, to stroll provocatively up some crowded avenue or boulevard like the Cor so, or the Via Vencto-some street alive and vibrant with thousands of jostling people. The more people the betteramong whom she could flaunt her glorious, unconfined body, her lovely woman-nakedness.
Felicity swallowed her cognac at a single gulp as Istvan and Althea, followed by the captain, arrived.
"Right" said Alouetta. "Go and change. Don't be long. Then come to our room-it's number 307. That's where we'll meet."
Within five minutes, they were gathered in the Van Grondwijks' apartment
The buxom, superbly-fleshed Alouetta was at that moment divesting herself of brassiere and panties and as she dropped these items to the floor, she swung about, stark naked once more.
She was an awesome sight. Her enormous breasts stubbed forth, twin mountains of white meat, from her waistless trunk. A sparse triangle of cunt-hair arrowed down at the junction of her thighs. Everything about her was enormous-her belly, her buttocks, and, above all, her breasts, each with their chocolate-circled nipple, risen now to nut-like hardness as she faced the others.
She reached into a cupboard and selected one of several black satin gowns. Drawing this from its hanger, she slid it over her head, smoothing it down, alt the way, over her massive body.
The skirt was slit to the hip, and, parting as she moved, revealed the whole of one enormous, trunk-like leg, startling in its whiteness against the black of her dress. The gown fitted like a second skin. She might have been wearing nothing at all.
Thys opened a dresser and took out a long, Hat case, silver-butted around the corners. From the case he drew out three wicked-looking whips.
The first was a short-thonged riding-crop, flexible only toward the tip as it tapered to a point twenty-four inches from its handle, a whip of the type they call a sjambok in South Africa, made from an elephant's penis.
The second whip had a short silver-and-leather handle, from which cascaded a number of foot-long thongs.
The third was a whip used by circus ringmasters. Long-handled, it tapered to a six or seven-foot thong which fell to the floor and snaked ominously at its tip.
Felicity's eyes glazed in lust.
It was two o'clock in the morning by the time they reached the sheds, on a plot about four hundred yards back from the roadside. They were now in the main shed. Captain Willoughby turned the light on.
But Thy* demurred. "Switch it off," he commanded.
There was enough illumination in the full moonlight coming through the glass walls of the shed.
Felicity was now obviously in the grip of her obsession. Her glorious figure writhed and undulated under her gleaming satin dress, in an ecstasy of expectation. Alouetta too, nerve centres of memory recalling to her a score and more of such experiences, was slack-mouthed, breathing heavily, panting lustfully.
Felicity stood a moment or two, then impulsively came to Thys van Grondwijk. She threw her arms around the massive Hollander, grinding her pelvis into the man's loins.
"Take mc!" she sobbed. "Ravish me, Thys! Ah, but I'm so ready for it-so randy for it! Ill be good-I'll be brave! I promise!"
She reached for his vast hands and drew these to her hot, hard-nippled breasts, cupping each bosom into a single hand. She wriggled and pressed herself seductively against him.
But Thys brushed her peremptorily away.
He tossed the whips to a working shelf which extended the full distance of each wall of the shed. The centre of the abandoned shed was bare.
Then he stripped his shirt from his huge, powerful torso. He stood only in bis trousers. Alouetta's eyes dilated in pride and in the wonder with which she always responded to the fleshy nakedness of her man. She dropped to one knee, encircled her husband's hips with hungry arms, and buried her face into his groin, feeling the semi-hardness of his erection through the material of his trousers.
"Ah, Thys?" she moaned. "Me? Me, first?"
Thys's smile bespoke the detachment which comes with complete control of a man over his body and his mind. Gently he pushed Alouetta's face from where she slobbered into his hips.
"No," he said, with finality. "Felicity first. You know what it's all about. She doesn't. She might scare off. Your turn'11 come, skat!"
"Oh, but I do-I do know what it's all about," sobbed Felicity. "Five times already. But never once by an expert-never yet I Amateurs! Botchers-people who didn't know what they were doing!"
"Get over there, then," commanded Thys. "Thereagainst the shelf. That's right. Turn around-face the wall. Now grip those two uprights. Grip them-hard! Don't let go!"
He took up the largest of his three whips. It was the whip used by circus ringmasters. Expertly, he tested it for balance. Then, with no more than the flick of an upraised arm, be caused a clap that echoed through the shed like a rifle-shot.
Felicity quivered, her buttocks jouncing beneath the smooth garment she wore.
Thys raised his arm once more. He turned, imperceptibly. Then, with incredible speed for so gargantuan a man, he snaked the thong suddenly, viciously, toward the quite unprepared actress.
A second clap rang out simultaneously with the biting of the leather for the first time, deeply, cruelly, into the flesh of the girl's twin buttocks, falling horizontally across both cheeks, cutting a livid weal equidistantly along the curve of both arsecheeks. The cruel pain of it was worse, even, than was the sudden, totally unexpected shock of it. Felicity was powerless to prevent an agonised scream of anguish. She twitched, body jerking, and as she started to collapse, Thys struck again. The flexible thong shot forward. A second deeply-incising weal was laid, a half-inch below the first, in the very instant before the astonished girl fell to the ground.
She screamed in anguish at the unbearable pain of it. She turned her enormous, imploring eyes upon Thys. But, incredibly, her look seemed to say: "Go on! Don't stop!"
Thys, master of his merciless craft, recognised that look.
"Get up!" he flung at her. "You wanted it! Get up then, bitch-and take it!"
Few men had ever spoken to the pampered Felicity like that. Yet, submissively, she struggled weakly to her knees. And, as she stretched forward her arms to reach the two upright posts, Thys struck, cruelly, once again.
This time he made searing contact with the very tip, the last quarter-inch of the thong. The whip met the satin and bored like a hole probed by a red-hot poker tip into Felicity's left arse-cheek, naked beneath its single layer of satin.
The pain must have been unbearable. Jackson Willoughby winced.
Felicity flung back her lovely head, tears streaming from her eyes. But she was smiling, ethereally. She was on her feet once more, gripping the upright posts, her fingers balled into white-knuckled fists around the wood.
Thys motioned Captain Willoughby and Istvan to either side of the quivering girl. Silently, they flanked her.
Then the flagellant let go two more mighty, searing lashes, placing them expertly one above and the other one beneath the two he had inflicted previously. The speed of their coming was so swift as to make their twin thunderclaps seem simultaneous.
Felicity shuddered. She quaked in pain and agony.
And, as she shuddered, she felt the sudden, insistent approach of orgasm-the wildest, most demonic she had ever known. She felt, in her cunt, the outpouring of her womanfluids. She threw back her head, and screamed in the agony of both pain and of her coming.
"Aaah-h-hl Oooo-ooh-oohl Ah, sweet God in Heaven -but this is unbearable! Only go on, Thys! Go on, for the sake of Fuck itself!"
Twice more, and mightily, Thys lashed at her. Then he stepped back the merest trifle on the balls of his feet. Poised perfectly, he sent a second of those darting final quarter-inch stings deep into the centre of the globe of Felicity's other arse-cheek.
She had now endured eight lashes, six of them searing, horizontal cuts. Thys knew that she could take only one more. He motioned Istvan and the captain to support the writhing, tormented, tortured girt-for she had slipped down, archbacked, slumping forward between the posts.
A drenching torrent of piss burst from her cunt.
"Oh, noo-oo-o-o!" she sobbed. "No-o-o! What are you doing to me, Thys ? I'm so randy-I'm coming-I'm pissing myself, I'm pissing!"
Althea gazed, wide-eyed herself now, upon the unbelievable ritual. Her own cunt was an inferno of desire, of violent, turbulent libido. But there was no release for her. Istvan and Jackson Willoughby were both occupied, supporting the tortured Felicity. Only Alouetta was available.
Althea sank to the concrete floor, dragging at Alouetta. She snaked her hand up the slit skirt of the enormous Dutchwoman, darting her fingers to the cunt. Silently Alouetta fell to the floor at the side of the raving Greek girl, acceding to the wordless request implicit in the caressing fingers at her crotch. Althea felt for the gaping, parted cunt, sloshy already with pre-come, and Alouetta closed her thighs rapturously over the captured, caressing fingers.
Thys now poised for the final, ninth stroke. He raised his arm slowly to shoulder-level. Then he let it fall and his powerful wrist sent the thong snaking out toward the black satin back arched before him.
It was the cruellest blow of all. This time the leather landed with the full final twelve inches over the girl's back. It landed in the form of a great S. It was a mighty lash. As the thong swished idly, after impact, to the floor at the piss-wet feet of the actress, she arched forward suddenly, demented and consumed in the throes of the most violent orgasm she had ever experienced. In violent, body-jerking paroxysms, she writhed and jetted load after load of her coming into the urine-soaked crotch of her black satin frock.
And as she thrashed about, torn violently from the grasp of her two captors by the fury of her spending, she became totally incontinent, suddenly discharging into her gown a brown turd of steaming, stinking shit!
Thys, his mighty chest pouring sweat, laid down the great whip.
Alouetta now sprang forward, obscenely facing her husband, over the quivering body of Felicity. Feverishly she tore at her corsage, dragging it down so that fram her frock her two monumental mammaries sprang out, their nipples hard and aching in erection.
"Me, Thys! Me now-my turn!" she pleaded.
Beneath her, Felicity lay, still now in her ordure of piss, shit, and spunk. She had discharged, absolutely and utterly, from every orifice in her body.
Thys selected, now, the vicious-looking "cat"-that many-thonged instrument of torture so beloved of his wife. Wickedly he drew it back, and suddenly shot the snaking thongs out over the massive dts of his wife, bared now in her urgency. Alouetta shuddered.
Then, cupping each vast mound, she offered the majesty of her mammaries to the second lashing stroke. It snaked home to its twin targets, and angry red weals showed now, criss-crossing each breast. Tomorrow they would be purple. Alouetta shuddered again, bringing her thighs together in ecstasy to close the two labia over her raging, throbbing clitoris. She tore at her frock as the third lash descended. In a second she stood before them in stark nakedness. Then she collapsed to the floor, moaning.
Thys motioned the captain forward. "Part her arsecheeks," he commanded. "And get into her!"
Swiftly the captain stripped, tossing his garments over on to the shelf. He rolled the enormous, palpitating mass of Dutch womanhood over on to her back.
"Why the arse?" he grinned, impudently, "when she has all this?" He gestured to her huge cleft.
"Have it your way, then," said Thys. "Only that she loves one up the rectum when she's getting the whipthat's all. But suit yourself. Only-just don't get in the way I"
Alouetta, thrashing about upon the floor, instinctively parted her thighs to receive the erected penis probing for entry. And, as the entire length of the captain's staff vanished up her twat, Thys sent the third lashing down over the bare and exposed tits of his wife.
"Don't move!" he commanded Captain Willoughby. "Just you stay inside. Arch your back. Get out of the way of the whip. She'll do all the work you'll be wanting-just you keep dead still and enjoy it, manl'
A fourth vicious swish of the nine-tailed whip, and a further filigree of weals started from the huge, deadwhite mounds of his wife. And, with each successive paroxysm of pain wracking her body, the Dutchwoman clenched, even more tightly, her clamping cunt upon the prick inside it.
And then, with the very next unbearable lashing, the great woman suddenly erupted, like some vast volcano, into orgasm. The writhing of her mighty bulk brought the captain into sudden ejaculation as well. She was clutching at his tool within her cunt, sucking from him his palpitating discharges of hot, bubbling semen.
Now it was Istvan who could contain himself no longer. Senses confused by what he had seen-this strange, forbidden ritual in which two women had been flogged into sexual orgasm-he reached for Althea. The well-remembered contours of her eager young body, long since stripped for sexual participation, fell into his grasp. He clutched at her as she rolled beneath him to receive his aching penis.
As the two of them coupled, Thys van Grondwijk ripped off his flannels. He advanced, menacingly, upon the violated body of Felicity Velda.
Thys lifted her up as if she were weightless. Holding her as a father holds a baby, he unzipped her frock and threw the befouled garment, recking of piss, spunk and shit, into a far corner of the shed. Then he carried the limp, unprotesting actress over to a faucet and turned on a full stream of cold water.
The water was cleansing and refreshing. As it cascaded over her body, Felicity revived. She lay, limp and relaxed, as Thys laved her tenderly.
He marvelled at the superb contours of her incom parable physique. Each breast was a masterpiece. la every curve of belly, of buttock or of thigh, Felicity Velda was perfection itself. Thys found his cleansing becoming a caress.
Beneath his gentle hands, Felicity came to consciousness, and as Thys played the water from the faucet over her ravaged buttocks with their angry, fiercely-red weals, she began to feel desire once more.
She was thus more than ready when Thys set her down, lightly, upon her feet-and drew her woman-flesh to himself in an embrace surprisingly tender. She felt his prick hot and throbbing as it lay vertically up her belly. She sighed.
Instinctively she spread her legs and Thys, crouching now, but stilt standing balanced on his feet, plunged his thickened root, a thing of incredible girth, into her dripping bush. It slid through the angle of wet cunt-hair, then, making contact with the parted labia, it encountered the welcoming oiliness of Felicity's receptivity.
Wordlessly she gave herself to him, exulting in his enormous penis deep within her vulva.
Suddenly Thys hoisted the girl by her hips. Without decunting, he held her before him, boring into her now on straightened legs, as she wrapped her thighs about his waist, locking her crossed feet over his back. And it was in this position that they completed their fuck.
Mischievously she flicked at Thys* drooping penis as he slid it, semen-dripping, out of her twat. Even slack it was a thing of preposterous size, and she thrilled to the realisation of what she had contained within her.
On tiptoe-she went to the tap again, and the copious strands of come sliding down her opened, parted thighs were washed away in the stream of water.
None had heard, as they drove back in the early dawn, the putt-putt-putt of the Lambretta. behind them. Nor could they see the smirk of satisfaction on the face of its driver, Dino Carotti...
CHAPTER 14
Cannes sprawled, white and passive, breathless beneath the . punishment of daylong sunshine and an almost unbearable humidity.
For two days the heat continued.
On the third day there came the blissful relief of a violent and drenching thunderstorm.
The strong sap surged. It revitalised trees, flowers, shrubs... and people.
In her boudoir, her naked body clad only in a single, flowing dressing-gown of diaphonous nylon, the baroness sat at a nile-green telephone. She was speaking, longdistance, to Herman von Wildersee, at Hermann's chateau in the lovely Chateauncuf country.
"So? Then when do I expect you?" came Von Wildersee's voice, cultured and beautifully modulated, over the wires.
"That," replied the baroness, "is what I want to discuss with you, darling."
"Discuss? You're at Cannes-you can leave at once, can't you?"
"I expect we could. But, Hermann-I don't know whether we should."
Von Wildersee caught the hesitancy in her voice.
"Woman!" he exploded. "You're up to your damned tricks again!"
Lillian's laughter rippled over the wires.
"But, Hermann-these people are so irresistible I"
"Irresistible-nonsense! Tell mc, Lillian-just whom are you bringing along with you? What witches' brew this time?"
"Well-let's sec. There's Heine-"
"Heine, of course!" snorted Von Wildersee, impatiently. "But who else? Carotti and Felicity, and the two Kandis-these I know about. And that pair of queers-what're their names again? Reginaldo and Leslie-Leslie Haines? That right?"
"They're aboard. But Hermann-don't tell me you're going to protest against them again! Why, they're two perfectly charming boys, and 1 adore them."
"I suppose they are. But I can't stand their bloody effeminacy."
"Then there's Hildegarde and Elaine..."
"Wonderful, Lillian! Good God-where did you run across them? 1 thought they were in Hamburg all this time!"
"In Rome. I knew you'd like them to be along." "I'm delighted. Who else?"
"Then there's a couple you haven't met yet. Hollanders. Thys and Alouetta van Grondwijk. I met them in Buenos Aires three years ago, and I asked them to meet us here, in Cannes. You'll love them-sort of a white counterpart, each of them, of the two Kandis."
"Those four'll be a lot of people. Anyhow-go on."
"Then there are some air-crew that you also don't know yet. Capt. Jackson Willoughby-and two hos tesses. One's black. Both are Americans-Rhoda Langtry and Thespie Jones." t
"That the lot? I'm not the Negresco out here, you know..."
"You'll have room! With the driver and the couriertwo wonderful recruits, incidentally-we're just nineteen of us. Oh yes-two I forgot to tell you about..."
"Do I know them?"
"I don't think you do. You may have heard Irmgaard speak of them, though, in Copenhagen. One's a Polynesian, Anaka-Lee. She's a nympho. But she's utterly adorable-and with her is a tall, gangling South Sea Islander doctor called Shane McGarrity. Rich as Midas, but quite lovable, I promise you."
"Irmgaard did tell me of them. Where did you meet these two?"
"At Irmgaard's, last summer. Not long enough to get to know them-but they seemed most keen to come along whan I phoned them for this junket."
"So. There'll be nineteen. What's holding you up, then?"
"Patience, Hermann! I told you-I'm just experiment ing...
"Lillian!" shouted Von Wildersee. "You stop thatyou hear me? That bloody experimenting of yours. You've ruined more set-ups all over Europe than anybody else I could name!"
"Why? When it's so fascinating, Hermann?" The baroness chuckled. "People!-they interest me, so much! They come together, then stay together for years, some times-and everybody gets to accept it as being so. Even the people themselves get to accept it. Then pouf! Just bring one face to face with another-and it's all off!"
"But that's just my point-why not let them stay together? If-they're happy, that is?"
"But are they, Hermann? Happy, I mean."
"Weil, damn it-you can see they are!"
"I don't believe it. They just kid themselves. Deep down, you find they're not really happy."
"So why do you always have to come along and prove they're not?"
"Because that's the fun I get out of life, silly!"
"You interfere too much. One day you'll get your prying nose into a snoutful of teeth-mark my words."
"Because I upset arrangements that aren't ideal anyway?
"Who asked you to be a judge?"
"Nobody. I just try to be helpful. Take Dino Carotti and Felicity, for example..."
"Christ, Lillian-this is too much. You haven't gone and split that atom now-have you?"
"Not split, Hermann. They'll split, by themselves. I've just showed them why-shall we put it that way?"
"But they've been together for years...!"
"Too long. It was getting too long--for both of them."
"Oh, God! This is too much. Tell me all..."
"Well, you know Felicity and her crazy attitude to whipping. So-two nights ago, Thys and Alouetta took ore of her. Whipping is a specialty of theirs. And Felicity hasn't been the same girl since, except improved a hundred times, that's all. Every ounce of selfishness is out of her now. She's human again."
"That I'm glad to hear," said Hermann.
"She needed it," said the baroness.
"And how she did. And Carotti-how's she reacted?"
"Beautifully. Hasn't said a word. I can give him all the comfort be needs-so, for that matter, can a few others. But his work was beginning to suffer, Hermann. Felicity was too demanding, too cloying, for him. Only, like most people, he was too blind to see it."
"Well, I haven't any objections-on that score."
"And that's not all. I think I've even managed to straighten out this thing between Heine and myself..-"
"To whose advantage?"
"To his-I think. Something about him-I can only guess what it was-seems to have jelled with this Polynesian doll Anaka-Lee. For the two of them it's nothing but starry-eyes the las*, mo days."
"But Anaka-Lee? Didn't you say she was the nympho? She'll eat him up like a spider eats its mate, surely?"
"Nothing eats Heine up," said the baroness. "He's steel and gunmetal all the way through, that Heine."
"Watch it, all the same."
"Another thing, Hermann-I might have ironed out the trouble for you this time with 'those queers', as you call them. You see, Leslie and Elaine look to me as though they're about to start something."
Von Wildersee gasped. This diabolical woman! What about Reginaldo's reaction? And how was the amazonian Hildegarde taking it?
The baroness laughed.
"Don't worry, Hermann! Reginaldo's got more offers of consolation than he can ever handle. There isn't a queer in Europe who wouldn't throw over bis whole world for Reggie!"
"And Hildegarde?"
"It's funny about Hildegarde. You know, quite frankly, I think that one's had enough. Deep down, I don't think she's ever been a real lesbian. I can't help getting the impression she took to it-well, because she's too much for most of her men. Maybe she thought women would be less trouble than her continual disappointment in her men shying off because of her size." "You may be right, there."
"So you see-things aren't quite so complicated after all," said the baroness.
"So who's making with la Hildegarde now?"
"Or. McGarrity, it looks like. He's another who was fed, up, though I doubt he'd ever have admitted it. A nympho can be pretty enervating, you know-even one so superb as Anaka-Lee."
"Well, it looks as though you've got things all shook up. Never mind that-when do I expect you?"
"Look, Hermann-give me another day. I'll be honest with you: I don't really understand, yet, what's going on. Let's all have another one day to settle down-and we'll move on after that. It's Tuesday today. We'll start rolling early on Thursday. See you Thursday evening, then?"
"Fine, Lillian. Don't be later-I'm looking forward to this."
"You won't be disappointed. They'll be good for youthese people..."
The baroness, regal and statuesque beneath her transparent draperies, moved over to a side table where there was liquor, fresh orange juice, ice and syphons. She had poured, and was halfway through a meditative glass of ice-cold orange juice when Carotti entered her room.
She motioned toward the refreshment table. He poured a Scotch, tinkled ice-cubes into the golden liquor, and splashed soda from a syphon.
The baroness thought she had never seen him look so well. He was relaxed, bronzed, fit. He sprawled, long legs elegant in grey flannels, deep into an armchair.
"The sun's done you good, Dino," she observed.
"The sun. Or something. God, Lillian-I've never felt to wonderful,"
There was a long pause between mem. It was the pause of friends who, sure of their friendship, do not seek to mar that friendship with meaningless chatter.
"When do we move on?" he asked, at length.
"Day after tomorrow."
"Suits me fine. Just wanted to know."
"Getting restless?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"Well-ideas," he said. "Ideas. They keep coming. I've never had it so good. That Arthur Rank deal, over in London. I've been funking it. But I fed I could start any day now. It's a good book, Lillian. It could be a great movie..."
He paused again, a long time. Then he said, reflectively: "...and there's another great movie coming up."
Lillian smiled. She was in no mood to discuss Dino's career. She stood up, crossed to the refreshment table, and set down her glass.
She began, slowly and with infinite provocation, to undo the row of buttons down the front of her gown. As each button was undone, more and more of her opulent, exquisite body was uncovered. The widening revealed the delicious curves of her lush womanhoodthe shadow, dark and provocative, beneath her breasts, the swelling curve of her womanbelly, the great pubis triangling down into the mysterious and exciting cunt.
Fascinated, Dino watched. In his loins he could feel the rising of desire, and, impelled by a force beyond his power to control, he began to undress. Redly, his great cock jutted out and up from his underbelly.
The baroness reached for it, entranced, laving it in its own juices, pulling him gently, inexorably, towards her as she glided backwards to her boudoir. Sighing, Dino collapsed on the bed with her...
Long into the night, they alternated sleep and the frenzy of sex.
The next morning, the baroness's menstrual period had begun. Unceremoniously, in the instant of her discovery, she woke Carotti and thrust him from her.
She now lay, luxuriating the blissful languour of earlymorning randiness. Still as death she lay, eyes closedher whole being was in the grip of sex. One after another, she conjured up her succession of previous lovers, and the exploits of those who had so wildly, so deliciously, brought her to orgasm.
Finally she could stand it no longer. She opened her eyes and reached for a bell-push at her bedside. When the chambermaid appeared, she said: "Be so good as to call at Room 472-Mr. Lavoipierre. Tell him I should like him to call on me, immediately. There is some thing I have to discuss with htm."
CHAPTER 15
"Good morning to you, Istvan," said the baroness, affably, from amid the pillows. "I called to let you know that we are going to delay our departure a day or two. Just so that you don't worry about preparations..."
Istvan looked puzzled.
The baroness said: "If you're worried about schedules, forget it. I've taken care of all that."
"Well, I do have a week or so to play with," admitted Istvan. "The boss said..."
"Never mind what he said, Istvan. I'm the boss now.
Dimly, Istvan began to comprehend. He understood even better when the baroness raised herself upon one elbow and he was witness to her nakedness, spilling exuberantly and sexually over the covers.
"You mean...?" he stammered.
The baroness smiled, mysteriously. "Exactly," she murmured. "If, that is, you haven't anything else on hand..."
It was a challenge. Istvan accepted it. He advanced upon the woman, lying back now among the pillows.
The baroness kicked the covers down toward the end of the bed. She lay, bare of covering, naked against the undersheet.
"In your gown?" she smiled, archly.
Istvan stripped his gown from his solid, masculine body. "Without it, then, Baroness?"
"But-of course!"
She lay, revealed, a woman in all her nakedness. She was a sacrifice of love, all nude, and soft femininity upon her bed.
Istvan was already in a state of semi-erection.
The baroness reached for his penis, giving it an affectionate little squeeze before she began to excite the loose skin to and fro over the glans. Globules of silvery spunk dripped from its tubetip.
"Oh, Istvan!" she moaned. "You're so much the essence of all manhood!"
Istvan smiled. "And you, madame-could any man desire more...?'*
He bore down upon his craft of sweet, delectable womanhood. He was above her now, and over her, taking the weight of his body upon his extended arms. She smiled up at him. Parting her thighs to expose her cunt to the tip of his throbbing cock, she lay spreadeagled to receive the massive penis. The heat of his corona matched the heat of her acclaiming labia. Entry was not difficult. In one easy, piercing movement, Istvan plunged his shaft deep inside the baroness's cunt.
"You may be sorry..." murmured the baroness.
"For all this? Sorry?" He bored away, probing deep inside her.
The baroness slung her legs upwards, grasping his body with her thighs. She sucked her breath in, tongue against her teeth.
"Ah, Christ I" she breathed, in delight. "How exquisite!" She savoured the full delight of it, without movement. Then she said: "But you may regret it, Istvan!"
"Shoosh!" he whispered, piercing her in sweet licentiousness. "Regret? What can I regret-about this?"
She smiled up at him.
"The fact," she said, softly, "that I'm menstruating...?"
Istvan grinned, impudently. Her bland, unexpected confession left him untouched.
"So," he said. "You're bleeding."
He ground away softly, deeply, at her deflowered cunt, the helmet of his tool already deeply impressed upon the nut of her cervix.
"And is that something to worry about?" he grinned. "So when it's all over I've got a little blood to wipe off. And, after all, blood's..."
"Just so much the more slippery, so much the more squelchy," she finished, arching her heels deep into the descending loins of her straddler, spurring him into her cunt.
Istvan increased the potency of his thrusting. He knew what was required of him.
And the baroness, hot in her morning ecstasy, thrashed her now flaying limbs upon her fucker's hips. She was a virago now.
"Fuck me, 1st van I" she commanded, wildly abandoned now. "Bore it into mel Drive it in-have me, please, as hard as you want to-as hard as you can. Hurt me! Fuck me like a peasant'd fuck a wench in a stable! Christ, but I'm tired of being fucked by society pricks. I want a man, a man, Istvan, like you to do me! Have me-deep inside me, man I Piss in it-give it to me like you give it to Althea! Give it to me-jerk it-pour it in... Ooooh, but I'm so randy, Istvan! Christ, I'm bleeding, I tell you-it's blood, blood, blood that you're fucking into! It's blood-that makes it all so beautifully exquisite. Get into that blood, Istvan-up my cunt, my quim, my twat, and right up my cervix... ooooooh!"
Hacking down with her thrashing legs, she drove him deep into her open, receptive loins. Thrashing and writhing, she came mightily and, unsatisfied, she strove to come some more.
And Istvan, riding her imperiously, unmindful of his own pleasure, gave her every opportunity. More and more forcefully he cleaved into that twitching, bloodbespattered, blood-dripping cunt beneath him. Deliriously he felt the labia grip his penis. Again and again he slapped his board-flat stomach against her belly.
And then, as her second orgasm was upon her, racking her entire body, Istvan felt his own climax approaching.
With a twitching, jetting discharge, he squirted his load deep within the hot vagina of the elegant, flop-titted woman he so imperiously bestrode.
They collapsed, he asprawl on top of her sweating body.
Many minutes later he arose. His penis was a lance of brown, drying, clotting blood. The baroness's belly was a battlefield, a gory sex-sticky battlefield of blood. Her menstrual discharge lay, clotted and thick with his semen, obscenely across her stomach. The sheets beneath her were dripping, bloodstained, gory. Istvan's prick was a sorry sight-bruised, limp and inert.
Istvan grinned down upon her. In his grin was triumph. Wordlessly, then, he donned his gown, knotted its girdle about his middle, and left.
It was thus that Althea found him, a beatific smile playing over his features, when she entered his bedroom hours later.
Before she stirred him, she gazed down upon him, sweet, possessive love in her eyes. In sleep, his gown had parted from his waist, exposing one thigh and the bare tip of his penis, a limp sinew now, dependent over the inside thigh. She came closer. On inspection, she recognised the brown discolouration of blood upon the head.
She choked down the jealousy that rose in her. She smiled.
So, she thought. He's been unfaithful, has he? What matter, if he has, then? How many times during the past week has he not, publicly and openly, demonstrated how deeply he cares for me? What if he has visited someone else? Only a quick, passing encounter-of no significance at all 1 But someone who was bleeding? A frown furrowed her forehead.
Already dressed for the day, she swiftly began to disrobe. Telltale bloodsmears at the crotch of her panties bespoke her own condition.
Then, nude and all sweet womanly loveliness, she came at her sleeping lover. She slid down beside him. With fingers whose ministrations he knew so well she felt for his limp penis, caressing the warmth of it with practised movements. They raised, at once, the response she craved.
Istvan awoke.
He reached, instinctively, for her body, finding it deliriously naked, and warm to his caresses. Beneath his moving fingers her nipples grew into hard little nuts of desire, her breasts expanded, her buttocks quivered.
"Althea!" he sighed, happily. "Oh, Althea!"
"Istvan!" she breathed, nestling closer to the contours of his bronzed body.
"My woman!" he breathed into her ear, tweaking it deliriously.
"Your woman!" she breathed.
In a second, Istvan had torn his gown from his body. He came at her.
As he prepared for entry, she whispered: "But I'm bleeding, Istvan."
Istvan threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Bleeding!" he* echoed, enraptured as he felt his rod slide home into her cylinder. "All my life, darling-I should have the joy of sliding into bleeding cunts. God -if you only knew!" .
She, knowing full well of what he spoke, wordlessly splayed her thighs.
Into them, and between them, and down into the tunnel, Istvan bore down, down into the blood-oozing depths of her vagina.
He felt Althea's orgasm approaching. He pressed inwards, cramming her body savagely into his iron-hard torso as he did so, thrashing her with his furious attack.
Althea came. She shot, rigid, into spasm. She drenched him with her feminine discharges. Beneath him she writhed, savagely seeking more.
Istvan was aroused as furiously as he had ever been. Into the blood-oiled vagina he bored, tearing at the body of the Greek girl he loved.
He came.
He came mightily. Into the heavenly cleft between those thighs he poured every ounce of his manhood, his penis throbbing within her clutching cunt.
CHAPTER 16
By the time they had reached Avignon the heat had become withering.
Not all the ice-cubes mat Althea's tiny little refrigerator could produce was sufficient to cool the drinks that everybody was demanding. Up and down the aisle went Althea, bearing emptied glasses to the little galley, there to rinse them and re-charge them for the perspiring passengers. And up and down the aisle they passed her, in their turns, to the tiny toilet situated in the rear.
To cope with the heat, Althea had opened all the vents to maximum, so that air swirled, forcefully and cool, through the interior.
She wore the bare minimum of clothing. Her nylon blouse, a flimsy, transparent garment, opened to deep below the cleavage of her luscious, triumphant tits. Through the thin material, each breast was dearly visible in all its full, nubile statuary. She had scorned a brassiere, and her youthful body bobbed, entirely unbound, to each movement of the bus. Her uniformed skirt was her only concession to her "position*' of tour courier. Beneath this skirt she wore no panties, and her hot twat was clothed only in the sanitary pad which she found herself frequently obliged to change.
Her passengers were, many of them, equally bared to the current of cooling draft that swirled through the bus. Most of the women wore thin nylon, cotton, or silk blouses, almost all of them opened and totally unbuttoned.
Alouetta and Berenice were forced into wearing of brassieres, solely for the support these gave to their mammoth tits against the lurching and bounding of the vehicle.
Hildegarde, in a central rear seat, had gone furthest of all in her quest for relief. She had discarded any semblance of upper garment. Her huge tits jounced bare to the breeze, and her unzipped skirt indicated she was bare of panties as well. She was sitting, naked to her waist, between Thespie Jones and Rhoda Langtry who, like Althea herself, wore nothing beneath the lightest and most gossamer-revealing of blouses.
Never had Althea seen so much tit exposed publicly in the full light of day-so much flaunting of breast and bosom, and all of it flaunt?" so uncaringly. She remarked as much to Istvan, bearing him a can of chilled beer.
"Take a look in your mirror," she whispered, softly. "All that tit! Have you ever seen so many naked bubs in your bus in all your life I"
Istvan grinned, gesturing with an eloquent look towards Althea's own exuberant mounds, straining below the flimsiness of her blouse.
"Sure it wasn't the way you're got up that started it?" he asked.
She directed a glance down her own corsage, proud and reassured by what she saw.
"But look at Hildegarde, there in the back! She's gone the whole hog-Christ, she's bare to her crotch, I'll swear!"
Istvan reached for a moist handkerchief on the dashboard shelf. "I don't blame her," he said, mopping his brow. "God, but it's hot. The people want to stop for lunch, do you think?"
Althea took up the little microphone.
"Your attention, please," she announced, her voice falling musically through the ceiling loud-speakers. "Istvan, here, has a problem. He wants to know if you want a luncheon stop. There are plenty of excellent restaurants just off the main road around here. Shall I count hands?" She stood up and faced the passengers.
"Press on," called Reginaldo, limply. "I'm so exhausted, I could die, right here!"
"On we go," said the baroness, finally, when nobody spoke.
Althea took up the microphone again.
"That seems to settle it," she said. "In the meantime, I've some champagne, chilled, and a few cans of beer. Then there's some cheese, some cold sausage, some pickles, and one or two nice fresh rolls. Ill serve these in a moment."
They ate, then lay back, languid suit, but refreshed. Althea came forward to her courier's seat. Wordlessly she relaxed and watched the rolling Chateauneuf countryside disappearing behind them.
At last the turretted rococo outlines of the Chateau Cloisy itself came into view. Minutes later, the bus rolled to a smooth, unfelt stop outside a proud sweep of noble stairs. At their foot, Hermann von Wildersee awaited his guests. They trooped now, wearily, down from the vehicle, following the baroness.
He eyed them quizzically beneath a delicately arched brow as they were presented.
"You poor people," he murmured solicitously as his roving eye took in the deshabille of all, particularly the women, while his expression betrayed nothing but the utmost in suave, cultured hospitality. "You seem utterly exhausted!"
"The hottest day of the year," said the baroness. "And such a long stretch!"
"Still, you made it," smiled Hermann von Wildersee, as he helped the final straggler, Hildegarde, to earth. She was wearing a blouse by now, shirtwise, but loose and open to the very bottom button, leaving her shuddering tits naked to the gaze of anyone who cared to look. "Let's see if we can find something to cool you off with."
While servants busied themselves with baggage, he led his guests to a vast porch, screened in with netting, and set on the windward side of the gracious old home. The weary tourists sank gratefully into easy chairs.
Tall drinks appeared. Iced gin mixtures, with cubes tinkling in long, squash-filled tumblers. Champagne, in buckets of crushed ice. Chilled beers. Von Wildersee saw to everybody's comfort.
"When you've recovered," he said, finally, "I suggest a drive down to the river. Perhaps a swim. Meanwhile -welcome to Cloisy, all of you."
Carotti set down his glass.
"That was splendid," he said. "That swimming idea sounds like another winner."
"Not for me," said the baroness.
"You, Felicity? Theophilus? Berenice? Van Grondwijk? Anybody?"
"Count me in," they chorussed, already recovered from the fatigue of the journey.
The pool at Chateau Cloisy was a remarkable piece of engineering.
The'prince had made what use he could of what was, in fact, a natural pool-into which the Rhone tributary flowing through his estate began to widen just below the chateau itself. Using bulldozers, he had diverted the stream, leaving the pool itself free to drain. Then he had lined the entire bed in concrete, tiled it, and reset the course of the strongly-flowing stream into the basin he had constructed.
He allowed the setting to remain undisturbed-a sylvan glade of rich, lush, close-cropped grass, sun-dappled in the shadow of great elms, willows and all the natural greenery of the place. The effect was that of an Elysian fairyland.
Rhoda and Thespie were first to strip. Casting their few garments over the lawn, they raced naked, titties abounce, into the cooling water.
Jackson Willoughby helped Althea to undo her backfastening skirt-zip. Then he stiffened into sudden surprise, as did Von Wildersee, to see her crotch encased in the stark and unexpected crudity of Kotex.
Expertly she clicked the pad free of its elastic band, and tossed it nonchalantly into a wicker wire-basket bound to the trunk of a nearby elm. She flicked the clastic band over her fluent buttocks-and was off to join the others in the water.
Thys and Alouetta disrobed more slowly. There being more flesh to both of them, their stripping was a tease of incredulity as each exposed more and more of their vast bulks. Finally, however, both the Hollanders were naked. Thys stood, hewn and monumental, his massive tool already erecting at the sight of the general stripping going on.
Alouetta was, however, the cynosure. Her tits, huge, and both of them still cross-crossed by fading, bluish weals, bespoke their cruel mishandling a few evenings ago* Her great belly seemed to reach up to the mounds of her ample breasts as well as down into her hairy cuntstit. None could take their eyes from so massive and lewd a display of nakedness.
Von Wildersee's eyes narrowed. It was the only sign he gave of the slowly rising tide of sexual anticipation seeping through his veins.
Then Felicity began to shed her clothes. With the trained sense of theatrical timing, she had allowed the other women to precede her in their stripping. Agonisingly slowly, before the gaze of every man present, she took off garment by garment, and cast these idly upon the common heap. Finally she stood, stark naked, and as if she sensed the delicious shock it would provoke, she turned slowly to reveal her back, Livid, angry welts of skin stood up from her caned buttocks. Arching down from her shoulders, deep into the hollow of her back, and spreading again over her buttocks, lay the weal of the cruel S which Thys had inflicted upon the alabaster perfection of her skin.
Von Wildersee stared at the incredible woman-a Grecian marble statue into which life had inexplicably been breathed. He was mesmerised. His jaw sagged. In his first exhibition of bad taste since his guests had arrived, he gaped openly. But it was excusable. Felicity, naked, was enough to cause a gasp from any man. Scarred as she was by the lash, something sacred that had been gruesomely profaned, the sight of her was revolting-yet it was, at the same time, the most exciting vision imaginable.
Satisfied that she had caused the impression she wanted, Felicity darted into action. Tossing her mane of hair, she danced away, and frolicked, splashing as she went, into the water. She swam to the other side of the pool. Here the tiles sloped the bottom gently upward to the lawn-edge. Easing herself gently over on to her back, the statuesque actress lay supported upon her elbows in the shallows, her two breasts floating like lazy waterwings.
In the sheer joy of the summer afternoon, she lay back and drunk in the beauty about her.
Then she jerked suddenly rigid, as she felt an arm over her thighs, and a hand steal, caressingly, around her buttocks.
Who could this be? she thought. She had seen nobody swimming across to her side of the pool. She knew in a moment, when Von Wildersee's head broke surface. He gazed, unwaveringly, at her, admiration beaming from his eyes.
Felicity relaxed. She and the prince were old acquaintances-veterans of many revels.
"Oh," she said. "It's you-you scared me for a moment. Did you swim all the way under water?"
"No," he said, breathing easily, still firm and athletic in spite of his forty-five years of libertinism. "I came across in short stretches. Slowly. I didn't want to startle you.
"Relax," said Felicity. "It's O.K. now."
She looked at him in amusement. He had all the social graces, she reflected-he was courteous, charming, intelligent, well-born and wealthy. But there was something about him that put her off. What it was, she did not quite know.
Now she gave his head a pat, tousling the wet, crisp curls affectionately.
"God, Felicity-you've never looked lovelier. Back there, when you stripped, I could have prayed that you would petrify into marble-to remain here, in this setting, for all time!"
She patted his head once more. Compliments pleased her at any time.
He floated himself up to her, urging his body into contact with hers. It was then that she discovered, with some surprise, that Von Wildersee was already hard and rigid in erection.
Understanding dawned upon her, but at the same time an urge to wound him, to dominate him.
"So?" she said, simply.
"Can't you feel?" he panted, hotly. "1 want you soso very much. Now!"
Felicity was flattered. Her nipples hardened as a shudder of delight tormented her. From her cunt she could fee! the warm sexfluid starting to exude.
"You mean-naturally? Normally? Like a lover would want a woman? That's odd, coming from you, isn't it, Hermann?"
Von Wildersee was impatient. "What's odd about it?" he demanded.
"Well, it's just not like you, is it? Wasn't it a fetish kick, last time? High heels and black corsets, I seem to remember... And before that, the ordure business-the blood and the mud and the shit. Like the time you took Anita down to the pigsties and shovelled this thing" -she broke off to give his prick a vicious twist-"into the mire before you rammed it into her backside, poor kid!"
Hermann was panting, his eyes wild, his mouth aslaver. Felicity's hand, still gripping his penis, was electric, pulsating current through his hot, flushed body. He tugged at her beneath the water, pulling her roughly out of the pool, until she felt her back being scratched uncomfortably by the bristly, close-cropped grass.
"God damn it!" he panted. "What if I did? Sex doesn't always have to be something perverse. When there is beauty such as yours, surely you realise that even I can become tender?"
Felicity was playing with fire, and she knew it But she flung back her head, and laughed, teasingly.
"The more beautiful they were, the more you used to revel in grinding them into the filth," she said, viciously. "I know you too well, Hermann-and I want no part of that jazz!"
But she persuaded herself to be urged out of the water, and taken to where a patch of lilies hid them from the eyes of the others. She faced him there, taunting him with a mocking smile.
"And you-what about you?" he panted. "Look at those whip-marks! Where'd you get them, hey?"
Fire flashed from her eyes.
"My business!" she spit. "If you can run the full gamut-run it your way. Let me get my kicks the way I want them!"
Suddenly she spread her legs, and her cunt leaped into view. Lips parted, it gaped redly and glistened in the sunlight.
"Vile bastard!" she lung at him. "Pervert! Old roue 1 Pig of a thousand pigs! What makes you think you'll ever lay me?"
His chest heaved as he absorbed her insults. Into his eyes had come another look, now-the onset of anger.
Felicity recognised this. Perversely, she continued, however.
"That's right!" she flung at him. "Pant! Pant your heart out, you lusting old ape! Pant for me-but you won't get me into your pig-sties! No! Take your Anitas there, though-grovel in the piss and the shit with them! That's all you deserve!"
A dangerous glint was in Von Wildersee's eyes now. His nostrils distended. As he struggled for control, her voice rose in fury;
"And go down to the brothels of Marseille! Go on! Winkle out the filthiest whores you can find in those dens. Bring them back here to Cloisy. Put them into black corsets, lace them up in lingerie, gird their legstheir filthy, syphilitic legs-in black silk stockings, and make them prance around you in ten-inch high heels! Pervert! Filth!"
Von Wildersee had endured enough. He hissed out one word only.
"Stop!"
It was like a whiplash. Felicity shuddered.
And then he came at her-slowly, inexorably. As he felt himself in grappling distance, he sprang at her, lithely and with the muscular grace of a leopard, bowling her over to the grass, and, with the same movement, sought to plunge his raging penis deep into her cunt.
But Felicity had just had time to cross her legs, and she kept them crossed, resisting the probing of that angry rod. Could Hermann have seen the look in her eyes then, he would have gone even more berserk-for in her expression was the mocking glint of triumph, the knowledge that she had succeeded in provoking precisely the reaction she had wanted from him.
Provoked now beyond all endurance, Von Wildersee brought up his knee viciously into the girl's groin. She wriggled free. Frustrated, he now hit out at her, but Felicity, seeing the blow coming, managed to tuck her face into the hollow of one shoulder over which his balled list sailed harmlessly.
Now it was her turn-and she scratched from his upper arm a great weal of flesh, feeling the meat curl into her fingernails as she scraped it from his body.
The pain of this assault drove Von Wildersee mad. He strained at her, sinking his fingers deeply into her flesh, cruelly bruising her.. He thrashed about over her body, driving her back into the grass, so that her whipweals opened and began to bleed. And all the time he sought to part her closed, locked thighs.
Felicity goaded him into fresh assaults, and managed, each time, to avoid the full wrath of his attack. She absorbed just as much punishment as she felt herself fit to endure.
And then, when she could endure no more, when she felt so close to orgasm that she could no longer keep up the resistance, she contrived to unlock her thighs in a gesture of submission so natural that Von Wildersee thought it was he himself who had finally won entrance into her now slimewet cunt.
With a howl of triumph, he bore down into it. And, as if she had gone suddenly insensate beneath the vigour of his rape, she sensuously lay back in feigned defeat.
Von Wildersee exulted in his victory. He bore down and into her like some demonic thing, intent now only upon his own satisfaction.
Little did he realise by what consummate use of her theatrical talent the actress-bitch beneath him had contrived every movement of their coupling. For she had wanted to be raped. A sadist at the best of times, she could hurt-and she knew it. But now she had found an even greater joy-a delight in being hurt-and she was loving it.
Deliciously, in great streams, she felt herself coming and coming and coming-non-stop-as her clumsy, excitable rapist gasped and spluttered to his own climax inside her hot, ravished cunt.
They slid, satiated, back into the water, bits of grass and mud clinging to their panting bodies.
Idly, using the current to help them, they swam back to the opposite bank, where they collapsed, Felicity lying in a patch of sunlight, and the prince in the shadow of a spreading willow.
CHAPTER 17
The Baroness, Carotti and Istvan lingered on after dinner, chatting idly to Von Wildersee. The others had retired.
Von Wildersee was tailing about the skiing at Garmisch.
"It's the sport I love most-and the place I love most to enjoy it," be was saying, when the baroness interrupted.
"Istvan?" she called. "Madame?" "You tired?" "Not very. May I ask why?"
"I mean, could you wait up an hour or two? Dino and I have something to arrange. After that, he'll want to go down to the town-also for an hour or two."
"But certainly," said Istvan, with a smile. "Dino wants me to drive him, then?"
"What cooks now, Lillian?" asked Von Wildersee, puzzled by this exchange.
"Plans, Hermann. Don't worry-you'll see-when you see," she said.
Von Wildersee wagged an admonishing finger at her. "One day," he warned, "you arc going to wind up behind an eight-ball so big that not even you'll be able to get out of it."
"Till then," cooed the baroness, roguishly, "I'll get bythe way I'm going. I like it fine."
"When you get in the shit-don't come to me for help."
"If I get in it," she corrected, "I'll remember that warning, Hermann." Von Wildersee went to bed.
Carotti and the baroness finished their drinks. They left Istvan and went out, an air of conspiracy between them.
Istvan shrugged his shoulders. Something was happening. Whatever it was, was no concern of his. So, since he had an hour or two to wait, he took up a bottle of Scotch whisky, a syphon of ice-cold soda, and moved into the adjoining library.
The library at Chateau Cloisy was celebrated throughout France-the repository for a greater collection of erotica than perhaps any other library of its kind. The walls of the study were lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. And there, amid the writings, the artwork, and the infinite variety of material devoted to the cults and practices of the vast half-world peopled by sexual deviates, Istvan browsed, fascinated by the wealth of Hermann von Wildersee's collection.
It was past eleven o'clock when he heard someone enter the adjoining lounge. Dino's voice called out:
"Istvan! Where arc you?"
"Here," sang out Istvan, "in the library! You ready, now r
He replaced seven or eight massive volumes of lewd, obscene medieval woodcuts as Dino came into the room.
"What a collection! Know what I'm going to do, Dino, one day when I get a vacation again? I'm going to ask Herr von Wildersee to let me spend the whole of that holiday right here in this very library. I want to read every goddam book on every shelf in the place!"
"Alone? Or with Althea?"
Istvan grinned.
"Because," said Dino, impishly, "if you bring Althea with you, it's my bet you're not even going to find the lime to finish the books on one shelf. This lot is rated the finest collection in the whole world4-did you know that?"
"I didn't," said Istvan, impressed. "But I'm ready to believe it. So? You ready?" "Yes. Sorry for this. But I'll let you into it as we go."
They were speeding through the night in one of the prince's station-wagons.
"I don't want you to let on to anybody yet, Istvan," be^an Dino, "but the set-up's like this. You remember that night at my villa, in Rome-the night we showed the movie? Well, I don't know if you heard anything strange about the projector, that evening-did you?" Istvan looked blank.
"Negative," he said. But he had a idea of what was coming, "Weil," said Carotti. "It was all Lillian's idea-but it seemed a good one. You know this new film-faster even than infra-red-that they've developed in Japan. Well, a friend has sent me a few hundred feet of it and I've been-well, I suppose you could call it experimenting...
"You mean-you've been shooting shots of us-"
"Just that," said Dino, blandly.
He drew back the lapel of his jacket. There, in a tiny sling beneath his armpit, hung a small movie camera. It was nevertheless, even to Istvan's unschooled eye, a highly expensive piece of equipment, precision-engineered in each of its turret of three lenses.
"On that thing you've been filming?" he asked.
"On this thing. Look. It takes a second, only, to focus. I shoot-so!" Dino half-turned to Istvan, so that the battery of lenses pointed directly at the driver.
"Or else 1 wear that gaily-patterned shirt of mine. And when I want to shoot, I poke the correct lens through a hole in the fabric-and voila. Not one in a hundred people would know what 1 was up to!"
Istvan smiled, in his smile admiration for Dino's daring.
"So now," continued Carotti, "we go to develop and print what I have just shot. Tomorrow I edit it, splice it, cut it, and join it all up into whatever seems a natural sequence."
"I see," said Istvan. "So long as you have fun, old man...
They pulled up at a shop in the village. A light burned in an upstairs room.
Dino and Istvan entered a surprisingly well-equipped darkroom. A battery of enlargers flanked one wall. The other was devoted to a succession of developing and printing solutions, all in gleaming white-enamelled trays. Equipment of every kind seemed to be there.
The shop-owner withdrew, silently, and Dino Carotti swung into action. His every movement swift and purposeful, he seemed as much at home among his surroundings as a surgeon in his operating theatre.
He stacked a pile of exposed film to one side of a series of little plastic developing tanks. Then, when he had located the position of everything in space, he snapped the room into total darkness, darkness so black, you could almost feel it.
It seemed to Istvan that they must have been standing there, wordlessly, in total oblivion, for hours before Dino snapped on an orange light that flickered and then caught, to flood the room, once more, with a dim, reddish glow. But it had been only a matter of fifteen minutes.
In that time, Dino had loaded each one of his developing tanks with exposed film. There were about twenty reels in all. He lit a cigarette, offered one to Istvan, then waited with the patience of long darkroom experience for the chemicals to work upon the coating of the film. From time to time he took up each tank, to agitate the solution inside.
"Not much longer to wait," he said. "Here-take a ample of these. Now we drain them-so."
He and Istvan emptied the solution into a tank, and filled the plastic containers with fixer. They set in this for some time longer-then the lot were plunged into a washing tank.
"So," said Dino, when the last of the tanks was under running water. "Now we go. This fellow can carry on, tomorrow. He'll get them ready for me, so that when I come back, I can make the final reel ready for screening. Ah, Istvan-but this will be something-I promise you. I'm burning to see the damn results myself."
"I bet a few of the folks are going to get a surprise or two," grinned Istvan.
"You can take poison on that," said Dino. "Felicityfor a start!"
It was late next afternoon by the time Dino returned to Cloisy, flushed and exultant.
The prince's library had been discovered by the other guests. Most of the party were there.
It was a strangely silent gathering. Everybody was sitting or lolling around on the carpets, deeply immersed in some volume or another, and totally oblivious to anybody else, or to whatever gauche postures they had assumed. An air of communal rut pervaded the entire room as each read, avidly, on and on. through volume after volume.
Dino leaned against the open doorway of the library, an amused smile playing over his features as he took in the effect of that mass of erotica upon those immersed in it.
Finally he ought the eye of the baroness and Istvan. He beckoned to them. Silently they left the room.
"Hell!" said Istvan. "What a formidable collection! Am I glad you showed up! Another couple of minutes of that, and everybody's going to be at each other's crotches inside there!" He applied a handkerchief delicately to his temples.
"How was the result?" asked the baroness, eagerly.
"Brilliant!'' Dino beamed. "A hundred-a thousand times better than I ever expected. This new film is out of this world! It's captured everything-the lot! Misses nothing!"
"That's going to be fun," said the baroness. She was still quivering from the sexual excitement provoked in her by the prince's collection.
"Fun!" exclaimed Dino. "Wait till you see it. Wait till you see what you were up to, for one!"
"Dino! You tramp! Not shots of me-you wouldn't dare!"
"Ah, but I would, you know-and I did, you know," said Dino, impudently.
"When do we see it? Tonight?"
"Hell, no-not tonight! This is too good to rush, Lillian. I'll have to spend a bit of time on this onesay, Monday?"
It was Thursday. Istvan thought quickly. The tour was to have ended by the week-end. His orders were to be back at base, in Switzerland, by Monday. Now here was Dino, casually talking of a screening on Monday night. Ah well, he reflected-let the idyll last as long as the baroness pleased. She, after all, was paying for it-and he was getting the pleasure, wasn't he?
"Monday?" Lillian echoed. "I'd planned to get moving by then. We can't impose on Hermann for ever, you know."
"Nonsense. Hermann's loving it. He and Felicity and those two Van Grondwijks'll set up a little whipping party on their own in a day or two-you mark my words -and they're gonna need a day or two more, after that, just to get over their wounds!"
"Can't you make it on Sunday, then?"
"Sunday-111 try."
"Do, Dino. It'll make a wonderful finale. And I do like my parties to end at top pitch-sort of crescendo, you know."
"O.K., Lillian. I'll do my best. But this is one film I'm not going to spoil."
"Good. Now let's get back inside. 1 don't want them to suspect us of being up to anything."
The baroness need not have worried. Nobody had noticed them leave the room. Nobody even noticed their return. Every pair of eyes remained glued to whatever book it was that they happened to be perusing, with spittle-drooling avidity. Hands shook, holding pages, betraying their nervous excitement.
"Christ! When this party busts out, I want to be there to see it," laughed Carotti, encompassing the picture of wanton devotion to debauchery that was there, evident on every hand.
The baroness laughed as well.
The sound of their laughter seemed to release something within that room.
It was Althea who first fell victim.
Weakly she stood up, straddling the huge volume of obscene drawings, through which she had been paging. Keeping her gaze upon the particular picture that had excited her into action, she gathered up her skirt and plunged the fingers of her other hand deep within her still-bleeding cunt. Strange animal noises were pouring from her throat-sobbing noises of a woman in rut, and she frotteured away for only one short minute before she spent her load, enormously and deliciously, into her masturbating fingers. She sank to the floor, collapsing atop her book with a sigh like that made by a deflating balloon.
Thespie Jones was next to go off. She rent her blouse from her naked, panting body, and ripped off her skirt. She lay, eyes glazed, heaving and thrashing her black woman-body in randiness.
"For Christ's sake," she swore, "this I can stand not a moment longer! Won't somebody, for the love of God, give me a fucking?"
Istvan darted a look at the baroness. It was a mute, unspoken request.
"Go right ahead," she smiled. "But-"
And she gestured meaningfully towards Rhoda Langiry, who was still deeply engrossed by what she was reading. She lay, nevertheless, with a fistful of fingers, questing business-like among the oiled bush of her cunt hair.
Istvan shucked off his clothes. His own cock was aching with the agony of the lust in which he had spent his last few hours. He caught the elegantly-built negress by her hips, and rolled her over. Thespie's legs thrashed high in the air as her body jerked spasmodically in an agony of desire.
Avoiding her legs, Istvan lunged with his tool deep into the demented woman's cunt, and he felt it drive home with his very first thrust. At the same time, heeding the baroness's command, he gently withdrew Rhoda's hand from its masturbatory mission deep within her crotch.
Surprised, she tore her eyes from her book, and looked about her for the source of this interference. Seeing, in a flash, what was going on, she scuttled her skirt up around her hips, and at the same time loosened her aching tits, their nipples angry and inflamed in their hardness, from her blouse. She came at the flickering tongue of the Swiss, just at the precise moment he extended his mouth to her cunt. In a splash of gooey spunk, warm and salty, Istvan's tongue darted into Rhoda's delicious cunt.
A sexual pandemonium ensued. Actuated simultaneously, each person fell upon whoever was nearest. Pricks plunged up hairy, receptive, superbly-oiled cunts. Mouths closed upon cunts. Mouths sought for, and absorbed, pricks. Hips thrashed. Lips writhed. Bodies jerked, ripe and ravenous for immediate orgasm. And suddenly, within mere seconds, it seemed, the entire massive group copulation ended then, as orgasm racked body after body in the final shudderings of unendurable pleasure.
Anaka-Lee alone remained unsatisfied after her first climax. The erotica had excited her more than it had the others. And when relief had come to all, it had not been Heine who had rammed the Polynesian, poking that foot-long penis of his deep up through her cervix and into her womb. No. Heine had found himself copulated into the arse of Reginaldo-the nearest haven he could find in which to plunge himself when the entire gathering had erupted into sudden, unpremeditated action. All that Anaka-Lee could find to ram into her was the prick of Dr. Shane McGarrity-and that was an engine to which she had so long ago grown so accustomed that she had become satiated, and finally insatiable, in turn, upon it McGarrity drenched off his load of semen into her maw, happily and with groaning, delighted satisfaction.
But Anaka-Lee wanted more-and she was now feverishly masturbating Jackson Willoughby into a second erection, praying wildly that it would be hard enough, soon, to plunge up her red-angry, aching quim. And when it was, and she had crammed it greedily, with voracious fingers, up her cunt it was not five or six plunges before she was off again, racked in the grip of her second coming.
Hue the pilot was not now to be denied. The vicarious pleasure he was getting out of the pleasure he was giving to the demented nymphomaniac set him grinning. Never ceasing for a moment his fucking of the Polynesian, in a moment or two he had her ripe again for yet a third discharge. When he had her at this point, he met her coming squarely in the twat with the might of his own outpouring. Together they heaved and clove to each other, backs arching as if they would split each other clean up the middle in the agony of their ejaculations. And, so mighty was the discbarge of the captain that Anaka-Lee sank back, temporarily satisfied, panting from the fatigue that comes after violent sexual exertion.
CHAPTER 18
The entire gathering was keyed up expectation as Dino set up his screen in the vast reception hall of the chateau.
The lights were dimmed. The projector whirred.
The opening scenes showed the happenings around the swimming pool at Dino Carotti's villa, on the day the baroness's party had arrived in Rome.
Expertly the camera danced around some of the highlights. There was a long panning down the exquisite body of Felicity, a glorious vision of Hildegarde's great breasts, and a provocative shot of Elaine's dainty, faintlyhaired little pussy.
Then (here were close-ups of the baroness's pendulous tits, dissolving into a vicious display of Theophilus's phenomenal penis, rigid and incredible in its vastness as it stood, diagonally and enlarged, enormously across the whole screen.
These and similar shots, all in the fidelity of full colour, lent atmosphere to the next shot, which showed a thrashing tangle of four legs, pedalling away in some incomprehensible movement.
It was Althea who first caught the gist of what was happening. "Good God!" she exclaimed out loud. "It's me-underwater!"
"That's right-and that's me, too!" called out Shane McGarrity, thrilling to the sight of his own penis probing underwater amid the cunt-hairs of Althea. A flood of memory carried him back to the day of that underwater fornication.
Eventually the one-eyed lance was seen to find its mark, and Althea's legs jerked upwards and forwards around the doctor's hips, as she scissored him and ground his hips into hers.
"Sure it's an underwater shot," announced Dino, pride in his voice. "I've got a little room fixed up against that bath, with an astrodome window built right out into the water. With the telephoto, I can get most of the bath in focus, right from there."
Now the figure of Istvan swam into focus and the camera followed htm as he plunged about beneath the surface, tweaking the nipples and the dps of penises of whoever he happened to be swimming below.
The nervous laughter failed to hide the mounting tension of sexual desire that now began to grip the party as each settled down to view this pitiless revelation ol their activities. Bodies wriggled down into more com fortable positions. In the darkness, Istvan stole his hand into the cleavage of Althea's blouse, found her tits, and cupped one with nipple-caressing fingers. Althea urged her vibrant young body into his caress, shuddering receptively.
A final shot of the baroness, sitting, cross-legged, and lasciviously tossing herself off in complete nakedness was the last straw. It was a cruel, lewd, lascivious sight.
Hands clasped over pcnises. Fingers slid, to and fro, in the warmth and smoothness of hot, hairy cunts.
So far, the film had been in colour. Now it changed to black-and-white in a short sequence of the actual him that Dino had shown to them before, ending with that colossal pair of tits that he had captured, so magnificently, on his voyage down the Red Sea. Huge, pendulous and incredibly vast as two great cantaloupes, they were as viciously sexual at this showing as they had been the last time.
Now Carotti's questing camera shifted to the audience who had been viewing that film. The mounting of sexual excitement was evident upon their faces and in their actions. Each had felt secure that he was unobserved, shielded by the cover of the darkness. Now their activity was laid bare.
"But how the hell..." exclaimed Shane McGarrity. in his voice was admiration, coupled with complete bewilderment.
"It's a new kind of film entirely," explained Carotti as the camera whirred on. "Infra-red stuff, and faster than film has ever been made before. It's something quite new that the Japs have invented. Look at this, for example. You'll see-it captures everything, even in almost pitch darkness!"
On to the screen flashed a picture of a hand stealing up a smooth and milk-white thigh. Only Istvan knew that the hand, there on the screen, was his own hand. He remembered what had followed.
"Notice anything wrong?" asked Dino of bis drugged audience. "Well, I'll tell you. No shadows, see? There can't be. The scene was shot in the dark, so there were no shadows to record-therefore, no shadows!"
"My God!" exclaimed the doctor, with sudden understanding.
"That's what makes this infra-red stuff so fascinating to work with," went on Dino Carotti. "It's all a wartime project, of course, and very new still. But its possibilities-hell, they're enormous! It's the most exciting thing I've ever worked with."
The hand on the screen worked its way caressingly up the thigh. Then, just when everybody expected to see it meet the furred twat of one or other of the women, the fingers encountered... a rigid and raging penis! It had been no female thigh at all! It had been a male thigh that the hand had been fondling-the thigh of Leslie Haines.
Another flashback showed the society matrons of Rome again, naked and sweating and indolent, in the Sauna bath, then the camera turned back to that first-night audience. What a squirming mass of fornicating, copulating flesh now was revealed! Nobody had known, in the darkness of that other evening in Rome, who it had been whom he was fucking. No woman knew whose penis was grinding away inside her. No man knew into whose cunt he had been boring. Now, obligingly, Dino was revealing exactly what had been happening.
The camera picked up a face-the baroness's-then moved down the body, showing that it had been Istvan who was fucking his employer. Istvan chuckled. He had thought it was the cunt of Hildegarde, the lesbian, into which he was plugging away!
At that moment, watching himself in action, he ripped open his fly so that his great erection sprang from his trousers. Still grinning at the image of himself upon the screen, he leaned over the hot and heaving Althea, plunging his free hand up her skirt. She was nothing loath. She opened her thighs to receive his fingers, urging her tits violently into his other hand which was fondling their alabaster surfaces so provokingly and so deliciously.
It was now the the doctor's town to be exposed. The camera showed him to be fucking away, mightily, between the thighs of Althea. Althea, thought the doctor in amused amazement-so that's who it had been! She; too, was surprised, for she could remember having been under the impression it had been Dino Carotti himself who had claimed her that evening, leaving his projector to grind away automatically on its own, while he entered the fray. She smiled, in delighted amazement-remembering, too, how pleasant had been that encounter in the dark.
While she had been fucked, she had been fondling somebody's penis... and now, for the first time, she knew whose prick that had been. None other than Reginaldo's... and she watched, now, with a trace of digust, the leaping discbarge of fountaining white semen.
The camera panned back to Shane McGarrity and showed him crawling from the body of Althea, crawling over a veritable sea of writhing, squirming bodies, blindly seeking yet another orifice into which he could plunge his as yet unsatisfied prong. He found it, surprisingly, when a mouth closed over the head of it, and the doctor was shown, lying back, savouring the delight of being sucked off. He could remember having wondered just who it had been who had done him this favour... and now he knew: none other than Heine Gorlitz! it was apparent, now, that nobody had been still in that room. The camera picked up Theophilus, groping about for somebody. Berenice was revealed, seeking to cram any loose penis she could find up her quim. It did not seem as if she were finding any satisfaction in her search. She would straddle any idle cock, squelch up and down upon it for a moment or two, then discard it, to crawl about for another one.
Viewing herself, Berenice now remembered deliciously the thought that had motivated her that night. It had been dark. She would be unobserved, she thought. Very well then-she would ram every prick in that room into herself, successively, one after the other. That had been her idea, and until this very moment, she had been under the impression she had succeeded. Now she saw, for the first time, how she had failed-for in all her orgy of sampling, she had contrived to ensnare only Istvan, and, of all people-Leslie Haines. Time and again, it was only one or the other of those two whom she succeeded in capturing.
One of the cruellest scenes of that whole orgy was now revealed in its gruesome entirety. The roving lens picked up the delicate, little-girl beauty of Elaine, contentedly prone upon her back at the fringe of the crowd, where she was being sucked off by-^-of all people-the baroness. So that's who it was, thought the baroness, and here I'd been thinking that it had been Felicity I'd been mouthing!
And then-and Elaine could still recall it-she had been picked up as if she had been nothing heavier than a cushion, and she felt herself falling across a writhing mass of bodies. She knew now, for the first time, whom it bad been, then-who alone possessed the huge strength to handle her thus. Who, other than Theophilus? And, as the film unfolded, she lived again that vicious experience.
She saw herself being picked up bodily, and sat athwart his thighs. She saw how he lifted her up and down over his prick while her tiny lesbian cunt was sploshed and agape, clutching into itself his massive, mahogany weapon I
The tiny size of her, in such sharp contrast to the massive bulk of Theophilus, was a lewd and depraved sight. It was a vile defloration and the audience shuddered as each experienced, in imagination, what a massive intrusion into the vagina of the little girl had been that mighty African prick! And then came the orgasm, and Theophilus was seen to be literally jerking the frail woman-body up and down upon his pole as, time after time, he would jet a stream of creamy semen deep up and into her outraged cunt. It was the acme of utter degradation.
As she watched the him, Elaine hirself could feel another approach being made to her there in the dark. She yielded to the advance, opening her thighs to take the cock seeking entrance into her twat.
Whose cock it was, she had not the slightest idea. The fuck itself was all that counted! Elaine, since the day her maidenhead had been riven, had been a lesbian -the ever-willing slave of another woman-condemned to a lifetime of female caresses. Now she thrilled as she gave herself over to the sweet realisation that she was at last experiencing the fierce masculinity of maninto-woman fucking. She had Theophilus to thank-that fierce onslaught, little less than physical rape itself. And as she watched the African giant fucking her into insen sibility upon the screen, she writhed in jerky randiness upon the floor, giving herself utterly and in swooning intensity to whoever it was, now, who was grinding away into her twat, herself matching, thrust for thrust, the urgency of the delightful experience.
by this time, under the stimulation of the erotic sequences they had veen viewing, the entire company had followed Elaine's example and that of Istvan and Althea. Spurred by the cinematic view of their previous cavorting*, they were now busily engaged in reliving those same sexual onslaughts. There was, by now, the heaving of bodies straining at each other, in that room. Few continued to watch the film on the screen. Instead, there was the unmistakable thwack of belly meeting belly. There was the hiss of hard breathing, like athletes in contest, as the demented men and women worked off and worked up again their aroused measure of lust and libido, and the delicious squelching of penis into vagina.
The baroness herself, given over wholly and completely now to the orgy of sex taking place about her on every side, drank in the sweet realisation that her party was, at that very moment, at its very zenith of libertinism. All else would be anticlimax. At this point, she could disband her guests, secure in the knowledge that each had enjoyed the maximum of experience that she, and each other, could bring about.
She quivered and jerked in rut. Blindly, in the darkness, she wriggled, crawling with naked titties a-swing and a-jounce over what seemed like a veritable acre of fucking cock and cuntsucking bodies. Finally she reached the mammoth trunklike solidity of Theophilus.
She drew down his head to her hot, heaving breasts, sweating in their agony of sexual longing. Clawing at him like some feline monster, she succeeded in dragging the African's body down upon hers. Now, exercising only that sheer instinct that dominates all sexual combat, she succeeded in clamping her oiled twat around the throbbing massiveness of Theophilus's monumental phallus and her cunt curled open and absorbed the turgid obelisk-like prick of the black man.
Now, with all of its helft swallowed up her cunt, the aristocratic socialite gave herself up to her huge, ritualistic act of surrender. Debased, there in the dark, with mouth slavering, she grunted and groaned in her frantic search for fulfilment.
Her heroic striving had its effect on those near. Here was-some huge, primeval and terrible act of fuck in progress. As the lewd, obscene moaning poured out of her opened throat, a hush fell on all of them. In the hush, the baroness's moanings echoed the louder, the more ominous, as she clove to Theophilus.
At the very instant that the baroness, drawing a long breath into her tormented lungs, let go a long, low "Aah-h-h-h-h-h-h!" into the room, as she dissolved in dreadful orgasm, Dino Carotti tripped the switch that stopped his projector. With the same movement, he flicked on the light switch.
It was then that the toll of the sex-movie became evident in all its awful, orgiastic immensity. There, caught in the soft and sudden flood of light, they laytwenty human bodies caught up in the mightiest consumption of lust, of randiness, of utter sexual debauchery of all time.
The entire room was permeated by the pungent, acrid perfume of sperm. Sperm was evident everywhere. Here, it lay splotched and glistening still, over some woman's face. There it drenched a softly-rounded belly, still pandng up and down after its recent sexual exertions.
It squished between the fingers of female hands, lay in creamy -white spume upon cunthairs, or flowed, dripping still, from flaccid penises. And everywhere in the room was the sickly-sweet, sour smell of it.
And now, in the light, and sparked off by the throaty howl of the baroness, the majesty of her fornication with the lusty African giant leaped into sudden, incredible focus. It was the sexual mating of all time, this battle between the orgasm-racked aristocrat and the black colussus bestriding her. Into her discharge was pouring every ounce of the baroness's undeniable womanhood. But the mighty negro was nowhere near the point of his own ejaculation yet.
Oblivious to her howls for mercy, he ceased not a moment from flailing his hips into her belly. She writhed. She jerked. She twitched, hugely, spasmodically, seeking, animal-like, to escape the pain and the uncontainable agony of her ordeal. But not by a millimetre did he cease from slamming his awful, inconceivable penis into her.
When she rolled, mightily, from beneath him, he rolled with her and, still locked in fuck, continued to ream himself into her womb.
Now Carotti himself, flinging garments from him as he came, dived upon that two-backed monster-and came at the baroness from behind, his penis a raging flame of heat at the ring of her anus. His prick seemed to be literally pissing spunk as, with one great lunge, he rammed the entire length of it deep up the fundus of the demented woman. Like a hot rod through a mound of amorphous butter, it disappeared, squelching spunk from the connection as it slid up her rectum.
The aristocrat of Innsbruck shrieked in pain and outrage at this sudden, unexpected violation of her
1.83 seldom-used orifice. Then, feeling the two pricks each a-slither over the thin membrane that separated her rectum from her vagina, she shuddered obscenely, and collapsed.
In and out bored the two pricks through her two bottom orifices. Carotti rolled his eyes in an agony of lustful enjoyment as he felt the massive black cock, hot and probing and unbelievably rigid and huge, only a millimetre's thickness of cuntskin away from his own hungry and aching cock. Grimly, like two locomotive pistons, they slid to and fro-and the baroness, teeth clenched against the unendurable agony of it, lay back helpless in a swoon of sex-crazed enjoyment.
She had thrown one hip over the thigh of Theophilus, and though no detail of her mighty double-fucking was visible, no one was unable to sense its utter, all-consuming completeness. Slowly, they felt, mounting again, within their aching loins, the onset of sexual desire.
Thespie and Rhoda moved first. Together, they dragged their weary bodies erect. Their eyes were glazed and unseeing. Crawling, now, they came, as if mesmerised and under the compulsive influence of r me power not their own, to where the two men were grinding away into the body of the demented baroness.
Wordlessly, by tacit instinct, they presented their own two reddened cunts to the baroness's two free hands.
Lillian, feeling the warmth and lush femininity of these two orifices at her fingertips, knew what was expected of her. Senseless already in her debauch, she knew, in that moment, that with one cock up her cunt and a second reaming away in her rectum, that she herself must complete a dual masturbation inside the mute but eloquently demanding cunts at her fingertips.
She bunched her fingers into one long, four-fingered probe and she rammed each handful of fingertips up the cunts of Thespie and Rhoda. Gratefully, receptively, their labiae closed over the baroness's fingers.
It was the turn, now, of Thys van Grondwijk to enter the enormity of the fuck.
Realising that the baroness had still one orifice untenanted, he came, catlike for all his massive bulk, over to the five coupled bodies. He lowered his body in a crouch over the aristocrat's face, and he thrilled in delight as he felt her mouth close over the head of his penis, felt the familiar sucking sensation of her tongue and of her lips doing their well-practised work upon him.
The baroness's joy was now nearing its acme. Only her two armpits remained capable of taking any further sexual pleasure, and all that prevented the insinuation of any more bodies into that sexual sprawl was the mass of heaving humanity itself, there at its vicious work of lechery.
But Lillian had reckoned without the acrobatic agility of Heine Gorlitz, and now the gymnast came, drawn as irresistibly as iron filings to a magnet, inching over into die fuck-satiated tangle. He watched, transfixed, the concerted heaving of that six-bodied chaotic mass fornication. He arched his hips and plunged forward at the precise, accurate moment for entry.
The baroness gave an electrified shock of spasm as she felt the oiled, sex-seeking wand cleave its way to her body from behind her shoulder, through the sweatdrenched tangle of hair in her armpit, and intrude its blue, angry head over her squashed breasts.
Incapable now of movement of her own, except the movement of her fingers inside the cunts which had trapped them, she was a woman given over in her
JR5 entirety to the mightiest fuck she had ever experienced. She found her mind awash in the swimming sensation of sexual thought. Had there ever been so mighty a fuck in this world before? Had there ever been woman no monumentally bestraddled-by not one man, but by no fewer than four of them at one and the same time! She was, at that moment, incapable of orgasm-the pitch of orgasm had long since been attained, and was now past. But the sensation was far more mighty than orgasm itself could ever have produced in her, and she revelled in the realisation that she could probably lie there for ever now, the female receptacle for as many pricks as the propinquity of naked, striving human bodies could squeeze or insinuate into or upon her.
More, however, was to come. The movement of the seven bodies had now settled into a slow, probing rhythm of sexual exploration, in which the full, pendulous tits of the baroness became visible from time to time, as Theophilus fell below her arched, receptive body. Into the gap between her upper, outside tit appeared and reappeared, lasciviously, the glistening, snakelike head of Heine's thrusting wand. The baroness's two tits were visible in their inviting nudity-and the cleavage between these massive mounds was vacant!
It was Jackson Willoughby who had noted this fact. Slowly, among those who were watching this greatest of all fucks, the airline pilot stiffened, and prepared for action. Suddenly, unerringly, throwing himself bodily into the heaving heap of other bodies, he sped with his throbbing penis straight at the mark. It was the might of his onslaught alone that carried him, inexorably, into position, and he felt his penis cleaving the valley of that squashed-togcthcr mass of mammary flesh so that his piston slid under the twin lubrication of his.own spunk and the baroness's animal sweat, directly into the valley of that warm, feminine deft.
Istvan could not forebear to cheer. The magnificent mass of depraved mutual fornication was now complete. This was something, happening here before his very eyes, that nobody else in the entire world had ever seen before!
Here was a woman, bearer of one of the proudest names in Europe-lying with a prick up her twat, another up her rectum, another deep in among her tonsils, a fourth in the deft between her enormous titties, and a fifth cleaving the fecundity of her well-haired armpit! And, at that, she lay masturbating two of the most statuesque female bodies, nude and delightful, in all the world! Eight bodies in all-locked in one single, simultaneous fuck! When, ever, in the history of human fornication, had the like ever been seen before?
He seized the lush, nude body of the panting Althea, and he threw her across the tangled pyramid of the eight heaving bodies. And as she fell upon that mass of flesh, she instinctively parted her thighs to receive the sudden and mighty onslaught of his tool. As she ensnared it within her sexual nest, she pulled the blonde-headed giant to her belly, seeking to squash her hard-nippled breasts all over the chest of him.
Hildegarde and her new lover, Shane McGarrity, came into the battle. He knew, as he drove his penis deep up her vagina, that here, in his arms, was one woman who could never be completely lesbian again, ever. Cunts she might suck-true, and copulate with dildo with some future woman, in some fit of remembered perversity. But henceforth there would have to be the warm, throbbing prick of some sex-hungry man.
Around the edge of that mass of bodies came Alouetta, now-naked, massive, obscenely randy as she searched for sexual satisfaction. She found Reginaldo, stupefiedly watching, and she picked upon him to assuage her nowaroused appetite. Dragging him to her body, falling with him to the floor, she encompassed all of him, balls and penis together, deep within the maw of her hungry cunt.
Leslie Haines, seeing his former lover coupled there to the hilt in the experienced twat of the Dutchwoman, let go a yell.
He leaped upon the woman nearest him-Anaka-Lee, consumed in the grip of her numphomaniac lust. He bore her to the ground, aside and half-athwart the pyramid of fuck-locked flesh all about them. And he shuddered in sexual enjoyment of the spasm-producing thrill he knew when he felt her hungry, insatiable vagina sucking him into the thrill of his new-found masculinity.
Somewhere in that sea of sex was Felicity, finding sexual relief in some unseen orgiastic ritual. Alone, now, and unfulfilled, was little Elaine. She shouldered her way into the heaving group, seeking a man-and, finding none, she impishly contrived her own solution.
A smile over her sprite-like features, she danced like a tiny fairy, daintily and lightly around the entire group. Here was some spittle-drooling mouth-she presented her downy-bushed cunt to it, feeling a shudder as those lips closed at her own labia, as that tongue darted up the depths of her vagina. With a throaty chuckle, she would draw away. There was a ganglia of fingers. Again she presented her little-girl twat-and again she thrilled to the entry of ringed fingers up her sexual chasml Then she would disengage her cunt for yet a third experimental pirouette around the group.
She saw Althea, body rigid and jerking spasmodically in obvious orgasm, suddenly fling her legs up in the air and swooning in the agony and ecstasy of her coming. As she fainted, she collapsed from under the might oi Istvan, still randy and robbed, at the very point of his discharge, from himself attaining orgasm. Elaine was ready.
Daintily, but unerringly, she flung herself between the loveliness of Althea's nakedness, lying back over the lush body of the Greek girl, her thighs parted to take the Swiss prick throbbing there before her.
Istvan, delighted to feel again a cunt where split seconds before had been no cunt at all, let go delightedly. Time and again he bellywhacked the petite, pixie-like little girl, and he thrilled rigid as he felt her legs go up, out, and arch around his body as she, in turn, was carried to the uttermost rigors of orgasm in his massive fucking. She kicked and battered his hips down and into hers, letting her body arch backwards against the soft mountain of flesh athwart which she was being fucked, and Istvan gave her all and more of what he had, as he allowed his erection to remain in that insatiable cunt.
His climax became the climax for all of them, then. Writhing and rumbling, obscenely shouting profanities, their bodies earthquaked then into one mighty, communal orgy of orgasm.
The baroness, like Althea, fainted into insensibility as she felt the huge, unbelievable coming of her straddlers, virtually at-one and the same moment, as they began their discharges. Semen jetted in pearly-gleaming long strands over her throat, her breasts, and she felt the twitching lancing of ejaculations up into her rectum, deep up her cunt at her very cervix. She writhed and wrenched spasmodically, sucking down a load of semen into her throat from the Dutchman's huge penis, spluttering for air, and choking upon the semen and spittle that threatened to drown her as she strove to swallow its never-ending stream.
One after another, or simultaneously, ten penises splashed ten darting loads of semen over bellies, down throats, into cunts, between sticky, wet fingers and into the palms of masturbatory hands. One after another, ten cunts twitched and angered into communal orgasm, and seemed to explode in the swollen intensity of their vaginal orgasms.
They jerked, racked rigid... and finally, one after another, ten male bodies, naked and sweaty in defeat, subsided from ten sets of nude female bellies and lewd woman-bosoms... and were still...
On the face of the baroness, buried beneath die lascivious mass of her fuckers, played a beatific, Mona Lisa smile.
It was the smile of triumph of the scientist in the moment of discovery, the smile of triumph of the athlete who has broken an Olympic record, the smile of triumph of the mother in her moment of birth.
It was the smile of Lillian, Baroness de Bierli-who had set out to break, then to reunite her friends. She realized, now, that she had succeeded far beyond her wildest dreams.
Satiated, replete with the fullness of the glutton, and wearing, now, the glow of her success like a halo about the entire naked woman-body of her, heavy-titted and full-bellied, with the massive weight of her simultaneous fuckers pressing down upon her in the torment of their communal collapse, she slept.
There was nothing-nothing more at all, to come. From that moment on, there would be nothing... except the memory of what they had lived through.
