Susan swayed and arched her body as Sammy kissed and fondled her bare breasts. It was a spine-tingling sensation to have Sammy's lips and tongue caressing her nipples and she wanted to return the pleasure. She grasped Sammy's long, erect phallus in one hand and gently pumped it, making the head pulsate madly. With her other hand, Susan cupped his balls and caressed the hairy sac, tossing the heavy globes around in her fingers. Occasionally, a finger would creep under and behind Sammy's balls, searching and finding his tender, sensitive anal ring.
Sammy moaned between the nibbles and kisses he showered on Susan's breasts. He couldn't hold out much longer; he had to speed things up. He had to have her totally. Soon! Sammy sank his hand between Susan's thighs. The moisture from her hole already greasing her pussy mound, he easily found Susan's passion button and he rubbed it fiercely.
Susan gasped and moaned, "Oh. Christ. Sammy! Oh, yes, yes, yes! NOW, SAMMY, NOW!"....
Book I - A JOURNEY INTO LUST
CHAPTER 1
Pete looked out at the girl. She was some dish, but ... oh, well. Pete was engaged and not only that he was in charge of the garage. He was too young to have really established himself, and didn't dare allow himself or any of the other apprentices to fumble around with all the little girls who got hot pussies every time they heard a gunning motor. Pete didn't have anything against pulling the panties off of a girl right there in the garage. But she was probably too young. And another problem was that Henry, the youngest apprentice, was too anxious to fuck the girl up one side and down the other. His tiny, yellowish goat eyes had already undressed her, but it was the dark, Latin-looking Pete that got her blood up. She swished back and forth in front of the office and rubbed her crotch to catch his attention.
"Hey, baby, want some one to help you scratch?"
"What's bugging you?"
"Just wondered if you needed an opener for your box."
"If it had been the dark-eyed one in the office, there'd be a different answer. He could open my box right up to my throat. But not you. You're not my type."
Pete heard, but acted like he hadn't. It was his garage, his hard won job. But later, when the others had gone, the girl came back and stood in the office door. She lifted her short skirt and pulled the elastic of her panties out. She had on pale-blue panties with orange flowers. Pete looked up for a moment, then lost interest. She wanted to play with him, but he didn't want to play with her. He looked at a long wooden box filled with shavings. It had been used for machine parts but now it resembled a coffin-or a whore-box, a bed. He nodded toward the box. The girl tilted her head coquettishly. "Do you want to look at this?"
She stretched the top of her panties down until he could see the blonde hair around her cunt and even the first fold of skin where her crack began. A long line ran up her stomach, a real high pussy, impossible to take from the back. "Why should I want to see that?"
"Ah, I just meant that a pretty boy like you could do almost anything he wanted."
"Are you going to take a little tour in the hay?"
"Are you inviting?"
The blonde girl with her shoulder-length hair had put one leg up on the wooden box and prodded the shavings. Pete stood and picked up a broken fan belt he had lying beside the desk. He walked over to the roguishly smiling girl.
"You want to get in the box and try something interesting?"
"Everything is interesting for me if you come along."
He gripped her neck and forced her face down, pulled her short skirt up, and jerked her panties off. Her buttocks were pink and round, and Pete felt himself stiffen. She stood bent over there in the box. With his free hand he swung the belt down across the soft flesh of her loins. He gathered a little spit on his tongue and was tempted to hit her again, this time right between her legs and into her helpless, tender cunt. But he controlled himself.
"Now you can run off and never come back here. We are here to work, not to play around with little girls with hot pants."
The girl pulled her torn panties up, stumbled out of the box, and disappeared sniffing. She was a strange one, not more than fifteen or sixteen. He didn't care, he was going home to the best cunt in the world. There was just a little more to clear up at work. The red Ferrari had to be finished, but Henry had promised to come back after his dinner to take care of it.
Cars, that was the thing. Racing cars, sports cars, big, heavy cars for the spoiled sons of rich men. Pete had done well after he had come out of the army. He had a garage with four employees, all good experienced men, except for Henry, who was just a smart-ass kid. Clever enough, but hard-nosed. Well, that was his problem. As long as Pete could keep out of it. There were plenty of girls for men who had a sports car. But it was funny that so many girls were ready to put their pussies out just for a ride in a racing car.
And there were just as many girls willing to race around the countryside with a bunch of hotrodders, just to get an oil-soaked prick between their legs. Girls did such strange things. Fucked to get a ride, rode to get fucked. And then there were girls crazy about both. The little hot pants was one of those. She was speed crazy. Strange that Henry hadn't already had her. Pete checked a bill, signed a letter, and took his overalls off. Now he was going home, a good ripe, passionate cunt was waiting for him-all hooked up with a girl who had enough brains to give a sensible answer when he talked with her.
Susan creeped carefully through the back of the garage. She knew the Ferrari was to be finished and test-driven that night. She was almost certain that they would run her flat out. She walked around the Ferrari, then climbed in behind the driver's seat. She lay as quiet as a mouse. Then she heard footsteps.
Henry stood in the dark storeroom and watched the girl sneaking around. He saw her climb into the car. The little bitch wouldn't let him fuck her. She made a fool of him. His small, goat-eyes glittered. She was going to get it. Lying there in the back of the sports car and hoping for a little tour. And he just knew that Pete would do the testing as he usually did. Henry worked methodically and carefully. He was a good mechanic, and an even better racing driver. And he was also pretty sure that he was a damn good lover, a fucking bull. And maybe he was if the girls really spread their legs for him, but he couldn't stand a no, wasn't really man enough to swallow a defeat. He rolled the car forward then pulled the doors tight and locked them while he kept a close eye on the back of the car. With a nasty smile he climbed in behind the steering wheel. He made good time through town, but obeyed the laws.
But out on the highway he began picking up a little speed. Normally he would not have driven so far, but he loved speed. He whipped through a couple of tight turns then came to an open stretch and pushed hard. His ears filled with the roar of wind. After a few minutes he pulled into a deserted picnic area and stopped under some trees. He stepped out and reached behind the seat and tugged her out by her hair. He gave a hard smile. He would show the little bitch that he was the one to decide who would drive with him and what they should pay for stowing away. It wouldn't be cheap, he decided.
"What the hell are you doing here. Now I can understand why the car wasn't acting right. It was you who threw the balance all off. O.K. you can stay there until we get onto some quiet road where you won't cause any trouble by sitting up. Or maybe you want to walk home, it's not more than twenty-five miles. You decide."
Susan paled. She hadn't counted on this. Henry shoved her back again and climbed into the car. He sat quietly and smoked a cigarette before he started up. He drove for a long way along deserted country roads until he found the place he was looking for, a graveled firebreak leading into the forest. He backed in far enough so that a stray passerby couldn't see, then came around and signaled for the girl to climb out. She was stiff from her cramped position and shivered a little in the evening cold. He held both her wrists in one hand and took out a rope which he quickly knotted around her arms. He jerked her in front of the car and indicated that she should bend forward over the hood while he tied her hands to the steering wheel. When it was done, he drew up her skirt and pulled the thin panties down. He liked the sight of her round little ass gleaming in the moonlight. Roughly he thrust his hand between her legs and began fumbling for cunt. She gasped. She didn't like this hard-faced kid, but when some one began touching her there she always got a shiver in her back and a funny feeling in her stomach that could only be cured by a prick boring into her. And that was his intention, but he could not find her cunt. He swore when he discovered that her opening was so far forward that he couldn't reach her from behind as he had been looking forward to. But, damn it, he was going to ball her anyway. He untied the rope, made her stand up, then forced her backwards. Her butt rested against the cold metal of the car but her panties would not allow her to spread her legs, so he ripped them off. She groaned, partly from fear, partly from desire. He tied her hands down along side of the car so that she lay like a great open cross with a gaping cunt in the middle. He pulled her skirt even higher. She did not use a bra. Her small, firm breasts jutted upwards into the cold night air. Her nipples were stiff with expectation of something exciting with him. He pulled his hard prick out and let it sway before her face so that she could smell the moist heat from its tip.
"Did you know that this was the price of trying to take a free trip?"
Susan nodded. Her back hurt from the unnatural position. He spread her legs and her cunt opened like an oyster. He was annoyed that it was dark so that he could not enjoy the sight. He leaned into the car and fumbled in the door compartment. Yes, the owner had a flashlight, a big one, which Henry put on the ground and propped up with a stone so that the light fell upwards and across the spread girl. He moved up to her again and let her sniff his prick.
"Suck it a little bit. It'll go in better."
Susan turned her head and let her full lips rub his bulging prick. Her tongue ran around the smooth, damp tip. She had never sucked a prick before, but that was only an accident-some one had to be the first to shove a rock-hard cock into her mouth. She sucked a little because she thought that men liked the feeling. He drew out of her with a plop. She licked her lips nervously. If Only he weren't angry about something. But he only knelt and began to sniff at her crotch. Luckily she had just washed herself. His tongue ran quickly up and down the sides of her pussy, then drove into her. He gave her clitoris a little suck, then jumped up.
"Are you ready to be fucked for doing this?"
"Susan nodded. She would be more than happy to be balled by a hot rodder, and even though he wasn't very nice she wasn't eager to walk home.
"You're going to get a prick now. That's what you were looking for at the garage, wasn't it?"
Susan could only nod. She looked at Henry's face, devil-like from the light of the flashlight. He had a broad nose and his prick was deformed so that its head was almost square. She could still taste it in her mouth. He gripped her breasts and squeezed. Then he fell across her, between her chilly thighs, driving his prick deep into her, brutal and demanding. He drew slowly out and rammed in. For a while he fucked slowly and steadily, but then he began to pick up speed and to pound harder. She groaned and forgot the cold and her twisted, back-breaking position. She wanted to lift her thighs and grip him around his waist, so that she could feel more. But when she tried, the ridge of the hood cut into her back. Henry squeezed her breasts painfully, then bent to put his teeth to one nipple, not gently, but in animal passion. He wasn't good to her. She wasn't a little butterfly with delicate wings, but she was used to men who treated her cunt as something rare and good, who regarded her nipples with delight. That wasn't for this speed-happy mechanic. He regarded a girl almost like something dirty that must be destroyed. He wasn't religious, or even cruel, but the slightest tenderness embarrassed him and he became angry at the creature that made him waste his seed. And when he finally reached his climax and his seed spurted into her, he almost hated her. When he looked at a girl beneath him he wanted to kill her if he could get away with it. But he had to settle for humiliating any girl who gave him the only valuable thing she had, her love and tenderness. He felt like strangling them all, but he didn't dare, so he was angry for a long while afterward and the girl was usually unhappy and thought she had not fucked very well. And it was even worse if she had fucked unusually well, for then he was crazy with bitterness. But this girl had gotten herself into her own mess, so he could punish her with a good conscience. First, because she would not let him screw her in the garage, then because she had slowed down his work, and then because she had sneaked into the car. Subconsciously his best argument was that she would not let him do it in the comfort of the garage. And while Susan groaned with passion and writhed as much as she could in her uncomfortable position, while his prick became harder and he drove himself to his climax, his anger with the girl grew. In the dark, she could not see his face, could not see his eyes glittering with hate. If she had, she would have screamed with fear. She gasped for air and tossed her head from side to side. He pumped the final strokes into her cunt and she felt herself falling into a void of pleasure. He grew rigid and let his sperm shoot into the willing chasm. Not a caress, not a soft stroke on the cheek, just pulled his prick out and dried it. Then he buttoned his trousers and went around to the back of the car. "Hey. You" forgot to untie me."
"No I didn't. You've only been fucked, now comes the punishment. You, yourself, admitted that you were sneaking around just to get a fuck, didn't you?"
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. And now I've had it."
"The prick you got. And you enjoyed it. So now you have to have the whip."
He came up to her and showed her another piece of rope, thinner and stiffer and he had done something to it with oil so that it was even more supple. He slapped the end into the palm of his hand, then brought it whistling down over her stomach.
"Ouch, ouch! Why are you hitting me. I didn't do anything to you."
"You sneaked along on a test drive. I'll teach you, you little bitch. You'll never come around the garage any more trying to get every one hot and bothered and thinking you don't have to pay for it."
"No, no. I'll stop! I'm sorry. I'll never come again."
"That's nice, but it's too late now. You're going to get a little whipping."
He brought the rope down over her again, struck gleefully between her soft thighs, whipped her cunt, her stomach, her breasts time and again, until she moaned and began to scream.
"Shut up. I could be really tough on you. You're getting off easy."
"Ooohhh! Stop. Leave me alone."
"Later. Now you've got to take your punishment."
She writhed and pulled at the cruel ropes binding her slender wrists. She tried to curl up to protect herself but the hard metal of the car resisted her.
"Henry, oh Henry, let me alone. I'll stay away. I'll be good. I'll never come to the garage again."
"Are you sure? Not even to tease the boss?"
"No, no, he'll never see me again!"
"Not even to rub your pussy while I'm watching?"
"I'll never rub my pussy again."
"And from now on, it'll be me that does all the pussy rubbing?"
"Ah, ouch! Henry, you can rub my pussy every day if you just let me go. Just don't whip me any more."
Henry's nostrils flared. He suddenly discovered that it was a great release to whip the helpless girl. He liked the sight of the bloody stripes across her stomach and lovely thighs. She was a nice piece, but had to learn to come crawling on her knees to him and beg him for his prick.
"What about it, do you want my prick?"
"Yes, yes, let me have it."
"Not that way. Beg me for it."
"Yes, oh yes, please let me have it! Please let me have your prick!"
"Put a little more spirit in it. And ask for it from behind."
"Oh yes! Henry, please do it to me from behind."
He knew that it was impossible for him to stuff his prick up her in that position. And that he would have to untie her to do it. But he took the chance and untied one hand and rolled her over so that her face pressed against the hood of the car and her arms were crossed. Her ass protruded into the air and her legs were stretched wide. His prick was hard after the whipping he had given her. He had thought himself not up to doing it twice and was pleased. But her cunt was still too high to fuck from the back and he had to figure out something. He gripped her knees and lifted her like a wheelbarrow. She swayed helplessly in the air and her back felt like it was about to break, but she was already wet from the first time and his hot iron bored easily in between her bloody buttocks. The whipping had made him so excited that it took only a few thrusts before he began to tremble with his climax. His seed spurted into the gaping hole as his slimy cock glided in and out.
"Now you've had a prick. Thank me for it!"
"Yes, yes, thank you."
"Come on, you little bitch. Put a little gratitude into it."
"Oh, Henry, thank you so much for your prick and all your juice."
"And the whipping...."
"Yes. and thank you for the whipping. I needed it."
Susan realized that he was crazy, that he was a sadist, and she wns willing to do anything he said to get his prick out of her and to have her hands untied, to pull her panties up and to find her way home.
Henry picked her panties up and dried his limp cock in them. Then he cleaned his hands which had become stained from the oil-soaked rope and tossed the panties into the bushes. Almost immediately he realized what he had done and got the flashlight and began to look for them. He knew that the girl could say that he had raped her and he didn't want her panties lying around as evidence. After he had put his clothes in order, he untied the girl. He used her panties to clean the car of bloodstains from her whipped thighs. She limped away from the car and crouched. She had to piss and it couldn't wait. She watched him return the flashlight to the car after he had polished it. She saw him light the headlights and test the ignition. Suddenly the car moved out from the bushes where it was hidden. She moaned, she hadn't finished relieving herself yet. Then she knew that he was going to drive off. She jumped up and ran after the little car that was bouncing toward the forest road. Just as she reached it, he sped up and the red taillights became smaller and smaller. She dropped with exhaustion into a ditch and began to cry. But it was no good, she could not just sit there and whimper, and she would freeze if she just sat there. It was twenty-five miles home, he said. She stood up and began plodding toward the lights that indicated the main highway.
Soon she came to an asphalt road that angled downwards. She decided to follow it in the hope that it led to the beach highway where there would be more traffic. The forest road was deserted. She was cold and hurt, and she was afraid of walking alone among the trees. But then she told herself that animals never hurt anyone, only people tortured each other. She slowly became calmer, she had after all been looking for excitement, and she had found it. Her evening had been terrifying, but she had learned something. She should have listened to the advice that the boss of garage had given her about keeping away. But now it was too late, just like Henry had said.
From far away she heard the sound of a fast car, a car with people in it, friendly, nice people who would help her, drive her home. But maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they weren't driving to Boston. For a moment she was afraid they wouldn't stop. She stood in the dark woods. Now she was saved.
CHAPTER 2
The cone of lights glittered along the dark asphalt, suddenly a figure appeared out of the darkness, waving. Bill gave a little grunt.
"Hey watch it, Bill, you'll run her down. She's probably drunk."
Bill slowed and pulled toward one side of the road. The girl might well be drunk. He looked again.
"She's not drunk, she's sick. We better stop."
"Are you crazy. Don't you think we have problems enough already? If we were home it would be something else. We could just call the cops."
"We could do the same thing here in Massachusetts. But I don't know their number."
Bill drove slowly up beside the waving girl. She was laughing and crying at the same time. When Sammy got out to see what was wrong, she threw her arms around his neck and began chattering so fast he couldn't understand a word of her disconnected story, something about a rape and a sports car. He removed her hands gently from around his neck and discovered that the girl was covered with blood and dirt. Maybe she was really sick, like Bill said. She was almost naked, at least she didn't have anything on under her thin, transparent dress. She wasn't very old. And she had beautiful long, blonde hair and blue eyes with long lashes.
"Put her in the front seat. And be careful about the backseat."
The car was big enough for all three in front. Sammy helped Susan in then climbed in himself. She pressed against Sammy to keep from interfering with the driver. She put one hand on his thigh and he looked to see if it was dirty. He liked the look of her, if only she weren't smeared with blood. They drove to the beach highway and turned toward Glouchester. Bill looked at his watch. They had enough time. Susan watched the road signs with dismay, they were headed north. At first she had thought that Henry had driven her away from town, but apparently he had circled back so that she would not have too far to walk. But now she didn't want to head north. She wanted to go home to Boston. But if these Texans wanted to go the other way, she would go with them, for she didn't want to be put out on the deserted road again.
"Hey wait a minute, fellows. Where are you driving me? I know you saved me, but anyway ... I'm filthy and I need a bath."
She wasn't cold any longer. Her walk and the damp heat of the car had taken the chill off her. And she began to collect her thoughts.
"The girl's right. She needs a bath. Got a handkerchief? She can wash on the beach. The water is warm tonight."
Bill glanced at the half-naked girl who sat and fumbled with Sammy's new trousers. Sammy wasn't interested in little girls, but Bill was. He pulled into a rest area and fished out his handkerchief. All three got out, but then Sammy got back in and lit a cigarette. Bill watched the girl's ass swing. When she bent to scoop up some water, her dress pulled up over her naked thighs. His prick began to grow hard and he took the girl's hand and led her to some bushes. He helped her pull her dress off and saw to his pleasure that she was completely naked. He gripped her small breasts that felt firm and responsive in his hands.
"What do I get as "a reward for picking you up from the road?"
"What do you want? Whatever you ask for. I'm helpless and you can take whatever you want. You can't steal my bicycle, but you can have what fits over its saddle."
Bill understood. She was asking for it. She stood there with her head tilted to one side and stuck her tongue between her lips. She wanted his prick. She would pay with her cunt for being picked up in the car. He pulled her to him and pressed his mouth against hers, which opened eagerly. Their tongues fought for mastery. She spread her legs and his hand began to fumble with her pussy. She had enough hair to prove that she was not such a child. Bill pulled his rock-like prick out and let it press against her stomach. He lifted her in his arm and slowly lowered her moist cunt over his eager prick. He wasn't exactly sure what made her wet so quickly, but chose to believe that it was passion for him and didn't want to remember her story of the mechanic and that it was his sperm seeping from between her legs. He drove his prick hard into the little girl; his knees weakened in desire and he sank to the ground. They fell into the sand and she wrapped her legs around his waist and gave herself over to her second lover of the night. Maybe he would be more loving than her first. At least he didn't tie her hands and it didn't look as though he had a whip in his hands. He kissed her and sucked her thick tongue. She nipped his lips lightly. He pounded into her with growing speed.
"Ouch, you little bitch, don't bite so hard. The others mustn't know that I wasted time fucking you. This will have to be a little secret between us, O.K.?"
"O.K., O.K., but I've got sand in my ass. And its not comfortable. And not only that, my cunt has been abused enough tonight."
"I'm not abusing you, just fucking. I'm just poking around in your cunt. Don't try to tell me that you don't like being raped. All girls like to be raped. And if you go out at night without your panties, it's your own fault. You were damn near naked."
"I didn't go out without my panties. He stole them from me to clean his car. He tied my hands while he was balling me."
There was a shout from the highway. Sammy was becoming impatient.
"Are you going to be much longer with washing that kid?"
"O.K., just a minute, she has to wash the gism out of her cunt. She sure was raped before we picked her up."
"Don't waste so much time petting her pussy."
Bill ignored the taunt, just fucked away slowly and steadily while Susan moaned. It was a much better fuck than earlier when she couldn't really feel the man. She liked to touch a man's chest and her hands roamed over Bill. But she was too tired to reach a climax. Bill began to hurry, then suddenly jerked and shot into her. He pulled his still-hard prick out of her and held it in front of her face. Without saying a word she began to suck it clean of the salty sperm. Then she fell, relaxed, beside him. Bill pulled the rest of his clothes off and figured the girl would do the same. He splashed out into the water then immediately climbed out and began to dry himself. It was only then that he saw her lying there with spread legs and her head thrown back. She was completely exhausted. He gave up trying to wash her and just dressed himself then picked her up and carried her back to the car. But just as she was getting in, Susan felt sick, staggered over into the shadows and began to vomit. Sammy sat and ground his teeth in anger over the delay. It wasn't important, there was enough time, but he didn't like surprises. Susan felt empty, wrung out, and she swayed on her feet. She took a few steps then fell and remained where she was. The pain and fear of the evening had been too much for her. In one jump, Sammy was beside her. He bent over and saw that she was unconscious. He also saw the bloody stripes across her thighs and the traces of sperm that could only have come from Bill.
"You dirty bastard, you raped her!"
"Damn it, I didn't. She wanted to. She even sucked my prick afterwards."
"Shit on that, but she's not even clean. She's still bloody and covered with dirt. And we can't leave her on the road. If we take her in the car, she'll get everything bloody and greasy. If she lies here too long, some one will find her and then there'll be questions when we go through customs. We've got enough problems. Why in the hell do we have her too. Well, take her feet. She'll have to go in the trunk. We can't leave her here and we can't take her across the border in that condition, so in she goes."
Bill didn't answer, just took her limp legs. Her thin dress had pulled up and even Sammy was looking at her with interest. As they placed her in the trunk, her dress tore. With a firm grip, Sammy ripped the rest of her clothes off and covered her with a blanket. Bill forced a cloth into her mouth and bound it in place with his handkerchief. They placed her so that she could not pull the cloth away with her hands and then closed the lid and climbed into the car. They had barely started when they heard a slight noise from the backseat. A feeble voice broke the silence.
"What was all that noise back there?"
"Nothing. Go back to sleep, baby."
"Where are we? Have we crossed yet?"
"We're still in Maine. It'll only be a while to the border now. Just sleep."
The girl's voice from the backseat grew silent. Soon they heard her breathing deeply and regularly. Sammy tried the radio, but all the stations had gone off the air.
Luckily there weren't many cars waiting at the border, but enough so that the customs people didn't interest themselves too much in any one car. They drove through without trouble.
As soon as they were in Canada, Bill began driving faster. But after a couple of hours, he pulled off the road and said, "I'm beat. You can drive. I'm going to climb in back and rest."
"If you mean in the trunk, you won't get any rest."
Bill didn't answer. He stepped out and Sammy slid under the steering wheel. Bill climbed into the broad backseat and pulled a blanket over himself without disturbing the sleeping girl. He closed his eyes and waited for Sammy to build up speed. Sammy was a good driver, even if he didn't have a license. Bill let one hand carefully stroke the sleeping girl's thigh. She awakened without showing it, but she felt his hand and let her legs open to receive him. After a few minutes she reached up, unbuttoned his fly, and drew out his half-stiff prick. She pulled herself up on her knees and bent over to begin sucking his rod. Bill enjoyed it but was careful to keep Sammy from hearing anything. Sammy watched the road-a splendid driver of motor vehicles, but he knew his limitations and concentrated upon his driving. He wouldn't notice anything. And anyway, Sara's mouth was full, so she wouldn't make any noise. The blanket covered their movements. Sara lifted her lower half onto the seat. Bill slipped his hand under her panties and felt between her buttocks until he came to her venus hole. One finger slid in and began rotating. She wanted her panties off. Bill lifted his legs onto the seat beside her and slid down. His head was still propped up in the corner, so even if Sammy turned around and looked he would never guess that he was in Sara's pussy. Her cunt was good and wet now and his prick slipped easily into her. Slowly he began to move in her, nothing violent, just a slow steady movement deep into her, then out again almost to the tip. Sammy would need sharp eyes to see them doing any thing. Almost no movement showed through the blanket. He could feel her cunt throbbing around his swollen prick-it was delicious and at the same time a kind of self-torture. They both wanted to cut loose and fuck, but this holding back gave an electric tension to their lovemaking. Sara groaned passionately, but Sammy thought she was talking in her sleep.
"Aren't you asleep, baby?"
"Hummmm ... oh, yeh. Isn't Bill driving? You sound nervous."
"Bill's sleeping. And I'm not nervous. Go back to sleep."
Bill gave a little snore. Sara breathed heavily, but tried to muffle it. Bill began to move a little faster-his cock was about to explode. He put one hand on Sara's back and pulled her to him so he could touch her breast.
"Want me to take care of you, you hot, little idiot?"
With a final brutal thrust, he released his seed into a warm, excited cunt for the second time that night. Sara grunted. She knew him and tried to time her orgasm to his, she didn't want to be cheated. When her cunt was good and wet from his sperm, she gave a little hop with her butt so that he came out of her. With a discreet tug she got her panties into place so that the sperm in her would not spot the seat. Bill adjusted his trousers carefully, he didn't want spots on them either. Sammy knew that he had taken his clothes off to fuck the Yankee girl, so any new spots would have to come from masturbating or fucking. And nobody beat off when they had a little cocksucker like Sara under the blankets.
"Tell me, what are you two doing back there?"
"Ah, it was Bill. I thought I was alone and suddenly he kicked me. He must be having bad dreams."
Sammy chose to believe her. He was a little suspicious that his companion wanted to get into Sara's panties, but he didn't know that they had already started doing it long ago. And Sara was a hot little whore, always in heat. But she was his girl, and Sammy would not take anybody getting too close to something that belonged to him. He took his eyes from the road for a minute, but only saw that they each had their heads in opposite corners of the car. He could not see that Sara had one hand gripped tightly around Bill's softening, wet prick, squeezing so that he almost had to shout. And Bill had his thumb pressed into the cleft between Sara's buttocks and his index finger prodded her pussy. He gripped hard in the same way as she was threatening to pinch his balls off. It was a little game they often played when they were not alone but couldn't keep their hands off each. Playing their silent, exciting game, they drove on through the night. Soon it would be light and Sammy would assume that Bill had slept and would be ready to take his turn at the wheel again. Sammy watched the highway disappear under the shadows of trees flickering past. It was no longer so dark and soon the forest sounds would begin to drown out the sound of the engine. He pulled to one side and Bill pulled his fingers out of Sara's crotch. Sammy shook Bill's shoulder and he pretended to wake up. They traded places and Sammy leaned back. Sara wanted to lean against him but he couldn't tolerate affection in the presence of others. He shook her off and she pretended to sulk in her own corner. She slipped her finger into her pussy to finish the job Bill had begun.
Around noon they drove up a dusty gravel road to a farm house. All three got out. Inside the red wooden building a slender man with a black moustache was waiting for them. He looked coldly at them and they shivered under his gaze.
"Is everything in order? The mission is completed?"
"The mission is completed, but...."
Sammy was not as self-possessed when facing this thin, dark man.
"What are you going to say? Has something gone wrong?"
"We have a prisoner with us."
"A prisoner! Are you crazy?"
"We had no choice."
"Is it some one from the other side?"
"No, an outsider. A Boston girl we picked up on the highway. She had been raped."
"Good. Sara, fix her clothes and throw her out."
"She's naked. We had to throw her dress away because it was torn and bloody."
The man looked angrily at Sara.
"What do you say about this? You could have stopped your two pets from acting so stupidly."
"I don't know what they are talking about. I haven't seen any girl, either naked or in a fur coat for that matter."
"Not funny. Where is she?"
"In the trunk of the car. We gagged her."
"She's probably suffocated by now. So we've got a corpse to get rid of."
"Like I said, I haven't seen her. If I had known we had a stowaway she could have been a little more comfortable inside the car. Men are so egotistical. They never think about being polite to a lady."
"Augh, there's no lady in her. She was hot enough to seduce Bill right on the beach."
"Probably it was Bill who seduced her. But get her. You, Sara, you can take care of this. You say you haven't seen her before-so act as though you just found her in the car and are going to save her ... shall we say, from a fate worse than death."
Sara turned and walked out without saying a word. Bill and Sammy went into an adjoining room.
The dark man sat expressionless. His slender, foreignlooking body was held stiff and erect, but his eyes were empty-it was his way of relaxing. He watched Sara open the trunk lid and help the naked girl out. For a moment his eyes showed interest in the sight of the girl's pale buttocks.
Susan had been conscious for some time. She had quickly discovered that she couldn't get the gag out of her mouth. Then she felt fresh air and a soft hand removed the suffocating cloth. She was helped to sit up and then out of the car. A short, slender, very blonde girl in white stockings and shoes wearing a pale blue dress stood before her. The girl's eyes examined her curiously.
"How did you get in there? Come with me, and don't say a word. I'll help you."
"Where am I? Am I far from Boston?"
"Well, not so far. But don't think about it. Come on."
"Yes, but I can't go any place like this."
"There's no one to see you. I'm alone here on the farm."
Susan glanced at the buildings. She thought they didn't look like New England buildings, but she was willing to take the girl's word. Shivering with cold, she followed the girl behind the red building, up a decrepit staircase, and in through a small door.
"Listen, my name's Sara. We're about the same age so yon can talk to me. What is your name and how did you get in the car?"
"My name is Susan. I don't remember anything. I was raped, then two nice Texans came along, at least one of them was nice. He ... well, that doesn't matter."
"Ah, ha. And then...?"
"I must have fainted. Where are the Texans?"
Susan sat on the bed in the little room they had entered. She took Sara's hand. They were not exactly the same age, but Sara looked much younger than she was, that was her secret weapon. Susan liked this gentle girl. She did not notice the hard glitter in the sweet, girlish eyes that were smiling kittenishly at her. She felt relieved and put her head in Sara's lap. Sara stroked her shoulder, caressed her breast. Susan closed her eyes and fell backwards into sleep.
CHAPTER 3
Susan felt the caressing hands as she sank into sleep. The pale, tiny girl, who looked younger than Susan but who even so was a few years older, examined her whip cuts and then went out for a basin of warm water to wash her and some lotion to soothe her abused skin. It was while she was smoothing on the lotion that Susan discovered that a girl could caress as well as a man, maybe even better, for she knew all the most sensitive spots that could awaken desire. It seemed that Sara was right, they were alone on the farm, not a man, not a servant girl or even any animals. They were alone in the world. But in the attic above the little room where Sara caressed her body, three men lay and watched through cracks in the boards. Sara didn't know they could be seen, and the men were looking forward to some entertainment.
"Susan, you have a sweet little pussy. May I kiss it?"
"Yes ... of course ... if you want. But are you a Lesbian?"
Sara laughed. The little girl from Boston was naive.
"Ah, you are so sweet when you talk. It's just a game with words. To make love is to be sensitive. When your boyfriend's prick is hard it doesn't make any difference to him whether it is a girl's hand or his own that makes the final stroke. And if one of his male friends does it, it still doesn't matter, unless he was brought up in a stupid way. But unfortunately a lot of people are prejudiced that way. Not you, I hope. Do you like to have your pussy licked?"
"Yes, it's lovely."
"So, if I tongue your cunt and you have a good orgasm, it is up to you whether you return the favor. I won't force you to do anything, but I don't think force would be necessary. Come on, my little friend!"
Sara knelt in front of her. Her white stockings made Susan lick her lips. This girl was really very beautiful. And so clean, so innocent. Susan thought that maybe she had never even come near a man's prick. It could be that she could teach her something.
Susan felt older and protective of the slender girl. Sara smiled invitingly. She drew her pale blue dress over her head. Underneath she wore a scanty bra of dark blue lace. Susan thought she had nice breasts, but Sara's were larger and rounder. The firm globes bulged from the confining bra, and for some reason Susan had the idea that some one had just been sucking her nipples-but the thought didn't seem likely with this innocent-looking girl. Sara's panties were tiny and looked expensive and just below them she had garters on her full thighs to hold her white stockings up. Sara moved toward Susan and kissed her on the mouth. After a moment Susan began to return the kiss. She had never kissed a girl before and it was a strange feeling when Sara thrust her hot tongue between her lips. Sara began to twist herself downwards. First she stopped to caress Susan's breasts until the small nipples were as hard as her own. She ran her tongue around her navel then moved her head to between Susan's thighs. Susan loved to have a head between her legs, but of course, it was masculine heads that she was used to. But soon she knew that Sara's tongue was as good as any man's. Susan began to moan. She looked at the shapely thighs lying on the bed beside her and the fine, fluffy hair drew her. It tickled her nose as she looked into Sara's pussy which opened before her eyes to reveal the tender pink flesh. Susan could only stare as her hands, almost of themselves, reached to touch the half spheres of the girl's buttocks. She felt herself becoming wet, far more than she had ever been before. But soon she had other things to think about as Sara's tongue bored into her cunt. Susan squirmed with lust and lifted her hips to the raping tongue. It was almost as good-no, better-than having a prick in her. As her climax overwhelmed her, Susan threw her arm around Sara's hips and hugged her tightly against her face. Her face and cheeks glistened with Sara's delicately scented cunt juice.
Up above in the attic, the three men lay and stared. Bill had openly pulled his prick out and was beating off. Sammy wanted to, but held back with the other men there. He looked at his boss.
"Hey, aren't you going to masturbate, Eric? It's a pretty good show."
"Watch yourself. It's your girl. You ought to enjoy watching it yourself."
"I can't get excited watching' my girl make love to another chick. I was just curious about what she does when I'm not around."
They continued to lie there between the boards and dusty sacks. Their conversation had been carried out in whispers. Now they began to listen to the girls again.
"Oh, Susan, you are a lovely little girl. I just knew that New Englanders were passionate, and you did it so well in return that I had a climax also."
"It's strange, Sara, that your pussy got so wet, and when I stuck my tongue in, I could taste sperm, almost as though you had just been with a man."
"I have been. Last night I had a lovely stiff prick in me. We were out driving and we had to be very careful so that the man driving couldn't see us. He fucked me with little tiny movements but his juice was good anyway. I didn't have time to douche myself this morning. Because I found you in the trunk."
"But I must have been in the trunk of the car while you were screwing."
Sara realized that she had made a mistake. She didn't dare let the girl know that it had been Sammy and Bill in the car with Susan. And she shouldn't have let the girl know that she had been in Massachusetts. The less the girl knew, the better.
"No, you're wrong. I don't know how you got here, and I don't know who you were with. It wasn't that car I was fucked in. It was standing here when I got home this morning. My friends just dropped me off and then drove away again. Then I found you in an abandoned car. But come on, touch my breasts again."
The two girls began to play with each other's naked body again. Susan began to think that the girl was not so innocent as she seemed. And up in the attic, Sammy had gotten a strange look on his face. He stared at Bill in anger. So, the bastard had been lying there fucking his girl. O.K., from now on she wasn't his girl. When a rag got dirty, one threw it away. When a cunt is polluted, away with it. So, Sara was nothing more than a dirty, cheap whore. He would get his revenge later.
Bill heard his secret exposed and flinched. His sperm glistened in a little pool on the raw board, but he didn't wipe up after himself. He stood up and crept away.
Sammy followed him. Not to start a fight, but because he had lost any desire to watch the continuing play. Eric lay quietly and stared at the girls, but when the others had left, he too crept downstairs. He went to his office, found a riding crop, and walked quietly back to the room where the girls were busy with their Lesbian games.
Susan sat up with a start. At that moment she had been on top with her tongue between the pale thighs, with her eyes fixed upon the blonde pubic hair that begun to curl with the moisture and heat. She gripped the lovely legs in their white stockings and her crotch bobbed up and down over Sara's face. She was in ecstasy and Sara's fingers bored into her pussy. But then the game was finished as the door swung slowly open. A strange, thin man stood and gloated evily over them. He had riding breeches on and a linen shirt. And a whip in one hand. His hair was pitch black and curly, and was parted in the middle. His eyebrows were also coal black, and his black moustache gave him a cynical appearance. His tiny eyes glittered. He took a step toward the girls.
"Ah, so my wife is taking up her old habits. And not only that, she is bringing strangers into the house. What kind of bitch are you? Who gave you permission to trespass on my farm and seduce my wife? And who told you, you could take your clothes off?"
As he spoke, he brought the whip swinging down over Susan's buttocks. The tip flew between her legs but fortunately for Susan, her cunt was set so far forward that the whip did not strike as Eric had intended. It did not cut, but bruised painfully. Susan gasped with pain. She released Sara's legs and rolled away so that the next blow came down across Sara's breasts. She had been smiling at the thought of being Eric's wife, but now the smile died as she felt the whip, not because she feared the whip, but because she had moved into a new phase of lust, in which each blow of the whip brought her nearer her orgasm like an electric shock. Sara had long lusted for the brutal Eric, but as she was still Sammy's girl she could not offer him her body, for she knew that Eric was even more egotistical than Sam and that he would make such use of her uncontrollable desires as to leave nothing for Sam and also Bill would never again dare to touch her. She knew that the two Texans would never dare to cross their Canadian boss. Eric was evil personified and Sara would have sacrificed one breast to have become his slave. She understood Eric and many of his countrymen were the type to crawl before their superiors and kick their inferiors. It was because of all this that Sara's face took on a submissive but lustful expression as she felt the demonic man's whip over her sensitive breasts. She threw her legs open and looked up at him expectantly.
"Ah, forgive me, husband, forgive me. I've been a naughty girl and I know I need to be punished. Whip me. But let this foreign hussy feel your masterful hand also. Let me help you discipline her. I want to help you. She needs to be whipped until she has bloody stripes down her back.
Eric grinned. He had her where he wanted her. Before he had thought that she was just an ordinary slut eager for all the prick she could get. He had known all along that she had been servicing both Sammy and Bill, but he had regarded that as their affair. But now if she showed tendencies for enjoying both ends of the whip, it was perfect. She would soon learn that she belonged entirely to him, not the Texans. He could have taken her before, but he didn't want to be bothered by a bitch who did not really like the whip. But first the other bitch; it would be Sara's turn later. She would always be here. But this little slut from Boston had to be used, then thrown away. He hadn't decided how he would get rid of her, because he didn't like the idea of murder. There was always so much trouble with murder, even if he made it look like an ordinary, everyday sex crime. But it wasn't necessary to decide her fate right now. It was enough to know that she should be used up before she was gotten rid of. He turned to Susan and snarled at her as he cracked the whip in the air.
"All right, you slut, answer me! What are you doing here? Where did you come from?"
"I don't know. I just woke up in the back of the car."
"Are you accusing me of smuggling you across the border illegally?"
"I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I was picked up by a couple of Texans and I went down to the beach to take a bath with a nice guy, and then I don't remember anything more before this girl let me out of the trunk."
Eric went to the window and looked out. He wanted to be certain they were alone on the farm. Even though he was the boss, he didn't want too many witnesses. He saw Sammy and Bill getting ready to drive away. As he turned back, Susan jumped up and ran for the door. She was naked but didn't notice it as she ran down the cold steps. Eric and Sara looked at each other and grinned. She could not go far. With a sinele step he stood beside Sara and lifted her up, gripped her breast in one hand and her neck in the other, and forced her face up to his greedy mouth. It was the first time he had seriously considered Sara as a sex partner.
Susan ran across the farm yard toward the car with the two men who were about to drive away. She would have sworn that they were the same two men who had picked her up the night before, but she didn't get close enough to be sure before the car drove away. She ran down the road after it as it disappeared into the forest. Then she saw a path crossing the road. She decided to follow it in the hope that it led to other houses where she could beg some clothing and some help. The path curved imperceptibly and after a few minutes brought her to the other side of a large building she had earlier noticed beside the farm house. To her surprise it turned out to be a garage with several new cars, all freshly painted. Most of them didn't have license plates, but the few that did had letters that indicated they came from western Canada. But right now she wasn't very interested in garages. She ran on along the path, through the birch trees, until she came to a large lake. Far away on the other side, she saw that it was bordered by high, granite cliffs. She ran along the beach until she came to a high fence that looked as though it were electrified. She didn't dare touch it and had to turn back. Exhausted she climbed onto a rock jutting out over the water. Sara appeared, as naked as herself, and behind her the tyrannical Canadian. He stepped past Sara and gripped Susan's wrist.
"There's no need to run. We all love each other. And besides you can't get away. There are electrified fences all around. And it's a long swim to the other side.
"What do you call 'love'?"
"Don't misunderstand me. That was just a little act for you. I know you're a hot little bitch. So you need a good screwing. All women need it, even when they are just little girls like you."
"I'm no kid, I...!"
"That's even better. I don't need to tell you to take off your panties. They're already off. So, you are the pantyless type, that simplifies matters. Come with me. Sara, are you coming? You wanted to give her a little discipline. What was it you said she was called ... Susan? Come on, Susan?"
She had to obey. She surrendered to his insistent embrace. Sara sat down on the other side of her and leaned across to unbutton Eric's fly. His stiff iron snapped out and with an inviting gesture he indicated that the two girls were to play with him. Sara was calm, but Susan began to masturbate him rapidly in the hope of giving him a quick climax so that he would be satisfied. The girls' fingers collided in the middle of his shaft. Sara moved her hand down to his nuts. He jumped up, knocking Susan onto her back on the wet, sun-warmed rock. He spread her legs and began to fumble with her bruised cunt.
"Hold her, Sara."
But it wasn't really necessary to hold her, for she was calm and willing enough as long as he was only talking about fucking her. But it wasn't Eric's intention to let her screw voluntarily. She had to be forced. She had to know the feeling of being raped. Sara held her arms overhead with one hand and her other hand was placed firmly across Susan's mouth. But even so Susan liked the stiff tool that bored deep into her slightly overworked cunt. He pumped violently, driving himself more deeply into her with every stroke. Sara gasped and wished that it were she who was taking the brutal prick between her legs. Involuntarily she began to groan and to breathe deeply in time with Eric. His trousers were not pulled all the way down, but enough so that his pasty white buttocks and tanned loins were exposed. Sara took her hand from Susan's mouth. It didn't matter if she did scream in this deserted country. She carefully picked up the whip that Eric had dropped. Sara lifted her arm and brought the whip slashing down over Eric, he jerked but did not make a sound. He began to pound in increased fury as his load exploded out of him and overflowed from Susan's pussy. Sara laughed. She was like a panther as she let the blows rain down over the man's back. She had completely released Susan now, and used her other hand to toy with herself.
Eric drew his prick out and turned toward Sara. She put out one hand and gripped his slimy parts. She laughed with lust over this blunted bayonet. But then she looked up and saw the two Texans standing a little way off watching their erotic play. Bill had brought his prick out, but Sam had his hand in his pocket to soothe his stiff member secretly. Eric snarled at them.
"All right, get started. The girl is yours! Come on, faster. Who can fuck her fastest. She's a hot little bitch. But fuck her until her cunt is unusable. That's your job."
Bill hurried up and cast himself over Susan, who immediately put her arms around his neck. She recognized his erect prick and she knew how he could scratch the inside of her itching cunt. She opened up to him and offered him everything she had. She didn't even bother to move from the bare rock to the grass. Just fuck, fuck, fuck. It took Bill but a few minutes to drop his load, and then he rolled off of her. Her cunt hairs glistened blondely in the afternoon sun. She had still not reached her climax and she hoped that Sammy could satisfy her. But Sammy refused to interest himself in her, he just stood with his hand in his pocket rubbing his phallus. Eric stood arrogantly and pissed out into the lake. Sara smiled. She didn't know yet that Sammy had written her off because he knew that she had let Bill screw her in the car the night before.
"Say something. You are both as solemn as a preacher diddling a choir boy."
"Shut up. We don't need to talk to a bitch like you."
"Keep, calm, Sammy. If you're not satisfied with your girl, at least don't insult her. She is good enough. And she has a natural instinct for discipline."
Sammy looked in surprise at his boss. And Susan looked in surprise at all of them. She had thought that Sara was the boss's young wife, even though she did look too young to be married. And now she heard that she was Sammy's girl. Strange. Only a bunch of crazy Texans could get so mixed up. But she had other things to think of when Eric told Bill to make the cars ready for moving.
Bill disappeared. The boss helped Sara up. She still looked young and innocent, but her white stockings were dirty and a flaming red stripe ran across her breasts. Eric jerked his thumb at Susan and Sam came over and pulled her to her feet. They began moving toward the farm. Bill was not to be seen. Sammy led her into the house and began to stroke her pussy. He pointed at his trousers where an obvious bulge told her that he was not as disinterested in her as he pretended. She unzipped his fly and it sprang out and into her waiting mouth. He stood in front of her kneeling form and felt his climax building. At the last possible moment, he threw her to the floor. At first he tried to enter her from behind, but her peculiar anatomy stopped him. She thought it very strange, everyone tried to enter her from the back, and everyone had to give up. She rolled over and spread her legs. He slipped into her and as his rod rubbed her almost raw flesh, she finally reached her long awaited orgasm. She groaned and almost lost consciousness from pleasure. Now everything was fine.
In the next room, Eric stood and caressed Sara's nipples. The game slowly began to excite him and at last his prick was hard again. Susan should have been glad that she could not see the expression on the boss's emaciated face.
"Well, baby, now we are together. But what the hell shall we do with the Boston whore. She is a problem that we will have to take care of."
CHAPTER 4
"The girl must go!"
"Is she so dangerous?"
"Of course. She has seen too much. The other day she asked where all these cars came from. Bill was stupid enough to tell her. So now she knows about where she is. But that isn't the worst. She asked why we always took the license plates off the cars that were being repaired. And she can't understand why a garage is so far out in the country, and why she never sees any customers. Oh yes, she is dangerous enough."
"Shall we cut her up a little? Use the whip on her?"
"No, we are going to send her home to Massachusetts. But not directly, we give her a little act so that she has to keep quiet. Make it look as though she killed one of us. She sometimes loses her temper when she wants to go home. We could just let her disappear the next time we drive south. Throw her out in Massachusetts."
"So, that's what you think. You were a couple of cuntcrazy bastards to pick her up. Now we can use her."
"We weren't both after her panties. It was Bill...."
"Yes, and now you. You almost fall asleep with your tongue in her cunt."
There was nothing more to say. Eric could decide whatever he wanted to do. When, a week ago, he had told Bill to make the cars ready, Susan thought that it would happen right away, but it took a long time. Finally after a few days, three new cars stood ready, polished and shining. Bill turned up with three Latin-looking men. They were homesick but didn't have enough money to buy a ticket. Now they had a chance to drive new, expensive cars for their Northern friends, who promised to take care of all the papers so that the police would not be too interested in them. Eric had many irons in the fire and watched them all carefully. He had connections in Canada and further south, and he never had trouble finding helpers who did not ask too many questions. Susan knew nothing of this. She looked at the Latins and wanted to ball with one of them. Susan was no longer so attractive now that Sara had provided some clothing for her. Sara was clever enough to give her only rags that hid everything that made the three men on the farm so hot for her. Of course, Sara thought she had Eric in the palm of her hand, but she wanted to be careful. For over a week now, Susan had been free to wander around the farm as much as she pleased, and they had promised that she could relax and have a vacation before they drove her home to Massachusetts. They told her that they had notified the U.S. authorities, but that was a lie, of course. Meanwhile in Boston the police were puzzled why they found her bloody, spermy panties in a park and her torn dress on the beach highway, while she herself had disappeared without a trace.
On the farm they took advantage of her trusting nature. Jose had been told to screw her, he was used to the blonde American girls lusting for Mexican cocks. He only had to look at Susan. She was getting tired of having the same prick all the time. Jose took her up to the room she had been assigned. He grabbed her at once and began unbuttoning her thin blouse. She still didn't have a bra. He bent and began to suck at her nipples and at the same time lifted her skirt. Susan let her legs fall apart. He quickly thrust his hand into her panties. She was wet and hot for a prick almost immediately. He ripped her panties off and threw her onto the bed. It had been sometime since he had had a girl so he was ready. There was no time for preliminaries, but as a Latin he was so highly prized by American girls that there was never need for petting. He rammed home into her cunt and came almost immediately. With satiated eyes, he withdrew. He turned off the light as he left, because that was the agreement.
His friend Chico was waiting outside the door. He already had his prick out and didn't waste time kissing the girl whom he had seen earlier and had found desirable. He hopped into bed with a grunt and continued the action that Jose had begun. It was no trouble to glide into the sperm-wet hole and he was so excited with touching the girl's body and listening to her groaning breath that he came even faster than Jose. And when he left, Juan entered and fucked. He had more control and gave the girl the most pleasure of the evening. He stayed with her all evening and finally she was satisfied. She wasn't going to be entirely awake for her drive, but that was the intention. They got this pussy free, as they did all pussy in these northern countries. It wasn't necessary to pay as it was where they came from. Fortunately the northerners could not go south and get free pussy in their country. There were only fat whores with coin-operated cunts, because the girls had to keep themselves for their future husbands.
The differences between north and south were a part of nature. The three southerners did not have time to compare notes on their cooperative fuck before it was time to begin driving. They started at midnight and drove hard.
Susan was exhausted by her three lovers and was hoping for a chance to sleep while they drove. It was arranged so that the usual car went first with Bill at the wheel, then came Jose and Juan driving alone, finally Eric followed, although normally he didn't make this trip. He hadn't wanted to say anything but it was because of Susan that he was making this trip.
Chico sat in the lead car together with Sara and Susan. Sammy sat in the front seat with Bill. He turned to the girls and looked at their companion. He was a little jealous about Susan. But there was nothing to do, she had to go. Every time she began to nod, Sara would begin to talk to her, or Sammy or Chico would begin to fumble with her crotch and lick her ear. Around dawn Susan was about to faint with exhaustion. She knew that she would have to be awake for the trip over the border. She didn't realize that the customs people really did not care. During the night the four cars had split up and crossed by different routes. Now they met a little south of the border in Vermont. They told Susan she could sleep now, and Sara gave her a capsule to swallow. She collapsed in exhaustion and was still sleeping hours later when they met near Albany at the agreed spot. Here they awakened Susan and put her in the backseat of one of the cars, still without her clothes. They claimed she had been sick and had vomited over them so that they had thrown them away. She didn't realize where she was, but thought they must be on the outskirts of Boston. She was frightfully hungry.
They pulled into a little cafeteria near New York City just after dark. Susan had to stay in the car, covered with a blanket. But Sara brought some bratwurst out. Susan looked at the three parked cars beside her and wondered why they suddenly had U.S. license plates. Then she had something else to think about when Sammy and Sara came out and climbed into the car on each side of her and began to feel under the blanket. She was still groggy from the sleeping capsule and didn't notice the signs on the buildings around her. She felt Sammy's hand between her legs and Sara began to toy with her breasts. She leaned back in a feverish lethargy.
They drove through a large gate and into the courtyard of a huge building in the center of New York. Sara led her up to a small room that looked like a cross between a prison cell and a hospital room. Then she knew that she had been tricked. Her fury was uncontrollable. Chico had to hold her and Sara rubbed her arm with alcohol while Eric gave her an injection that brought a fog down around her. The conspirators looked at each other in relief. They didn't have to worry about the authorities any more. And, of course, they couldn't just dump her anywhere as Sammy had suggested. A woman's body was valuable. Eric had connections in New York. But from now on, Susan had to be watched closely.
When Susan awakened many hours later, she was dressed in a coarse, impersonal nightgown such are used in women's prisons or hospitals. She tried the door, but it was locked. The window was open, however. She knew that she was in New York, but didn't know where. She tore her sheets into long strips, tied them together, and slid to the ground. As she ran toward the street she saw an elegantly dressed man. She threw herself into his arms and began talking.
"Oh, dear sir, please help me. I was locked in. If you help me, you can fuck me for a whole week."
The man looked at her nightgown, and the small, but firm girlish breasts he saw made him lick his lips. He began to feel his prick rising. He took her by her shoulders. He would be more than happy to fuck this beautiful child for a week if it was offered him. He had a taste for innocent, boyish looking girls-and for boys, for that matter. But before he could call a taxi, a mannish woman dressed in a nurse's uniform came running up. She grabbed Susan's arm tightly and said:
"Hello, Heidi, where are you going? Have you been bothering respectable citizens with your prison chatter again? You must excuse her, sir, sometimes she is completely uncontrollable. She escapes and asks strange men for help. I'm afraid she makes indecent proposals too."
The man was embarrassed. He had just had a proposal and was more than willing to follow it up. He didn't dream of questioning the woman's word-she had a uniform, she was older and bigger than the girl, so she must be right. If society wanted to exercise violence toward the helpless, well, it was what he had learned in school and what his sons and grandsons should also learn.
"Yes, in fact she did make such a proposal ... that, well, I could enjoy her favors for a week's time if I helped her escape. You should watch her better. She might embarrass innocent people."
"I did apologize. She won't get any further. We will put her in the locked ward after this. It is her own fault."
The woman pulled Susan after her. She did not have the will to resist. She was led back to the building, and after a meal that had apparently been drugged, she was led to a closed car that drove off with many changes of direction and back-trackings. Once she thought she heard a ship and smelled dirty river water. They drove through a narrow, dirty street. She got a glimpse of a street sign "Broadway." But that was a red-light street where women walked up and down with umbrellas even though it wasn't raining! Eric and the uniformed woman led her up a narrow stairway and through several doors. Inside Sara and Bill were waiting. The room resembled a bathroom with a toilet and shower and a strange low seat-why, it must be a bidet, something she had been told was indecent. There were also white tiles on the wall and a couple of white porcelain objects at knee height that she thought must be urinals.
"The customer is coming soon."
"Can't we get rid of her now?"
"No. there was a message that ... yes, well he has had his problems. Something about drugs. But he was acquitted. He has a good lawyer who knows how to save people from justice."
"Shut up, who knows when we will need a good lawyer.
But listen, you say he wasn't here when you arrived. So we have to do something."
"No, he wasn't here, but one of his men said that if he couldn't make it there was an address where we could deliver her. But not before morning. He also said he wanted to check the goods. But we can stay here all night if we want. The customer is very strange, he said you know him."
Eric nodded. Bill and Sara went into an adjoining room where Susan could see them touching each other. Sara spread her legs and Bill reached under her dress and up. Then came the sound of a heavy footstep. A muscular man appeared. He stood for a moment and looked hungrily at Susan and then at Eric. He did not change his expression, but Eric broke out:
"Well, so it's you, Mr.-"
"Hush! No names please. Is the girl like I want? I did not know you had gone into this business."
"Generally, I am not. But I just arrived, perhaps my assistant can tell you ... Hey, what are you two doing?"
Sara and Bill sprang apart. Bill sniffed his fingers and smiled strangely. He came back into the room straightening his clothes, the situation and the stranger indicated that a little more care was in order.
"Yes, sir. I just found out what you want, and this girl is perfect."
"Hm. Is she from Boston? I mean, is she a true New Englander. And has she sinned?"
"She is a perfect New Englander. Just look at her hair. And she has been in bed with some southerners. She needs some punishment."
"Good! Bring her here!"
Eric had gone to one side and was caressing Sara. Bill walked over to the door and sucked nervously on his lower lip. Susan was placed on the toilet and told to draw her nightgown up as though she had to urinate. She sat slightly bowed over and looked up at the man. He wore a rough tweed sports jacket, knickerbockers with spats, and an Alpine hat with a little feather in it. He was powerful looking, but not fat. His face was hard with bags under his eyes, which were cold clue. His eyebrows were bushy and gray. He carried a thin, elegantly carved cane with silver knobs. He unbuttoned his jacket, stuck the cane under his arm and took two steps toward Susan.
"Does she understand her fate?"
He spoke to Bill as though he regarded her as an inconsequential animal.
"No, I don't. What do you want of me?"
"I am the one to ask questions and give orders. Unbutton me!"
Susan obeyed. She pulled his thick cock out. It was not yet stiff, nor was it red and lovely as she was accustomed to, but yellowish and coarse. She gripped the shaft in the hope that it would become erect. She knew what the man wanted. She was to suck his limp organ until it stood up; then she was to continue until he came in her mouth, and perhaps she would even have to swallow his sperm. She opened her mouth, but he held her back, while he asked Bill:
"Has she brushed her teeth?"
"Yes, I have. I come from a clean family."
"Ha, really. Up there they use the bathtub to keep dirty clothes in instead of washing themselves."
But he allowed her to take his prick into her mouth. She sat at an awkward angle on the toilet and her ass began to ache. She had to put her full weight on her thighs, which still bore whip marks, but there was nothing else to do. She sucked and sucked upon the wrinkled prick and used one hand to play with his shriveled balls. He stood completely still and let her do all the work. He held his jacket open and his cane under one arm while he pulled out a pipe and his lighter. He filled the pipe and lit it. Susan glanced up and saw a strange design on the lighter. It was a red map of Germany and Poland with the words "Dreigeteilt, niemals" She didn't understand.
The only thing she did understand was that she had to continue sucking his yellowish prick that was slowly growing firmer from her tongue-play. She experimented by nipping gently, a slight thrust into her mouth was the only sign that indicated he felt it. Otherwise he stood there puffing on his pipe, staring distantly into space: In one corner of the room she saw Sara bent over the back of a chair with her skirt drawn up while Eric tried to force his way into her anus. The hole was too small. He went around in front of her and let her have a single suck on his cock. He tugged her ears and she smiled up at him. He went back and began boring again, and finally he succeeded in entering her bowels. He spread her buttocks and put his whole weight onto her to that his full length was buried. He stood still and let Sara sway before him. That must be what people call a real ass fuck. Sometimes Susan envied other girls whose cunts were placed normally.
The way she was built a man could never take her from the back unless he stuck it up her ass. But now she could not think about that, she had to suck cock for this brutal-looking man. His prick had grown to normal fucking size now. The head began pushing against the back of her tongue and there was still room on the shaft for her two hands. She held on as though she were playing a trumpet. Or a blowpipe. What would happen if she blew now. Maybe her breath would enter the tube. It was an experiment she didn't dare make, maybe it would make him mad and he would whip her for it. She let her tongue glide around the swollen head and into the little hole at the end. She wondered if he could have a climax. He seemed so sexless that it might well be that he simply did not produce sperm. On the other side of the room she could see Bill who had become aroused at the sight of Susan sitting on the toilet with her nightgown drawn up.
He had one hand in his pocket when the uniformed woman noticed him. She went up to him and drew his hand out of his pocket. His prick bulged in his pants and he grinned at her. She pulled up her white smock and showed her fat thighs and coarse underpants. Then she took her underwear down and exposed the dark crease that ran from between her legs up to her corset. Her cunt was a great gap and the hair around it was thick and moist. Bill used one finger to part the hairs and the lips of her cunt showed themselves to be moist and dark red. His prick jutted out, the same prick that Susan had known so many times. The woman gripped it and drew the foreskin back. She bent forward so that her masculine mouth was directly over it, then she hawked a great glob of spit over it.
She went down onto her knees and spread her legs so that her cunt gaped. Still gripping Bill's prick, she drew him to her. Then he was on his knees before her. She rose up slightly then thrust her hips forward and downward so that he slid into her. She held his hips and guided his movements. Susan could not see who was fucking whom, or who was having the most pleasure, but they both groaned loudly enough. Her own companion was leaning slightly backwards now so that his prick head pressed against the roof of her mouth. She felt it grow harder and bigger. Then he made a remarkable gesture wkh his hips and drew out of her mouth. "Masturbate me."
She took the stiff flesh and began to stroke. It was no longer yellow, but red from her lipstick. She stared down at the head of it and the hole in its end. She didn't know how he was taking it, she just stroked away as she had been told. He began to make fucking movements in her little hand and suddenly some thick, fatty drops sprayed into her face. She was about to wipe her face with her other hand, but he stopped her. He stood and studied her bespermed face.
"Suck! Make it completely clean!"
She went back to sucking his cock, which slowly became limp again.
"What kind of sins have you committed?"
"I have not sinned. I was fucked by three southerners. I don't know where they came from, but they wanted to ball me and made me do it."
"A Boston woman cannot be forced. You are a traitor to your race."
"I don't know what my race is."
"Do not be impertinent with me....Hey, you there!"
Bill made a last thump into the woman's massy cunt and drew his prick out. The woman stayed on her knees with her fiery-red cunt flesh dripping with sperm. She pulled up her underpants without drying herself and then let her dress fall over her secrets. Bill came over to the man to hear his command.
"The whore is not fit to be called a New Englander. She must be degraded."
"Yes sir, I understand."
Bill had learned as much as he could beforehand about this military man. He pulled Susan to her feet by her hair and threw her toward one of the urinals on the wall. She had a feeling that it was all just an act. Her nightgown was drawn up again and she was told to spread her legs so that her cunt could be seen. She looked up in surprise. They forced her to sit perched on the urinal. The man stood and toyed with his prick, which had not become entirely limp as yet.
He still puffed at his pipe and did not even look at Susan. It was enough for him to know that she was a New Englander and did not deserve to be, therefore she had to be beslimed. He must have been aware of what he was doing. At least he was satisfied. He went over to Bill who was drying himself with his finger and gave him a bundle of notes. Susan could not see them, but knew they were not small ones from the way Bill grinned without counting them. The man went out. He nodded at the woman in the nurse's uniform and she nodded respectfully back. He was a big man, and an important one. Susan hoped that she could get a good fuck now, to wash the memory of him away.
But the woman just led her away. Down to the sealed car and back to the building where she had been first. This time she was led into another room with no windows, only a ventilator outlet. Some food was placed on her table, then she was left alone.
A little later Eric came in. He was almost friendly. He gave her a bill from the bundle the man had given Steve. She looked at it: 100 dollars.
"It's for you."
"For what? I do not have any use for it."
"You will. We had just thought you might like some really well-paid work in New York, but the job fell through. Now you are going on a little holiday in the south. We leave early in the morning. You don't get any prick tonight, you will need your rest.
CHAPTER 5
In a driving rain they headed south through endless forests. They followed backroads through tiny villages unlike anything Susan had ever seen before. Her new boyfriend, Sammy didn't show his face. He, along with the three Latins and the stolen cars, had disappeared after New York. The uniformed woman was with them and Susan could not see any signs of her interlude with Bill in the house the night before. She was still cold and brutal. She sat silently beside Eric, who was driving. Susan was in back between Sara and Bill. Sara seemed angry with everyone other-than Eric. But without anyone's noticing it, she slipped one hand under the blanket and began fingering Susan's cunt. But not gently, she pinched until tears appeared in Susan's eyes. She was naked now that her guards had thrown away the nightgown that the man had messed over the night before. They brought food to her in the car, and if she had to go to the toilet, Marion, the big nurse, accompanied her. Susan thought they were heading for some big estate somewhere in southern Virginia. She studied the road signs so she could find her way back if she happened to escape. She had slipped the 100 dollar bill into her cunt but had to take it out of that busy place. She had a plan. She had found a piece of paper in the car that resembled the bill, and at her first opportunity she would destroy the paper so that they thought it was the money. But every other time she got out of the car, Bill came along, and if there was a chance, he began poking her with his prick again, so that she had no chance to put her plan into action. Once they drove through a town called Roanoke, where she saw a monument like the design on the lighter of her piss-lover. Apparently he was not the only one, but nobody was pissing on this monument. She heard the others talking about Lexington, which was nearby, from what they said. After a while they drove through an ancient village then up a dusty side road. It was raining hard when they finally arrived at the isolated castle and the only part of her surroundings she had a chance to notice was a sign over the door. She was immediately led up to a little white room. The first thing she checked when she was alone was the window. But she was on the fourth floor, and in addition it faced out over a deep valley. There was only empty space on that side.
The door opened and Marion came in with something hidden behind her back.
"Look, bitch, see what I have for you. A present!"
She brought it out-an elegant slip with a deep scoop in front that would leave her breasts exposed. It was the sexiest piece of clothing she had ever seen. She put it on, anything was better than the coarse blanket. She was told that the bathroom was just outside the door and that it was impossible to escape, that the only way out was through the bar. Then she understood that this place was a hotel, or perhaps a bordel. The guests came and were shown to rooms where girls were waiting. She was confirmed in this idea when the door opened and a short, fat man with leather shorts came in. He bowed to her, but immediately took the edge of her slip that he pulled up to admire her charms. He stuck one finger in her cunt and made circling motions. In spite of her exertions of the past few days, she began to feel excited. He was the first in many days not to be brutal to her. He took off his leather shorts and folded them neatly. Still wearing his shirt, he shoved her onto the bed and spread her legs. As soon as his stumpy little prick sniffed her pussy it began to achieve its full size. She felt his round stomach press against her flat one as he bored into her. He was so fat that he could barely enter her, but groaned and panted with lust. It was not long before his sperm began to flow down her legs. He stood up, bowed again, and dressed himself. When he had left, Susan went looking for the toilet to expel his juice from herself. In the bathroom, a tiny mouse sat and stared at her. She was not afraid of small animals and talked to it of her troubles for a few minutes before it disappeared into its hole. But it gave her an idea. The place was called Mountainceller, so it was probably on a mountain, and there should also be a cellar. Maybe the cellar offered another way out. It was worth checking. But as soon as she had returned to her room, Marion came in, knocked her to the bed, and spread her thighs to examine her pussy. The big woman stuck her head very close and fingered her carefully. She had her uniform on, and Susan saw that she wore nothing underneath. She saw the woman's gaping cunt above her head, and with the idea of winning her over, began to nibble at her fleshy mound. Marion had already begun to thrust her tongue in Susan. Her own tongue was not large enough to fill Marion's great gap, but she found her clitoris, big as a cherry, almost the size of a plum, as big as a man's prick head. She began to suck and lick the huge berry and the woman's hams began to twist and clamp about her head. Susan was afraid of being crushed by her weight if she fell. But the big woman was not so clumsy. With a graceful movement she rolled over, bringing Susan to the top. Soon the two very different women were both moaning in their separate orgasms. Afterwards Marion sat un, smoothed her blonde hair, and looked at Susan with her cold, pale-blue eyes.
"At least you won't be fucking any more tonight. Sleep well, darling."
Susan lay and thought for a while. At least no others would be coming to bore into her with their stiff rods. She would have time to plan her escape. The rain had almost stopped, but the continuing wind was loud and in the distance, she heard the rumble of thunder. Then the lights flickered and went out-the storm must have broken the power lines. Susan did not care. She was thinking about the mouse. Her door opened and another girl handed a candle to her. In its flickering light, Susan pulled on her new slip, then covered herself with her blanket. With the candle in one hand, she crept into the corridor. Oh no, the door to the stairway was locked. She went into the toilet to relieve herself and the candle blew out in a sudden draft. In the fading light from outside she saw that a giant fir tree grew just outside the window. She had not noticed it before, but its branches looked strong enough to carry her weight. She could climb down to the next floor and escape from there. She lost her blanket during the climb, but at least the window on the next floor was open and she could chamber into the warm darkness. She stumbled over the corner of a bed and a strong, hairy hand reached out to grab her. She was pulled into the bed and under the blanket, a hand was forced over her mouth and she felt a man's body beside her. The man whispered that, for god's sake, she should be quiet or his wife would awaken. She did not understand what god had to do with it, but she was quiet. The man drew her to his hairy chest, lifted her slip, and allowed her to feel the elephant trunk that arose from his crotch. She fondled it until it grew stiff, while the man fumbled between her legs thinking that her pussy was hidden between her legs like with other girls. She heard him chuckling to himself at the thought of lying there getting a hard-on from a strange girl who had crept through his window while his wife snored in the same bed. She mounted him without difficulty and he gripped her hips carefully and began to lift up and then down over his erect prick. He lay very quietly and let her squirm her hips around the pivot of his cock. He lifted and lowered his hips carefully, for he did not want any trouble from his wife. Even though she had had enough cock in the past few days and had just had her pussy tongued by big Marion it was a nice feeling to be fucked by this warm hairy man. She had no idea of who he was or what he looked like, just that he had an enormous prick that felt good inside of her. She put her head against his cheek and he kissed her. His breath stank of stale beer. But he fucked better than she could have hoped. He became more and more aroused. Suddenly she felt a hand between her stomach and the man's. It gripped the man's prick and began rubbing it against her clitoris. At the same time, Susan's free hand was led to some damp, moist skin. It was the man's wife, who had awakened and joined in the private fucking party. She wanted Susan to masturbate her, and she was willing to do so with pleasure, as long as the woman did not make trouble. Then the man suddenly whispered to Susan that he wanted to be on top. But he had to take a leak first. He dumped the girl carefully down into the bed as he stood up. She could see him faintly in the dim light of the room. He went over to the washbasin and began releasing a stream of warm water. At first he had trouble getting his stiff prick to deliver its load. In the meantime his wife was busy. She held Susan's mouth as she switched places with her. Susan liked the joke. Taking a chance she crept to the top of the bed and sat straddled over the woman's head. In a few minutes, the man crawled back into his warm bed and onto his wife. With a sigh he bored into her. Like a boa constrictor she threw her arms around his neck, he gasped as he understood that he had been tricked into fucking his own wife. But where was the mysterious girl who had crawled through his window? He groped for her and found one thigh. Susan humped herself forward and lowered herself over the woman's face. Her cunt was too high for the woman to get a good tongue into her, so she turned the other way and the woman began to lick Susan at the same time as her husband's prick was servicing her. The man felt her thighs against his face and continued upward until he came to her tight little anus, which he began to tongue and kiss. It was all splendid and Susan had her climax at the same moment as she heard the man and woman chittering with pleasure. But she wasn't here to fuck. She remembered Marion's words about no more fucking for the evening. She slipped to the door, which opened easily.
She reached the damp, chilly cellar without being seen. She entered a long passageway. She felt her way forward through the dark, but she had been through so much that she was no longer afraid of the dark. She walked in the tunnel for a long time before it began to turn slightly upwards. She came to stone steps, went up, and suddenly found herself in a small hole between the roots of a large tree. She climbed carefully up, then heard a familiar, beloved sound. Somewhere, some one was gunning an engine. Not a big engine, probably a motorscooter, but that was even better. Her tormentors did not drive motorscooters. She did not even think about the fact that she was dressed in only a sexy slip, she just ran happily forward. She had come up in the middle of an ancient ruin from the 17th century. She had noticed it when they had driven by before and knew now that she was right in the middle of the little town. They said that it was built by one of the robber barons, and when she asked which one, Eric and Marion gave her warning looks. But there were no knights here now, only a circle of motorbicycles. As she stepped out into the open, four powerful flashlights were turned upon her. She could not see how many people there were.
"Hey, here comes the cunt we have been talking about all night."
"Hot damn, yes, and in a beautiful package."
"Who fucks her first?"
"Let Bing. He is always fast. Then the rest of us can come. We will all fuck her."
She was grabbed by strong hands. The lights were put out. She saw now that she was surrounded by at least a dozen of the local toughs. The young men with their chromed motorbikes and motorcycles all had their pricks out pointing at her. They did not care if she was the princess herself as long as she had an open cunt. And in the clothing she was wearing there was no doubt that she was ripe for the plucking.
Bing began. He brought his cock forth. It was stiff and hard, but his foreskin was as tight as a knitted cap. It made him very sensitive when he finally got it in a moist cunt and it took him only a few strokes before he shot his load into her.
He surrendered her to the next, and the next, and the next, and the next. She soon lost count of how many of the boys took her and who had come back for seconds. She felt nothing. Her pussy was tender and hot and it seemed that some one was in her constantly. They squeezed her breasts and kissed her and caressed her. Really, under the circumstances, they were very nice to her. Some of them only had to pop into her before they came and the sperm ran down her legs. Some of them also knew how to kiss and caress as they fucked. Then came the sound of a motor. A motorcycle pulled into the ruins. It was a big one with a huge saddle of bright red leather. The boy drove right into the crowd before he stopped.
"Hey, David. We got a pussy. Want to fuck her? There is enough for all of us."
The new arrival stood and observed Susan. He directed his flashlight to her cunt, which was dripping with sperm and swollen like a sponge. She shivered slightly from the cold.
"I will have her from the back."
"You can't. Her pussy is too far forward. You can only fuck her from the front."
"When I say I will take her from the back, I will do it. Come here, hot pants. What is your name?"
"I'm Susan. And I'm not hot, not any more."
"Too bad, I am."
He stared at her, then took her firmly by her hips and lifted her onto the saddle. He sat her facing forwards and placed himself just behind her. Then he took her thighs and tipped her forward so that she was lying on the saddle. He gripped her brutally around her knees and lifted so that her cunt tilted slightly backward. He already had his prick out and in a second thrust it forward and into her cunt.
"O.K., Susan. Now you get a motor fuck."
"It's lovely, ohhh, ahhh, it tickles."
"Soon it will tickle even more."
David started the engine and the vibrations stirred the passion back into her fucked-out body. She could not help responding to his movements, and helped him reach bottom every time. It hurt, but at the same time it was so excitingly delicious.
"Can you drive and fuck her at the same time?" "Of course."
But he was only bragging. When his buddies said something could not be done, he had to do his best to show them wrong. David did not really want to try it. He looked down at Susan, who turned her face up with a smile.
"I can steer if you drive carefully."
"O.K. We are driving. Where should we go?"
"Take her to Mike. To Apple. She should fuck Apple."
They all grinned. Susan did not care whom she fucked with. They started up. Some of the boys followed, some led. David drove carefully, holding her thighs and letting her steer. They came to the same hill that led to the estate. She had noticed a carnival in the neighborhood, but she did not know that it had Mike on display. They pulled in and the boys climbed off their cycles. David had been shaken into a climax during the ride and was now out of her. The young men led her into a tent. Everything was closed and dark, but they knew the way. Inside two boys were masturbating a huge chimpanzee who showed his sharp teeth in a big grin. Susan was not very enthusiastic about fucking a chimpanzee, but two of the boys held her while two others led Mike up to her. They scooped up a little of her cunt juice on their fingers and let him sniff. He showed his teeth. His funny little prick with its disproportionately large, blue head thrust forward. They led it between her thighs and the animal began to ball furiously. It had a strange look on its face. Not because it was entranced by her beauty, but because it was especially excitable when awakened from a deep sleep. Now that there was a pussy in front of it, even though it was not as nice as a chimpanzee pussy, there was nothing to do but fuck. Actually Mike regarded the whole affair as perverse. But the hell with it, no other chimpanzees were watching. So he might as well get his rocks off, even though her cunt was too big for him. Fortunately for Susan, her pussy was so wet and Mike's prick so small that it did not hurt. So she lay still and nervously let him pump into her.
Suddenly they were interrupted by the rattle of keys and a shout. It was the carnival owner and the animal trainer. They had heard the noise and had come to see what was up. They carried candles and the boys amused themselves by flashing their more powerful lights in their eyes. Then they saw Susan and Mike embracing. The trainer jumped forward and pulled Mike from the girl. He showed his teeth again, but in rage this time. The boys grinned and ran around clapping one another on the back before they ran to their cycles and disappeared. The animal trainer stared at Susan's wet crotch and felt his prick rise. The owner came up beside him. They looked at each other then drew their pricks out. They moved toward Susan.
"Who goes first? O.K., you first. I'll see about the tents. The storm probably did not damage anything, but I must check. Call me when you are finished."
The trainer lay down between the beautiful thighs and rammed into her. He was so excited that it did not take him long. He buttoned himself up quickly and nervously, as though he had done something wrong. The chimpanzee sat in one corner masturbating. At least it was better than nothing. And far better than a human cunt. A few minutes later the owner came back.
"Are you finished already, my friend? Is she good? Listen, you aren't a virgin, are you, little girl?"
"If I had been, it is finished now. Just tonight I must have had thirty pricks in me."
"So thirty-one won't hurt anything."
He hauled his prick out and lay down heavily over her. He was calmer than his friend, and took his time. But his prick was unbelievably thick and so wrinkled that it rubbed her cunt raw. Susan thought she was losing all the skin in her vagina. But then skin always grows again. And she was well lubricated by the sperm of the boys so it was not so painful as it could have been. He seemed like a nice man who would not beat her. His prick glided in and out in long, slow strokes, and her clitoris began to respond for, god only knew, which time that night.
"You must excuse me, but I don't have much juice in my shaft any more."
"Oh, that's all right. It is not the juice that is so important. Besides I have had more than enough tonight."
"Yes, yes, you know best what you like. But my prick is not as big as it ought to be."
"But it is not the size, just the way it moves that is important. And it is nice to get a nice fuck after all those fast-fucking boys. They fuck like firecrackers. Not properly at all. Just lie still in me, I don't think I can have any more orgasms tonight.
But she was wrong. The carnival owner was an experienced man who brought her to still another climax that night. Her last climax was almost ruined when the lights came suddenly on again-the power lines had been repaired. The tent was suddenly bathed in spotlights, and the half-naked girl saw some people coming toward the place where they lay and fucked. In the lead of the curious people was one she knew only too well. Eric. And behind him came Marion in her uniform.
CHAPTER 6
No one could figure out how Susan had been able to escape that first evening. The carnival people thought that she was a runaway maniac. And the boys were not going to talk, so there was no one who could tell about her popping up in the middle of the ruined castle. Her abductors decided to take her to a place where flight would be impossible.
After most of the guests at the drive-in whorehouse had had her once or twice, Eric decided that it was time to move her. They thought that she did not have any money, for she had had a chance to put her plan into action. One day she had offered Marion the 100 dollars to help her escape, when Marion refused, Susan pretended to have a temper tantrum and tore the note up and threw it into the toilet. It was reported to Eric, who only grinned. If only he had known that she had switched a worthless piece of paper for the money! And now she had the bill safely hidden.
But now they were moving. For the time being, Susan would be held prisoner in an inaccessible estate near the border zone. From what she heard, she realized that they were taking her to a section of Texas. When they arrived she noticed that the village in which the estate was located stuck like a small tongue of land into Mexico, she was surrounded on three sides by guarded, barbed-wire fences. There was only one road leading out of the village and only a few hundred yards to the border in any direction. She would be easy to guard here. Eric was still reluctant to murder her, and Susan knew too much about his business to be released now.
But Susan still thought of escape. Early one morning when her guard had fallen asleep, she crept into the cellar of the estate. Eric was out with Bill on some business deal. Sara was sunning herself on the roof, and Marion was sleeping late. Susan had been given a new blanket, but otherwise her only clothing was still the transparent slip. A few villagers were helping to guard the estate which was owned by a good friend of Eric's.
Susan reached the cellar without difficulty. This time she had provided herself with a candle to light her way through the dirty passageways. She came to an iron staircase that led downward. Far down. She extinguished the candle and felt her way down until she stepped in water. She lit the light again and saw that she was in an underground cavern. She followed the running water until finally at the other end of the stone passageway she saw lights and heard voices.
Finally she was saved. She did not step out openly, for she remembered her experience with the gang of boys and their twenty stiff pricks. She knew that she was in a cave, but not a frightening one out of a gothic novel, with hidden treasures and ghosts. This cave had been thoroughly examined by historians and archeologists and all the skeletons had long ago been removed to decorate museums and now signs told the tourists how many years it had taken for dripping water to etch this hole through the granite. Susan saw a group of tourists and slipped among them. She stood there with the blanket wrapped around her, but it seemed perfectly natural in the clammy air of the cave, and many of the women among the tourists did the same. She did not dare tell her story, for no one would believe her. The guide finished his spiel and turned to go with the flock of tourists following him. A young man came up to Susan and took her hand.
"Finally we are alone. I wondered the whole time why you were here without your parents. Where are they now?"
"Home!"
Apparently the answer suited him.
"Splendid. Aren't you bored with all this nonsense here?"
"Absolutely."
"Me too. Come over here!"
The young man drew her over between some stalagmites that stood like erect pricks from the damp stone floor. They found a smooth place.
"These fellows give one an inferiority complex. Just think they have been erect for millions of years. It is something to think about."
"Ah, but look at those hanging down. They will never be permitted to rise up no matter how long they hang."
"You are absolutely right. But mine can do both."
"I don't doubt it."
The young man had already taken her hand and guided it through the fly of his trousers. She felt a warm cock that quickly grew stiff as a stalagmite in her questing fingers. Her crotch began to prickle with a delightful sensation. He did not wait, but stuck his hands under her blanket and discovered that she only wore a slip.
"Hey this is better than a miniskirt. What, you don't have any panties on either. Were you expecting to meet me here?"
Before Susan could deny it, he had taken her in his arms to kiss her. He opened her blanket and drew her close to him. His hands moved to her uncovered breasts and her nipples quickly stiffened under his eager hands. He forced her down, then lay between her trembling thighs. She folded the edge of the blanket over them so that no one could see them in the dark. His probing fingers began spreading waves of warmth from her center. Of course she had never seen him before, but she found it enchanting that he had become excited just by looking at her. He seemed nice. She let him kiss her so that he would not ask questions that might expose her as an escapee. But the stiff rod between his legs absorbed all his attention. If some one had said at that moment that she was the witch from the gingerbread house, he would not have paid any attention. His mind was in his prick and his reason was thrusting deep into her cunt. He was not so desperate that he could not keep his cock stiff and it took a long while before he released his sperm into her. Some one walked by them and Susan held the blanket tightly around them so they were hidden. They were left in peace again. A fat man began to piss against a stalagmite near them. After a few minutes a middle-aged woman came by, feeling some of the hanging stalagmites. First she found one that resembled a cow's teat and began to milk it. Then she found a better one that resembled a sailor's cock and began stroking it up and down. She looked around to be sure she was alone, then bent to kiss it. Finally she squatted down and pissed her desire away. All the time the young man was slowly and quietly thrusting his length into Susan. A spasm of pleasure shook his body as he finally spilled his load. Then he stood up. The crowd of tourists was coming back and the guide's light was flashing among them. He was trying to count them before they went on. One of them was missing and he was nervous.
"Some one is missing. Hello, one is missing. Who has wandered off?"
No one answered, but the young man stuffed his prick back in his pants and along with Susan joined the crowd. The leader counted again and was completely confused.
"Hey, now there is one too many. Who is the extra one?"
No one answered. The young man looked at Susan when the light flashed over her face. He looked surprised.
"What the hell. I thought you were Angie. Who are you?"
"At least I am not Angie. Isn't that good enough?"
"Hell yes. I was ready to tell Angie to go away anyway."
The guide began to count again and again discovered one too many. He did not know what he should do. The young man whispered:
"In any case, I cannot get my sperm back."
The guide speculated over the best thing to do. He wondered whether he should not just dump one of the tourists back into the dark. Then he got an idea.
"May I see your tickets?"
The tourists showed their tickets as he passed among them. But Susan had no ticket.
"Who are you? Have you been here all the time?"
"For all time is a little long. But I was here before the tourists."
"We have to do something about this."
In Texas, nothing is so frightful as an irregularity.
"Come with me!"
Susan followed the man curiously. He led her to a small room cut into the stone of the cave. "Do you have any money?"
Susan showed him the 100 dollar bill that she had hidden in a fold of the blanket. It was always best to buy one's way out of trouble.
"I am sorry, Miss, I cannot make change. A sign at the entrance says that tourists should have the proper change. Or at least small bills."
"This is everything I own."
The guide looked at her greedily. She had not closed the blanket tightly and her small breasts gleamed in the light of the room. She pulled the blanket tight over her breasts, but the lower half opened. He stared at her thighs. Then she dropped the blanket and he looked at the cleft between her legs covered with blonde, fluffy hair. He licked his lips.
"We could arrange payment in another way."
"I know it. I am willing."
He closed the door of the little room. At the moment he did not care what the tourists outside in the cave were thinking. His flag was up and the pole was lusting for the warmth of her secret cave. He pulled her into his eager embrace. So she was going to fuck again. It was always best to buy one's way out of difficulty. She allowed the man to caress her. He stuck one finger into her pussy and began to move it gently around.
"You smell of sex. It is lovely. A cunt should smell like sex."
He fondled her breasts, a little roughly it is true, but then he was more accustomed to relieving himself among the stones. She spread her legs so that her pussy gaped and the pinkish flesh inside showed itself to his lustful eyes. He removed his uniform jacket-an employee of the state should not fuck in uniform. Again he held her and fondled her buttocks and forced his calloused finger into her anus. He sat in a chair and Susan climbed onto his lap. His stiff cock swayed between her fingers like a feather in the breeze. He drew her face close to his, kissed her, then indicated that she was to lie across his lap with her ass up. First he licked and nipped her buttocks and ran his finger in the deep cleft between. Then he lifted her hips and lowered her over his waiting penis. Fortunately the cunt was properly angled for this position. Then came the slaps, hard and as stern as a schoolmaster's. Susan groaned, but then she was accustomed to almost anything by now. The stinging blows forced her cunt down over his upward jutting prick. She could feel his prick head growing in her and prepared herself for the warm fountain.
"Hey, it was not in the bargain that you were going to hit me, just fuck me. Just an ordinary fuck. This is not ordinary."
"Well, well. Maybe you aren't the kind to get hot over a few smacks. I am used to women who prefer it. My father always spanked my mother on the ass and my uncle slapped my aunt before he shoved it in her. And the priest always whipped the choirgirls before they could suck his holy prick. My brothers beat all the girls in our village before they balled them, and I do the same with Adele at home. And we teach our children the same."
"Yes, yes, a child always learns the parent's stupidities. No wonder the world never improves."
"Listen here, in this state the authorities always know best, and the teachers tell the children what the parents want them to tell."
"Of course, I'm not surprised. I just wonder why you don't still drive around in horse-drawn carriages."
There was a noise outside. The man indicated she should be silent then began thrusting rapidly in and out of her to be finished before the next group of tourists came. Until now he had been using his lunch time. He gave her a couple of violent smacks before his honey poured into her hive.
"Well, little girl. That was your ticket. But now you have to hide, a lady that I usually screw is coming soon."
Susan slipped behind a curtain hiding some shelves. She stood as quietly as a mouse and listened to the door open. A large woman came in.
"Ah, my little blunt-runt-cunt man, it's time for your daily cunt tour."
"Marion, your lovely pussy deserves a whole day's outing, not just the quickie tour."
"I feel like a tonguing today. If you do, I will suck your ugly thing in return. There must be a little sap for me to enjoy."
"Ah, Marion, I'm afraid the honeypot is empty. You can lick it and I can run it around inside your pussy for you, but I just had to take care of an irregularity with one of the tourists whose ticket was not in order."
"What kind of trouble was that. Who was that?"
"Oh, just a stupid little girl, very blonde. She was just wearing a blanket. See, that is it over there."
"My god! It is the girl we are keeping up at the estate. She is dangerous. And she does not even like a good, nourishing whipping."
"That was her. She got angry about a few little claps on her butt."
"But you can fuck me anyway."
Susan peeped out from behind the curtain, but she had no doubt that it was her female guard in the room. She waited until the woman had drawn her long bloomers down and lay with her huge buttocks spreading out over the floor. She was lying on Susan's blanket, so there was no chance for her to escape with any sort of covering. The cave guide's greasy face buried itself in her gaping cunt. He lay sprawled over Marion-his entire prick and balls filled her mouth. Susan used the moment to tiptoe past them. She had to step over them, but Marion's eyes were closed as she munched the man's privates. But a drop of sperm slid out of her pussy as she stepped and fell directly onto Marion's eye. The woman started and threw the man off. Susan ran. Marion ran, but the little man lay tumbled on a heap on the cave floor. Susan turned into a dirty, dusty side tunnel that looked as though it was abandoned. No electric wires for lights because the tourists were not interested in it. After about a half hour's running, she saw a glint of light. She was careful but the two men who sat on the cave floor and poked at a large animal's skull looked up in surprise.
"Excuse me, miss, but are you a speleologist?"
"Well, I guess so. I like most perversities, but preferably nothing that involves a spanking. But if both of you want to fuck me at the same time, that is O.K."
"Well, yes, so you are not a cave explorer, but ... what do you say, Frank?"
Frank said nothing. They had been there for days among the dusty skeletons, and the pressure was building up for him. He stood up, grabbed her, and pulled his prick out. She had given an offer that could not be passed up.
"Well, I can see you are normal. You there, Frank, you can take me in my cunt while I suck your friend's prick."
Susan knew her abilities. If she sat facing the man On his lap, the other one could spread his legs while standing beside his friend and get a good tonguing. She soon realized that the two cave explorers did not often see women down here, for within minutes her pussy and mouth were filled with seed.
"Thank you very much, Miss. It is a problem for us to go up to the surface every time we need a fuck. You have saved us almost two days. What can we do for you?"
"Show me the nearest way out. I need sunshine. My cunt is turning into a cave down here. I don't like it."
"Of course. That tunnel leads directly to...."
"No, Freddie, I have a better idea. That little tunnel over there certainly leads up to the top, but we are both too big to go through. If the little lady crawled through she could tell us about it."
"Of course. I will. In any way there is less danger that I would be followed."
Susan climbed into the narrow tunnel which was wet and slimy, but when she got down on her hands and knees she could move. After an hour of careful squirming she saw daylight. The hole opened among some bushes. It was, as the explorers said, an unknown tunnel that opened among a deserted stretch of bushes. She sat back to enjoy the sun. But she was hungry. She saw the smoke from a little farmhouse in the valley below. As she walked toward it she came to a haystack where two boys were masturbating each other.
"Hey, look, Clyde, a pretty girl. There is no need to beat off."
"Hot damn. Let's play cards for who has her first."
"Listen, fellows, there is no need to gamble for me, I am hot enough for both of you. But I'll tell you, whoever gets me a plate of food first can fuck me first."
A fair game. They ran toward the house and a moment later came back. The one who wanted to play cards for her pussy had half a chicken and Clyde offered her a piece of bread along with a huge sausage and a glass of milk.
"Pablo Mendez won, but then he belongs to the Party."
"Don't worry, Clyde. When he has fucked me, it is your turn, and then you can keep warm in my pussy all day. But first I eat."
She was rumblingly hungry for she had had nothing since breakfast, that is she had eaten enough sperm, but no proper food. She ate the chicken, the entire sausage and washed it down with milk. As she nibbled the last of the bread, Pablo Mendez brought his prick out. He had a twisted smile, but she did not care. She dried her hands on the grass and lay back with spread legs. Pablo crawled between her legs and kissed her breasts. He sucked the nipples then grabbed her hips as his prick sought its way into her.
Susan put out her hand and took Clyde's prick. She felt sorry to see him out of the game for he had also brought her food, and the milk had been good. But he was a good loser and had surrendered the prize to his friend. She smiled at him over Pablo Mendez's shoulder as he removed her soft hand.
"Let go. It is wrong to masturbate."
"Yes, but I saw both of you masturbating."
"That was something else. Besides we did not know there were witnesses. And especially not a spy from the other side. Remember how close we are to the border. There is the barbed wire on the hill over there. Refugees are always passing through here. Refugees from here to there and from there to here. They run both ways, for people are curious and the other side always looks best.
Susan looked up at the barbed wire. There was too much barbed wire in the world in her opinion. But there was no barbed wire on Pablo Mendez's prick. With a gasp, he watered her cunt for the fourth time that day. When he had finished, Clyde began to fuck her. He followed a calm, self-confident rhythm, perhaps because he knew she was willing to lie there and fuck all day. He kissed her. They both smelled of sausage with garlic so they were even. He had lovely pale blue eyes and was more handsome than Pablo, who had gone off to dry his prick on some dead grass.
She was alone in the world with Clyde. She hoped he would not beat her or lock her up. But he was nice. He had taken his trousers completely off and she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips. His balls slapped gently against her inner thighs. It was lovely. The whole thing was lovely. The sun was warm. But Susan wondered when her tormentors would show up to take her from all this. She could not see the man high up on the side of the mountain who watched the two lovers through his telescope. He was no ordinary peeping Tom. He smiled evilly at their pleasure. Clyde looked up in sudden fear. In a rush he pulled his prick out and his trousers on so that he would be ready to run. Susan thought she must have gallons of sperm in her and went between two bushes to relieve herself. The position made her notice that she had not had a bowel movement for days. Her stomach tensed and she began to grunt and strain. Suddenly a shadow covered her. She looked up to see a man in a dully gray uniform. He pointed at her and said:
"Papers!"
"No thanks, I can use some dried grass."
"I said papers!"
"And I said that paper was not necessary. Go away, it is not polite to stand and watch a lady while she is shitting."
"The law decides what is polite."
Susan suddenly thought that since these Mexicans have so many rules, maybe it was required to use a certain kind of paper when one shat.
"Where is your passport?"
Then Susan understood. She was in the borderzone and they were afraid that she was a refugee. She put out both hands so that she almost lost her balance.
"I have no passport. I was kidnapped over the border."
The man got a strange look on his face. It was almost impossible for anyone to look more tense than he did. Susan thought to herself that civil servants the world over were all a-like. She tipped her head back to look more closely at the man. He had an ugly uniform on and then, to her fright, she noticed that he wore a star on his cap.
CHAPTER 7
Susan was deeply frightened. She had had no idea she had come up on the wrong side of the border, but of course, the cave was in the borderzone and she had crawled for over an hour through the dirty passageway after she had let the two speleogist fill her with sperm. Also, Clyde had hinted something of the sort when he said his friend was in the Party. That was why he ran when he saw the man in the uniform.
"Uh, don't be so nasty. I have not finished shitting."
"You do not have the permission of the state to shit here. Your fertilizer should be used for the good of the state."
Susan looked up the mountain and saw the peeping Tom for the first time. His telescope glittered in the sun. Her feminine indignation arose. She pointed at the spy.
"What kind of people are you. To watch a poor girl shitting. Look there!"
"No, comrade shitter. That is not one of our people. He is on the other side of the border. He is not from the free world."
She was about to say that there was more freedom on the other side of the border, but then decided it would not be appropriate under the circumstances.
"That man up there is probably a capitalist spy trying to steal the secrets of the People's Democracy. Or he wants to sell you to a capitalist whorehouse."
Susan had an idea. While her new guard looked up the mountain at the spy, she stepped out where she could be clearly seen. She thought that the person on the mountain might well be one of her earlier guards out looking for her. If he wanted to sell her to a bordello now, it was fine with her. She pulled her slip down, but her cunt was still visible. The man in uniform looked at her.
"You must follow me now ... and make your confession ... I will myself ... examine your crotch ... no, I mean your case."
She followed him voluntarily. He had a jeep waiting beside the little house. They climbed in. He was friendly now that he had seen her pussy. He turned to her with a smile.
"My name is Commissar Oliva, but you can call me Comrade Felip. Your dress is very arousing."
"I know it. All too arousing. I am Susan and I come from Massachusetts."
"Ahhh. Massachusetts. Beer, hot sausages, home cooked pastry."
As proof that he knew about hot sausages he pulled his stiff prick out. They almost drove into a ditch. They drove over a small hill and on the other side was barbed wire and on the other side of the wire was a gravel road where a car was driving. They were close enough to see that it was the same man from the mountain side in the car. Susan soon recognized good, old Eric. She pointed.
"That man kidnapped me ... from my home. And he whipped me and fucked me and gave me to some old pig with a beard who pissed on me. I never want to see him again. And he has a pocket full of dirty pictures. I know it.
"Well, well. A pornography smuggler. That is a serious crime."
They came to a gate in the fence with a guard post on both sides. The two guards stood and chatted together. The car with Eric came to the gate, he stopped to show some papers and the gate was opened for him. He drove through into the freest of all possible worlds. Commissar Oliva gave an order and the guard stopped Eric.
"May I see what you have in your pockets?"
Eric smiled. He knew he had nothing dangerous, neither weapons nor foreign currency. He took his wallet out and let the guard search his pockets.
"If the little whore has said anything about me, it is a lie. She is a hot little bitch who ran away from her guards. Her parents had her locked up for being too immoral. See, she does not even have any clothes on."
Comrade Felip ignored him. He was looking at some color photographs of two girls licking each other's cunt and a man with an erect penis.
"I thought so. A pornography smuggler. You are dangerous to the security of the people."
He reached into the back of the jeep and brought out a pistol. He did not aim, just shot from the hip, several times. Eric crumpled forward. He had been hit in the balls. He jerked his trousers down and looked at the bloody mess. Felip shot again and his prick existed only as a short stump. Eric fell to the ground and began to sob. Felip shrugged his shoulders. The guard stepped up and shot Eric through his head. He was an enemy of the people who had tricked his way into Mexican Democracy to show the citizens pictures that had not been censored. He wanted people to choose what they got aroused by. That type was too dangerous for a democracy.
"Tell me, Comrade Felip, where do we go from here?"
"First to my home where I will examine you. I must see if you have a microphone hidden in your cunt. Then to one of my friends who is a judge in Monterrey. Really you should go to Reynosa, it is closer, larger, but unfortunately the officials are liquidating each other there. But the judge in Monterrey is good enough. He has been a judge since the war."
Susan groaned. Just the name of the town was terrible. Everything that had to do with holiness was usually sadistic. But then she had something else to think about. They came to a small town where Comrade Felip drove behind a jail and led her in after he had looked all around. Inside in his office he took off his cap, then his jacket, then his boots, then his trousers.
"First you must fill out a report in three copies, give the number of pricks you have had, how long and what color they were, and what your mother, grandmother, and great grandmother were called by their servants. It is just a formality."
"Please let me skip it, Comrade Felip. I am afraid of writer's cramp. Besides when I screw, the fellows do not entertain me with their measurements. As for length and color, are you crazy? When I fuck their pricks are hidden in my cunt so I don't get a chance to observe them."
"So observe this."
Comrade Felip waved his erect cock under her nose. She carefully stuck the tip of her tongue out and licked away the salty little drop at the tip. Felip began to moan in pleasure. He put his thumb into her pussy and circled it around. It felt very good and she was glad that she had not hidden her money in her cunt. She put her head back and moaned with pleasure.
Her hair was pulled up into a bun for she knew that men in this country preferred women with their hair up in an old-fashioned knot, for they thought that that kind of woman made the best mothers, wives, nurses, servants, and social leaders. She could see that the people respected her when they saw her golden blonde hair fixed this way. Inside of this knot of hair lay the 100 dollar bill. But Comrade Felip did not know. And Susan had almost forgotten the money now that she was in Mexico. She thought it was worthless. If only she had known the truth. Comrade Felip sat her on the edge of the desk and began to fumble with her crotch. His jutting prick bounced with every movement.
"It does not seem as though you have anything that could harm the people in your cunt. Therefore you cannot harm my prick which I need to use to make a deeper examination."
With these words he bored into her. She sat on the edge of the desk as he bored into her. His balls slapped her thighs. He held her shoulders and pressed her small breasts against his chest. At the moment that he groaned and released his load into her they both heard footsteps on the stairway. The boots they wore in this country were not made for being quiet.
The two men who came in the door walked directly to Felip, one grabbed him by his prick and said:
"In the name of the people, you are under arrest as an enemy of the people."
The other man took Commissar Oliva's jacket and began checking the pockets and showed the first with satisfaction the three pornographic pictures he had taken from Eric.
Pornography smuggling. We thought so. An anonymous report from one of the border stations said you had pornography. You are dangerous to the security of the people.
The two men stood and looked at the pictures. They each took one and tore the third in half so that each got the pussy of one of the girls in the picture. Justice was served. One of the men led Felip down to the courtyard of the jail without his trousers on. A muffled shot was heard. He no longer needed his trousers. The executioner came back up but then ran down again. He had surprised his superior with his ass in the air hopping up and down on Susan who lay and waved at him with her bare toes up in the air and the underside of her thighs facing the door. Her cunt was once again filled with a stiff prick. When the man who had shot Felip returned for the second time, his boss was buttoning his trousers, his face was bright red and his knees were shaking.
"She is not so bad, her cunt sits in a People's democratic position, straight forward. You can try her when we get to Mexico City.
The Subordinate clicked his heels as though he were an officer in the last war. Susan did not care. She had begun to like Felip and now she had to get accustomed to a whole new set of pricks. They led her down to a large car and then drove for many hours over badly paved roads. That night she was placed in an uncomfortable country jail and the next day they continued.
A little outside of Mexico City they pulled into a military area. Susan expected the subordinate to fuck her now, but he did not have time. As soon as they arrived, two men stepped out of the building, drew their revolvers, and inspected pockets. They quickly found the one and a half pornographic pictures on each. They were arrested and the pictures were further divided.
Susan was ignored. She sat on a pile of earth outside one of the buildings and waited. She still had only her short slip on. A large truck pulled up in front of the building and a platoon of soldiers jumped out. They started in to get a drink and to wash up when one of them saw Susan. He grabbed her by her hips and lifted her into the air. He passed her to his comrades in the truck and another one helped him by putting his hand between her legs and boring his thumb into her cunt.
"Hey, look! I found a mascot!"
Some one whistled and all the soldiers who had gotten off climbed back in with Susan in the middle. They laughed and joked and sang so that no one outside could hear her protests. The truck started and she sat in the middle of the laughing young men with their tanned hands, their tanned faces-their tanned pricks. And bulging nuts. They were not all young, there were some old veterans among them. But pricks the world over agree when it comes to cunt.
"What shall we do with our little mascot?"
"We'll fuck her."
"We'll kiss her."
"We'll whip her. Tie her up and eat her with salt and pepper and mustard."
"We'll screw her, ball her, lick her cunt and bite her pussy. We'll fuck her until she doesn't know right from left."
"Right, left. Right, left. Right...."
One of the soldiers decided it was time to march.
"Shut up, Jesus. We'll fuck her. By squads. Tony begins.
Tony pulled his trousers down. His prick stood out like a bull's horns and fit her cunt perfectly. He pushed her down on the bed of the truck and began fucking in long, slow strokes. One, two, one, two. When his sperm had shot into her, he pulled out. "One down. Next on the firing line. Alfredo it's you."
Alfredo already had his prick at attention. He twisted and turned until she had a marvelous orgasm. Alfredo hopped off. Her stomach was smeared with sperm. Marco began to fumble with her breasts while Dezi lay panting toward his climax. Jaimi could not get his up and his friends laughed at him.
Susan decided to console Jaimi if she had a chance alone with him. He had sat among the others with his trousers down. They pulled his underpants off and he had clamped his legs together. His prick was too little, it was too soft. His prick could not get its head out. They laughed. Susan sympathized with him. She would suck him to life. A little prick is just as good as a big one. And a shy soldier is just as good a lover as a bold one. Tommy could not do it either, or he could do it too well, for his gun discharged before he had it in her. But they all had had cunt, and they made Tommy lick her and she had spread her legs far out to avoid crushing his thick glasses.
"Now that we have all had pussy, it is time for a little fun."
"Isn't it fun to have pussy? Wasn't my pussy good enough?"
"Yes, yes, a lovely cunt. But we are going to war soon, so we have to enjoy ourselves."
It began with some of the soldiers mumbling to themselves. After a while Susan realized that it was really a song. More and more of them mumbled along. The song became louder and in tune, but it was not a soldier's song. By the end of the song, all had joined in and it echoed from the hills they drove among. Finally she realized that she had heard the song before on a radio program about the war years. What was it now they were singing? Something about ... But no, she listened more closely and recognized it as a disguised version of "America the Beautiful."
They drove through the lovely landscape. Hills as round and soft as the thighs of a young girl. It was green, and fir trees covered the hills. Small, comfortable-looking houses with green roofs, and bigger houses with smaller ones clustered around them. Susan had begun to make friends with some of the soldiers. She had shared their dinner with them and drank their wine from the large canteen. She had been passed around once, but knew it would happen again before the day was finished.
"Tell me, who is it really you are going to war against. Who are you going to fight when you say you are going to fight for freedom?"
"The Americans!"
"Si, Si! We'll throw the Americans out
"What Americans?"
"Well ... the enemies of the People."
"Come on, don't talk so much about it. We have already been told not to worry about it. Others, who know more than we do, have thought about it carefully."
Susan looked thoughtfully at them.
"Aha, I understand. Do not think, let your leaders do it for you!"
"That is right. Now, where have I heard that before?"
All the time they had been driving through lovely mountainous country. A sentry stopped the truck and flashed a light on Susan. For an instant she forgot to speak Spanish and cursed him in English. He looked strangely surprised. Amazing, the soldiers in the Army these days. The moon lighted the forested countryside with a silvery light. On such a night, people ought to be home screwing, Susan thought. Or maybe they should find a soft bed of moss in the forest and the soldiers could take off their uniforms. But then, too, nudity is a kind of uniform. Susan noted with surprise how much she had begun to have strange thoughts in the past few weeks. It was almost as though she were growing up, becoming mature. Was she getting old? Nah, nobody gets too old to screw. Susan felt her crotch. At least there were no gray hairs there. It was a little worn, but time would take care of that.
Before they reached the place where they were to camp, a small dog ran alongside the truck and barked. The corporal who was sitting in front with the driver took out his rifle and shot it. It was a hostile act to bark at soldiers of the Army who were coming to free Mexico from the American toadies. From enemies who did their own thinking. From people who thought about pornography. From people with dirty, natural thoughts.
Before they stopped Susan was made to notice the independently thinking prick heads. They each gave Susan their sperm injection in their own way. Everyone had his own rhythm, some groaned loudly and let their pricks glide gently between her labia, some rammed home with every stroke. Uniforms did not remove the individuality from these pricks, which had only one thing in common: the desire to be buried in Susan's defenseless cunt. A prick head tends to think in ways not approved by regulations.
The corporal ordered the soldiers off of her. He wanted his turn. He slid his prick into her and began pumping violently. He had not taken part in the afternoon session and was more than eager. After he had shot his load of sperm into her, he fondled her breasts and the expensive material of her slip.
"Susan, is it true that you were sent by the enemy to destroy our morals, as I have guessed?"
"Nonsense. Morals destroy themselves. Just like a tire on a car that has gotten too much air. It bumps along and is uncomfortable, and finally it explodes. It is the same with morals everywhere in the world. And if there is anything special about Mexican morals, it is that they have been the same for too many centuries. They are moldy, stale."
Susan was surprised at herself for speaking so boldly to the corporal, who was more important than the other soldiers. But he nodded understandingly.
"You come from the North, is that not true?"
"Yes, but not voluntarily."
She told her story to the officer. But he could not help her get back. At least not right now. Perhaps later he could put her in touch with the proper people.
But they had no more time to sit and chat. The soldiers regarded her as their mascot, and they wanted to fuck her, not have her tell stories. They felt strong and brave. Tomorrow they would fight. They were going to destroy the people who would rather make love than study the writing of Comrade Marx.
Susan was again treated to a round of pricks from the platoon. Tony first and then in the same order as earlier. The shy soldier who had come too quickly before had learned something. He maneuvered his prick into her and tried to think of Marx and Engels and the writings of Chairman Mao to keep from beaming too excited. But Susan was beautiful, and when she rubbed her stomach against his, he felt the long satisfying surges pour into her. But he was happy not to have spilled over her cunt hair.
After they had made camp and all the others had had their fill of her, she waved to the shy Jaimi and led him over to some bushes where the others could not see. She began by kissing him deeply. He sighed. She caressed his stomach and allowed her little finger to tickle his balls. Slowly his little prick began to fill with blood. It became bigger and bigger until it was exactly like the others, for even though a prick may be tiny when it is soft, erect they are all very much a-like. Jaimi's grew hard and erect. And he could use his organ when the others were not there to watch. The others might grin at him during the day, but now he was filled with a power and lust that almost made Susan faint with pleasure. She did not even have the strength to roll him off when he had finished and had fallen asleep with his head between her legs.
A dead dog was lying in a garden somewhere and a dead commissar in a morgue. Dried sperm stained all the under pants in the camp, and Susan dreamed of a garage in Boston. If only she had listened to the boss and had kept away from the red Ferrari! Then Jaimi might never have released his passion into a real woman.
CHAPTER 8
Susan awakened to find that Jaimi had abandoned her pussy. The camp was about to break up for the wars, and since she was well hidden among the bushes, they had forgotten that her luscious body was not already on the truck. As she groggily sat up, the shouting, excited military mob was already pulling onto the country road in their heavy truck, which although it was not especially fast was still too fast to be caught by a bare-assed girl. Her slip had rolled up around her waist from the moisture, both dewy and spermy, and her nipples showed little nipples of cold. She looked around the trampled area. Only a few burned spots hinted that the liberation army had been practicing on a small scale its democratization process. But under a bush she found a coarse military shirt which had lost its buttons. When she had put it on, the arms had to be rolled up and the tails slapped against her bare thighs. Her breasts peeped innocently from between the lapels. But at least it hid her expensive slip and that was good since Western dress was not approved of here. There were some strangely shaped boulders and a little spring where she washed herself. She found some berries but she longed for a proper meal. She climbed clumsily up onto one of the boulders and could see the silhouette of a large city with smoking chimneys. Some sheep were grazing nearby and there was a dirty sheep-skin cloak, but no humans to be seen. She wrapped the sheep-skin around her and started toward the city. She followed small, unused paths, and the way was hard. It was almost dark when she reached the outskirts of the city.
There was a little hotel on a square paved with cobblestones. She entered and the desk-clerk looked at her hostilely.
"Americans, eh! Have you anything to sell on the blackmarket?"
Susan thought feverishly. Yes, she could get a little something for her elegant slip. She went into the toilet and came back with it in her hand. The man's eyes warmed at the sight of it. He pulled her carefully to one side before he whispered:
"200 pesos. And a room as part of the bargain. It is hard to find rooms right now because of the sheep-herders' convention. Yes, Teplica is becoming a big and important town."
At that moment a heavily bearded man came up to them. He looked closely at Susan and grabbed her arm. He stroked the sheepskin cloak.
"Well, here is the thief. You have stolen my cloak. I saw you up there last night with the soldiers. But you did not need to steal."
"Oh, please, I am sorry. You may have it back, but I do not have anything on underneath. All my clothes are gone."
"Let me see. I love girls who do not wear anything under their coats."
He grabbed her again and pulled the cloak up so that he and the desk-clerk could see the dirty military shirt. She tried to cover her breasts, not because she was especially modest, but because she thought that in this puritanical country the men might be shocked by the sight of her girlish breasts. But they both grinned widely and winked to each other.
"Listen now, my little American apple pie. You have stolen this man's coat. He can report you to the police and since you are a capitalist slut and he is a poor farmer, there would be no mercy. But he is willing to settle out of court."
Susan had an idea of how it was to be settled "out of court." She looked at the two men. At least it had something to do with pricks and pussies.
"Where shall we settle it?"
"Yes, let me see. I have a small office in back. I could lend it out for a quick deal if I get my cut."
Susan nodded. His cut almost certainly had to do with emptying his testicles. The shepherd led her into the room and immediately pulled down his trousers. He pointed at his thick, limp, leathery prick and indicated that she should get busy. First she removed his cloak and hung it beside the door, then she slipped off the shirt. She began to run her fingers up and down the shepherd's prick, pumping a little, until it rose with majestic passion. Or considering the country she was in, with totalitarian pussy hunger. He began to groan hoarsely and to reach for her breasts, which he kneaded roughly, but there was something primitively exciting about him and in spite of his roughness her nipples became stiff. She sighed. It was time to fuck again, and she was not sure that she would have a climax this time.
This man was probably more accustomed to boring his iron into the backsides of ewes. But in spite of his lack of skill, he was gentle as he placed her on the cot in one corner of the room. He bent over her and kissed her stomach, thrust his tongue into her navel; shudders of pleasure ran through her body. She put her arms around him and drew him to her. If he was going to fuck her, it was time to get moving. But he was having fun, and got back upon his knees and lowered his hairy head between her thighs.
She saw his mouth, a pinkish red in the black of his beard, open and his tongue, slowly, moistly, touch the air blindly, feeling for her cunt. He drove his tongue into her panting and twisting until his cheeks were smeared with her juice. When he felt that she had almost reached her breaking-point, he pulled himself up again. His prick was still at attention and with a roar he pounded into her. Susan knew that her climax was near and she humped her hips to meet the shepherd. He fucked with great clumsy movements as his worm swelled into a snake burrowing deeply into her passionate hole. She began to moan in rhythm with him and finally with a howl he released his People's Democratic sperm into her imperialist chasm. He lay still for a while to catch his breath.
"That was the best fuck I have ever had. Are all American girls so lovely to fuck with? If so, I think I will defect to America."
"We do not have many sheep in Massachusetts, but the girls are all like me."
"To hell with sheep, as long as there are some little lambs like you."
"But have you forgiven me for borrowing your cloak? I did not have anything else to wear."
"I have more than forgiven you. And you can borrow my cloak as often as you want. As long as I get the same reward for it."
"I'll see what I can do. But I would much rather try to get home again."
"That is a pity. But now the desk-clerk is waiting for you."
"O.K., let him come. My cunt is accustomed to about everything."
Susan lay quietly, and rested. The desk-clerk came in with a plate of food. He explained that he was terribly busy at the moment but that she should eat and gather her strength for her turn with him. Susan was hungry and the food was delicious. When she had finished, the desk-clerk came in and stared expectantly at her naked lap. She lay back on the bed with her legs open. There was no need to hide that her cunt had already been flushed out by the shepherd. Her breasts peeped shyly from the open front of the shirt which she had put on again in the chilly room. He had, after all, given her 200 pesos for a dirty, used slip. As he came nearer, the man suddenly stopped and stared frightenedly at her shirt.
"Hey, you take a lot of chances to steal a military shirt too. That is very, very dangerous. But I will hide it for you. Take it off."
Susan removed the shirt and lay back naked upon his cot. He lay down beside her and began to stroke her breasts."
"Know what? I am afraid that I cannot get hard right now because I was so frightened by your having a military uniform on. Would you suck a little bit until it gets stiff?"
"Of course, bring it here."
Before he had a chance to answer, she herself had pulled his prick out and had begun to fondle it and his balls. She placed the flat of her hand over his genitals and began to make gently circling movements. It was not long before he grew too big for one hand. His prick thrust itself up between her thumb and index finger and she began to pull and push until his uncircumcised head emerged from its covering skin. Then she rose up and bent over him. She let her tongue slide around the smooth head and toyed with the tiny opening in the center. She would show him that foreigners had nothing to teach her. She gave a powerful suck and drew his entire length into her mouth. She nipped it tenderly and felt it grow bigger and stiffer.
Then she pulled her head away and it stood proudly and independently, swaying in the breeze. She fell back and opened her legs to him. He did not need to caress her, she was already wet enough. He threw himself upon her and drove his pump into her. He was experienced and knew how to control himself so that she reached a climax for the second time. She sighed in contentment and wrapped her legs around him as his state-authorized seed spurted into her.
"Well, my little girl. Now you have a place to sleep. As I said the hotel is completely filled. I telephoned to the Hotel Slava and Hotel Stessen but there is not a clean room to be found in town. But on the top floor I have a room that is let to a crew of truck drivers who sleep there in shifts. You can sleep there. Good night, little friend. It is too bad you did not have any American money. Dollars are especially good."
Susan remembered the 100 dollar bill hidden in her knot of hair. So, it would be useful in an emergency. She looked down at her naked body which was spotted with dried sperm.
"But, I cannot go through the hotel like this."
"No one will see you. But you can borrow the cleaning woman's smock."
Susan slipped into the blue smock which was much too big for her. She climbed the stair to the top floor and put the key into the door to open it. It was dark and warm in the room, but the light from the window was enough for her to see the primitive bed that filled the room. She entered and opened the window to look out for a while over the ancient houses of Teplica. She pulled off her smock and climbed into bed. There was some one in bed with her. The desk-clerk had not said that there was always a truck driver in the bed. But this person had awakened and was reaching for her. He was fat and flabby and he stank of alcohol and chewing tobacco. He pulled her on top of him and spread his legs so that she could kneel between them. His prick was already stiff-he had undoubtedly been fondling it in his sleep-and entered her pussy at exactly the right angle. She was not really sure whether the man was awake or dreaming. Maybe he thought an angel had crept into his bed, maybe he was used to the desk-clerk sending girls up. But anyway, he took her by her hips and began bouncing her up and down until she felt the throb of his orgasm in her.
Susan relaxed into the fat man's embrace. He was nice even though she could not understand anything of what he said. But he could fuck. He fingered her cunt idly for a while and seemed curious about the great amount of moisture in her-but unfortunately she could not tell him he had been number three that night.
She was awakened in the middle of the night when her bed companion got up to put his clothes on. He went out into the corridor and began speaking Mexican with some one, then he came back into the room. After he had been in and out several times, he took his clothes off again and crept back into bed with her. He immediately moved his hand to her pussy, but when he kissed her she realized right away that this was not the same man. A switch had been made while she lay and dozed. But his prick was already at attention and she spread her legs obediently. He climbed on her and began pumping furiously, all the time moaning in her ear. He bit her earlobe in the midst of his climax, then rolled to her side and immediately fell asleep.
When Susan awakened that morning, the man was still sleeping. She slipped out of bed to go to the toilet and to douche herself clean of the sperm, from the four men. She washed herself with a cloth and put the cleaning woman's smock on. She was embarrassed to go downstairs among other people dressed like this, but when she stood in the hotel lobby, she saw that everyone had on similar clothing. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Her friend the desk-clerk was gone to be replaced by another man. She had her two hundred pesos in her pocket so she could afford breakfast in the hotel dining room. After she had sat down, she began to look at the people around her.
A short, chubby woman sat at the next table. She was rather attractive and had soft, pale blue eyes and very blonde hair up in a knot like Susan's. During her breakfast a number of young women came to her and spoke in low tones, gave her something, and disappeared quickly. Susan was curious. The woman noticed her and with a friendly wave invited her to join her. She was offered a glass of thin coffee. The woman's name was Nina and said that she was poor. She confided to Susan that the State stole everything from her and that of everything she earned the State demanded a percentage. Just like at home, Susan thought.
Nina said that sometimes she did sewing for people, but illegally so that she did not have to pay these absurd taxes to the State. And tax cheaters, just like at home, Susan said to herself. But Nina was not so poor that she could not invite Susan home for dinner and maybe even to stay with her for a while. They left the hotel together and on the way met a blonde and very beautiful girl named Rosita. Rosita and Nina kissed each other on the cheek and even Susan was given a quick peck. It seemed the accepted thing here for people to kiss each other on the street, maybe it meant that it was a friendly country. As soon as they entered the door of Nina's luxurious home, both women took off their dresses, lay down on a wide sofa, and began kissing each other's thighs unrestrainedly. Rosita stuck her hand inside Nina's panties and Nina tugged Rosita's panties down and began kissing her stomach and curling her fingers through her pubic hair.
They smiled invitingly to Susan. Well, why not, she thought. At least she would not get any more sperm in her pussy this way. They helped pull her clothing off and whistled appreciatively when they saw she had nothing on under her smock. They pulled her down onto the sofa and each sat on one side of her. Rosita had a full body with huge round breasts that stood up firm and proud. Her nipples were out-lined in reddish-brown and the nipples themselves resembled ripe, juicy raspberries. Susan nibbled experimentally on the nearest and the woman began to laugh with delight.
Her lovely face was clearly Spanish and she spoke a heavily accented English. Nina however, spoke perfect English. Nina was fat. She had a great round stomach that is rarely displayed in these days of fashion models and her navel was hidden down a long tunnel that resembled the sexual organs of a baby girl. Susan felt her way into the tunnel and began to toy with her navel until she fell backwards jibbering with pleasure. Her thighs were enormous and Susan could see the marks left by garter straps. Her breasts Were huge and had tiny, raisin-like nipples. Susan allowed one of her fingers to brush a nipple and Nina squirmed with lust. She squeezed her eyes shut and her full red lips opened over pearly white teeth and her tongue appeared, sticking up like a stiff prick. Susan climbed on top of her and began sucking her tongue.
Nina threw one powerful arm around her and drew her nearer. Nina's pussy was monstrous, like the crater of an active volcano, pink and moist. Her pubic hair was fine and curly, but trimmed very short. The lips of her cunt were moist and full and glistened with the juice of her passion. Susan stuck one finger in the huge pussy.
Rosita was not just a passive on-looker all this time either. She fondled Susan's breasts and buttocks and now she forced one finger into Susan's anus. Susan bent her head over her hostess's huge cleft and began running her tongue up and down, sucking the plum-sized clitoris. She felt two warn fingers exploring her crotch. Rosita spread Susan's buttocks as she forced her finger into her anus, now bent her head between Susan's thighs. Susan threw her legs apart to receive her better. She heard a distinct smack when the fat woman grabbed Rosita's buttocks and buried her prick-tongue into her crotch. They lay there for a long time in their bed of pleasure with the juice running down their thighs and the delicate skin of the two Mexican women becoming darker withv teeth marks and the strawberry welts of sucking mouths. After a while Nina looked down at Susan and said with a smile:
"Hello, little friend, shall we trade places."
Rosita had understood immediately, dived into Nina's crotch, leaving her own legs spread invitingly for Susan, who now felt the fat woman's passionate tongue where before Rosita had sucked and nipped. They had their climaxes in unison and separately and in harmony again. They did not hear the door open, or maybe the two women were accustomed to the man who now came in to watch their passion. He mumbled something and smiled when Susan sat up.
"Well, Zorro, already. Come, look. We have gotten an American girl for you to fuck."
"Yes, and now Rosita is going into town and I must cook dinner, so you have her lovely body for yourself. And this evening there is a party. Rosita has already been on the telephone and there will be many new pussies in Teplica tonight."
Zorro took his trousers off, and while the two women dried themselves and began preparing themselves for the daily business of living, the big man began to fondle Susan, who was suddenly surprised to remember that this would be her first real prick of the day. Although she had had several delightful climaxes. Zorro stood with his iron before her nose. It pointed straight up and to one side and it was the first time that Susan noticed the thick vein on the underside of a half-stiff prick. But then he shoved her back and began to drive in and out of her with rapid movements. He was very excited and when he was about to come he drew his prick out and let his sperm splash over her stomach and down onto the expensive sofa where they lay. Before he had begun to lose his stiffness, he pushed his prick back into her then picked her up, supporting her with his prick and two hands clamped on her buttocks. He walked with her to a large bed in an adjoining room and began screwing her once more. She was relaxed in every limb and very satisfied when Nina called to them that dinner was ready. Their dinner talk was amusing even though it had to be carried out in a mixture of broken English, Spanish, and some whispered Indian which was quickly stopped out of respect for their American guest.
Susan saw quickly that Nina's extra income from illegal "sewing" must pay quite well. Her biggest income was from girls who came all during the morning and a few just after dinner. They delivered their hard-earned money as a commission for Nina finding customers for them. And none of these "pussy" fees was reported to the greedy and all-absorbing state.
After dinner a young man arrived who, after a short conversation, fucked Susan while the others watched. He came quickly and bowed as he drew his trousers up He paid some money to Nina who told Susan that the price just covered the cost of a dinner and an overnight stay with her. Susan did not care.
During the evening several young men came to fuck. Most of them chose either Rosita or Susan, but one preferred to lay the hostess herself. She pulled her long underpants down and exposed her great red cunt. The man's prick immediately rose in appreciation. He hurriedly drew Nina into a side room while Susan stood in the doorway and watched the huge thighs waving in the air over his tiny buttocks and the juice ran down over her flabby pale loins.
After Susan had lived with Nina for about ten days, a handsome middle-aged man with silvery gray hair came for a visit. He was Rosita's lover. She had spoken of him a little and had warned Susan that she must not discuss sex in front of him. He was an American diplomat and a very refined man. He had earned his money in the canning industry and Rosita had promised not to screw with anyone else but him. But he had to wait before he could have her because she hoped that he could arrange a ticket to the United States for her. He was very friendly when he heard about the sufferings of the new girl. His face became very stern when he heard that she had entered the country with the "liberation" army who had come to drive the Americans out. Now the "liberators" and the Americans were good friends and a secret agreement had been made that the Americans would be permitted to liberate some other people in another part of the world in the same way without protests from the Russians. Of course, some place, that the Russians had absolutely no interest in. But at least the balance of power had been maintained. But Rosita confided all this in a whisper to Susan because it was top-secret. Susan heard much business stated in the time she lived and fucked in Nina's house. One day the news on the radio told of a naked blonde girl who had crept over the border with some soldiers in order to spy for the Americans. She had been bold enough to steal a soldier's shirt, and not only that, a state hotel employee had been arrested for trying to sell an American slip on the blackmarket for 500 pesos. The people in the house became thoughtful and agreed that it would be best for Susan if she were smuggled out of the country. The American diplomat offered to transport her across the country to the border where the underground groups would lead her the rest of the way. He had diplomatic immunity and was taking no great risk.
She was far from her passionate friends in Teplica when the American stopped the car. His gray hair was perfectly combed and his voice was perfectly composed when with a perfect movement he placed his hand on Susan's thigh. He knew that she did not have any panties on under her blue smock.
"Well, little friend. Now comes the payment. Shall we fuck?"
Susan was prepared. She had noticed his lustful gaze during the entire trip. She crawled into the backseat and stretched out. It was wide enough for both of them. He pulled his prick out and stroked it a few times, something that she would have been more than glad to have helped him with. Then he knelt on the floor of the backseat and popped his dick into her warm cunt. It did not take long before she felt his warm, thin sperm shooting into her.
"Ah, that was that. Now I will drive you to the border. But you must take care of contacting the underground yourself. And you must make your own arrangements on the other side of the border. Actually I am committing a hostile act against my friends the Mexicans by doing this much. But of course you understand this. Just do not talk about it. If I am sent to Boston, I will look you up and you can show me the town and maybe we can find a bench and screw in the park."
Susan nodded. She jumped out of the car when he showed her the boundary markers.
"Where are we really? Is this America or Mexico?"
"The nearest town is called Velenica and the big one we passed through a while ago was Ceska. If you are lucky enough to get over the border without being either shot or raped by the Mexicans you will come to Lubbock, Texas.
He started the car and left Susan alone on the dark country road. A policeman in a gray uniform was approaching with a threatening look.
CHAPTER 9
Susan was frightened by the sight of the fierce-looking policeman. She wanted to turn to the. American for help and protection, but he had already started his car and drove away without hearing her shout.
"Stop! Help! How am I to cross the border?"
She shouted in English and the policeman who was now beside her answered in English as he stared greedily at her lightly clad form. She still had only her smock to wear and it was not buttoned properly.
"Well, well, you want to cross the border. What are you thinking of doing on the other side? Is our country suddenly not good enough for you, you American pig!"
"Of course, it is."
"Anybody can say that. But in any case you are not going to cross the border right away. First you must be searched, and I will do the searching ... very thoroughly. Yes, very thoroughly. Maybe you would like to have your boobs searched first?"
"Yes, Mr. Police-Chief, I will do anything you want, as long as I can go home. I did not ask to come to this country."
"Well, didn't you. But you see, I have heard the radio. People are looking for you. You are a very dangerous person and it is reported that you have dynamite in your pussy. I do not know how the police in Teplica found this out, but you must be dangerous. You stole a sheep-skin cloak from a shepherd and it was reported that there were secret documents in it. And you stole a military shirt thereby undermining the morale of our allies. And not only that you have seduced a hotel employee to deal on the blackmarket. I do not know how much of this is true, but at least that is what they said on the radio."
"But it is not true, none of it. I borrowed the cloak, and the shepherd fucked me in repayment. And I found the shirt because I did not have any clothes, it had been thrown away. And I also paid for that with my pussy. And that hotel clerk who fucked me so much ... well, I did not have any money for a room, so he himself suggested that I should give him my slip...."
"Ha! It said on the radio that it was a sexy American slip."
"That is up to those who look at it, and if the infamous police commissars say that it was sexy then it must be they themselves who get excited by it."
The policeman smiled sardonically when she insulted his superiors. He gripped her arm firmly and led her behind some bushes where he began fondling her breasts and lifting her smock. He put one clammy hand on her stomach and inserted his thumb into her pussy. He moaned with pleasure when he felt her beautiful warm skin beneath his hand.
"Tell me, girl, do you have any American money on you."
Susan trembled with fear. She had forgotten whether the 100 dollar bill was bidden in her pussy or her hair. She did not answer.
"Well, no, where would you get that from. But it is my duty to search you thoroughly. Come here. Behind this willow tree there is some grass and a blanket from the last time I had to examine a female defector. What is your name?"
"Susan. Tell me, is it a very painful examination?"
"Not unless you are a virgin. But you are no virgin if the radio told the truth. My name is Carlos."
"The information was completely untrue except for the fucking part. But let us get it over with. I assume that I will be put in prison afterwards."
"That depends. First you must be interrogated by my comrades."
Susan lay down on the blanket behind the willow tree and spread her legs. Carlos drew out his prick which was already stiff and looked bluish in the weak light. Nearby Susan could see the roof of a house and the entrance to a small cafe.
"You must excuse me, Susan, but women defectors always hide their money in their cunts, so I must go in to examine you. But since I am a peaceful man and mild, I will not put my rough fingers in there, that would be disgusting. And my tongue is not long enough for a thorough search. So I must use what I have. And my prick is certainly long enough, I think."
"Of course it is. I have tried various kinds of pricks-police pricks, soldier pricks, diplomatic pricks, smuggler pricks, cave explorer pricks. Just jump on, I am not particular."
"You insult me. You should be thankful. I could have split your cunt up to your navel with my bayonet so that it would have been too large for normal pleasures any more. But spread your legs a little more."
Carlos knelt between her lifted thighs and began caressing her stomach and inner thighs. He groaned as he spread her pussy and sank into her. He did not need to guide his prick, it sniffed its way in without help. Slowly he entered her to his full length. Carlos fucked calmly, first slowly, then more rapidly, but never wildly. At last he drew his prick out and allowed his sperm to shoot out over the grass so that he did not soil her smock. He was a gentleman.
"That was that, little girl. You fuck splendidly, but as you yourself say, you have had practice. Unfortunately I cannot delve into your delightful cunt more than this once. I have proven that you do not have any American money on you. But now there is the question of Mexican money. That is also forbidden."
"How do people manage in this country? Is that why everyone is so poor? Or do you pay for everything by exchanging fucks?"
"Now do not be bitter. Of course the people are poor, but they do have money. Of course some must pay by the barter system. But you can understand that it is only on trips outside the country that it is forbidden to have money along."
"I do not understand anything. If a person has American money, it is forbidden, and your own money cannot be taken out of the country, so how is a person to manage when he travels to the other side?"
"Little friend, no one travels to the other side. Only refugees."
"Well, but I have eleven pesos left from selling my slip."
"You must spend them. All your money must be used in our shops."
"Of course, but the shops are closed. And there is nothing I want!"
"There is a cafe over there. Come on, we can buy something."
"Good, you can buy wine for yourself."
"Are you crazy? You cannot tempt a policeman with wine, it sounds like bribery. Besides, I piss too much when I drink wine. And I do not smoke."
They went to the cafe anyway, where the only thing they had for sale was some matches and a few Donald Duck comic books in which Donald was called Donaldo and wore a star. She did not want to read the comic books so she bought a candle and some matches with her money.
Carlos was very satisfied when he led her into the town and through the cellar door of a small gray house. In the low room with a bare light bulb, four men sat and played cards. They had taken their uniform jackets off and loosened their belts. Their faces were red from too much wine. They looked up curiously but not hostilely when Susan and Carlos came in.
"Look what I caught. This is the one who sabotaged the army and undermined the morale of a hotel employee so that he dealt on the blackmarket by selling the people American underclothing. Isn't she a beautiful capitalist toady? Now she wants to cross the border. She arrived in an American car."
"We must interrogate her. Does she have friends on the other side? Do you know anyone? Do you have any American money? Who is to help you over the border?"
Susan held her ears. She tried to answer one question at a time.
"Stop, stop. The American said he would drive me to the border. He fucked me on the way and then threw me out."
"Well, yes, he has diplomatic immunity. I saw the license plates."
"So, he was a diplomat, then he is really a friend of the government."
"But even so, we still must interrogate her."
"We could gamble for the privilege."
Susan thought they would gamble to decide which of them would examine her cunt to see if she had secret documents hidden there. But they pulled up another chair and told her to sit down. They put the cards away and Carlos went to stand watch at the door. Then they put a wine bottle on the table and spun it around. Now she understood, they were going to play a kind of strip poker with her, but since she had only her smock, she was in trouble. But it was not so bad-the bottle pointed at one of the policeman who took his trousers off and drank some wine, put the cork in again, and spun it once more. The next man took his trousers off and drank some wine. Susan was permitted to spin the bottle a few times, but she was lucky. When she finally had to take off her smock, two of the policemen had only their socks left, the others were completely naked. When she exposed her breasts, the man who had spun the bottle jumped up, grabbed her, threw her on the table, spread her legs, ducked his head, and began tonguing her pussy until it was soaking wet. Then he bored into her with his quivering prick, pumping away rapidly standing there beside the table. He held her under her knees and was just as good as many another man who had fucked her, but then no better either. When he had fired his salvo into her, he pulled away and dried his prick in the newly won blue smock. The next man stepped up and balled her in the same position at the edge of the table. She realized that the smock would never cover her again. She closed her eyes and threw herself into intercourse. She enjoyed it as much as she could. She thought they would take her out and shoot her afterwards because whe was an enemy of the people. After they had all fertilized her vagina well with their sperm, they helped her to her feet and indicated that she should follow. She stumbled and reeled as though she still had a huge prick inside of her and the sperm ran in a thin stream down her naked thighs.
"Hey, if we are going on a hike, I should have my smock on."
"Impossible. You lost it to Pedro. But do not worry, you will be well packed in for the trip over the border."
She groaned. They were going to murder her and ship her corpse over the border to freedom. But they pulled out a large carpet and began rolling her into it.
"May I ask what is going to happen to me?"
"Excuse us, we forgot. Now we will roll you in this carpet and carry you over to the office of the police. You see, they do not like to beat carpets and we do. When we return this carpet to the police chief, we always pack a stray refugee in it. So everybody is happy. When he unpacks you, he will search you for our money in your cunt."
"Yes, but ... do you help refugees over? But you are policemen!"
"Ah, that is not important. If the police do not break laws, who should? I am sure that in your own country it is the police who help smugglers sell cigarettes and help tax evaders get passports to other countries. You must understand that it demands a special mentality to be a policeman."
Susan nodded. She was just happy that they would help her to Texas, even though she did not know anyone there who could help her. But wait, she did have the money hidden in her hair. These nice policemen would undoubtedly appreciate having some American money.
"Well, you have all been so nice, so please take this."
She took the bill out of her hair. They looked at her in surprise. Just think, in spite of everything she had tricked them. She could easily have gotten the money out.
"We could have been saved the trouble of probing your cunt."
"Are you sorry?"
"Well, well, but oh boy!"
"The point is, Susan, that we are happy to take your money, but not for helping you across. But we can use the money to bribe the higher authorities in the area. Everyone who crosses is provided with clothing and money. This we will take for our police assistance fund. We buy...."
"Ah, you buy wine with the money."
"Wine! Are you crazy. We buy cognac, of course.
But now Susan was rolled into her blanket and the only things she had to take over the border were a box of matches in one hand and a large candle in the other.
A half an hour later the carpet was unrolled in the office of the Border police chief. He looked with pleasure upon her naked body and without saying a word began fumbling with her breasts. He nipped one nipple until it was stiff and stood up like a fresh strawberry.
He bent over to nibble at the berry and sucked it into his small mouth. She looked at him. He was short and fat and very elegant in his dignified uniform. She immediately liked him. He released her nipple and stuck a greedy finger into the opening between her legs.
"Well, my little friend, what have you done that made it necessary for you to escape?"
"Well, I sabotaged the army, smuggled secret documents in a sheepskin cloak, tricked a state employee into dealing on the blackmarket, and imported stimulating underclothes to seduce the people!"
The man got a very stern look on his face. He looked carefully at her. All his friendliness was gone. For a moment she thought that he was a supporter of the Mexican government."
"I asked what you did, not what you were accused of. If we had to write up everything refugees were accused of and then believed it, we would have a world crisis with every story. Tell the truth. What did you do?"
"Nothing. I was kidnapped and raped by some Canadians, and since then I have been raped, fucked, and seduced by Lesbians and pimps and diplomats."
"Ah, that sounds more like it. Are you Canadian?"
"American. My name is Susan, and I want to go home." Susan began to cry. The captain of the guard patted her cheek, then her shoulders, breasts, thighs; then he toyed gently with her sweet little pussy. He stroked her mount of venus tenderly.
"There, there, Susan, you can go home. My name is Captain Smith and I shall help."
Susan stopped crying and smiled at the friendly, nice captain. He took her on his lap and caressed her thighs some more. She spread her legs so that he could get his hand into her crotch. It felt good. She was going to be fucked without having to play games first. It was lovely to be fucked normally for once. He had a bulge in his trousers and quickly unbuttoned to allow his sausage-sized prick to emerge. Susan discovered that she still had the candle in her hand. She was about to put it to one side when the captain saw it
"But what is this you have, little sweetheart?"
"Just a candle I bought in a Mexican cafe."
"But this will not do, you are smuggling. I would not have believed it of you. Now you must have it run up your asshole."
He took her and laid her across a chair so that her ass stuck up in the air. He took the candle and forced the narrow end into her anus and ran it in and out a few times. Then he stepped in front of her so that his thick prick was right in front of her face. She gave a sigh and drew it into her mouth. She would show this little man that she knew how to suck cock. He gasped but seemed to like it for he made tiny pumping motions in her mouth at the same time as he ran the candle in and out of her anus. He released the candle and began to fondle her buttocks. She sucked and munched on his fat little fucking stick and lifted her hands to play with his balls. Then she heard the door open and some one come into the office and say something very quickly that she did not understand. The man disappeared but the captain was so frightened that he released her buttocks and pumped more quickly into her mouth. Just as he was about to come, he pulled out and his entire load splashed across Susan's face and into her eyes so that she was blinded. She could not see what the man was doing but she felt some of it. He drew the candle out of her anus and inserted the thick end. At first it would not go in, and the captain grunted in annoyance. Then it fitted firmly and she heard and smelled a match being lit. Then there was a knock at the door.
The new arrival used a language she did not understand, but then switched to a strongly accented English. "Another refugee?"
"No, no, Major, this is no refugee, this is my maid. I was preparing her for communion. See, there is a proper altar candle stuck in her ass. Note the artistic play of the flame over her round shanks."
"It seems to me that the candle resembles those we sell to tourists on our side!"
"Now that you mention it, Major, it does at that. Maybe she has tricked me. Unfortunately she cannot say anything. She is quite dumb, the poor child."
"We have methods for giving speech even to the tongueless."
"Ah, no, no torture. Remember we have given up things like that since we became a free country that denies the Germans and Hitler."
"Yes, yes, but we can amuse ourselves with her communion. Is she also deaf?"
"Absolutely, stone deaf."
"Then she has not understood what we are saying. I will play the priest and we can let her take communion right here. I am the priest, god damn it, I am a real priest. I am hot enough to be seven priests."
Susan realized that this man must not discover who she was, therefore she went along with the game of being deaf and dumb. She turned and stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes until the whites showed.
"Just look, how holy she is already."
Susan looked at the tall, thin major who was wearing a gray uniform with hundreds of stars on it. He unbuttoned his trousers and folded his hands. Susan rolled her eyes some more and took the captain's prick, which had not been stuffed back into his trousers yet. The Major took a step forward and grabbed her hand, so she held onto his prick too which quickly began to rise. She stood there for a moment masturbating the two policemen. Then the major discovered that on Susan the cunt was higher than normal.
"Listen Smith, with her build she can accommodate two missionaries."
"You mean that we two missionaries can stuff her? Good, let us try."
Captain Smith bent his knees slightly and propped his prick into Susan's cunt while the major removed the candle from her anus and leaned over her shoulder in an attempt to bore his stiff dick into the tight little hole. It finally went in, even though it hurt terribly. But fortunately her light barrier had already been broken. The major gripped her shoulders and began to drive wildly into her back-hole while the tiny groaning captain pumped more rapidly into her pussy. He had to stand on his toes but that made his movements perfect, and he understood how to hit her bull's eye every time. The major came first. His sperm filled her intestines and ran down her buttocks. He pulled out, buttoned his trousers, and bowed to the girl. He walked around to the other side so that he would not have to watch the policeman's face, which had become bright red and puffy at the peak of his pleasure. Then the captain fired off. He winked at Susan, who did not dare wink back. He drew his prick out and the two policemen dried their pricks.
"Let me tell you, Captain Smith, it is a good thing that she was not a refugee, because then I would have made things hot for you. We do not tolerate so many refugees slipping through. Remember, it is our influence with the Diplomats that keeps you here.
The major saluted the Captain who clicked his heels together.
When he was alone with Susan again, he began to talk incomprehensibly about their friendship as he led her to a cabinet filled with clothing she could choose from. There was no underwear that met her approval but there was a nice folk costume she thought would suit her. It was not exactly a miniskirt, but the skirts were full enough to sleep in. Susan had fitted the skirt and blouse on when an ordinary policeman came in. He reported that the General had arrived. Smith shoved Susan behind a curtain just as the important official came in. She could not hear everything they said but did gather that, first Smith was not to help Mexican refugees and, second, must not be friendly with the police from the other side of the border. She stood very quietly against the French doors hidden behind the curtain, but suddenly she was dizzy. All this wild life without much to eat had given her a mild case of anemia. She was able to open the French doors and stumble out into the darkness. A misty rain was falling and she hurried away. For the first time in a long time she had a long skirt on and a blouse that covered her breasts. And in a little pocket of the skirt was a purse that she guessed contained money. She did not run, that would look suspicious, so she walked quietly down the dark country road and finally came to the town. There was a small general store and for a while she stood outside looking at the goods displayed in the window. Then she went in and waited for some other customers to be served. A fat woman who was being served stopped in the middle of her order and stared, and the man behind the counter looked at Susan who was keeping shyly in one corner.
"What do you want, Miss?"
"Oh, it is not my turn."
"It does not matter. Even though we all appreciate the chance to see your lovely bosom and ankles all day, politeness demands that a stranger be served first. Would the little lady like a ... comb?"
Just then she spotted a shelf with some very sophisticated underwear. Strangely enough, it was exactly like the slip she had sold in Teplica.
Slit in front, so that the pussy was exposed and cut low so that both breasts hung out. She pointed at the slip.
"Have you many of those there?"
"Just that one. It is a sample, but' no one in this village would dare wear so provocative a piece of clothing. It is to stimulate men."
"I dare wear it. And I can promise you that it does get men excited, even though it usually takes far less."
"Less clothing, of course. But do you really wish to buy it, it costs twelve dollars. Yes, it is expensive."
"May I pay with this bill?"
The clerk looked thoughtful. Then his face brightened. "Yes, of course, just come in back to get change. I think it can be done."
Susan went with him. Him, too, she thought. People out in the shop began to gossip again. They had been very quiet while the clerk was talking with Susan. They giggled a little and looked at the closed door. One of the men said with a laugh:
"Yes, yes, so it is time to close for lunch here."
As soon as they were in the back room, Susan lay down on the man's bed, which stood unmade and dirty. She threw her legs apart and held her breasts invitingly. Her well-trained pussy was already gaping pinkly at the man who understood the situation. He had been afraid that he would have to convince the girl, but she did not need to be coaxed when she spread out like that. His prick came out of hiding and bumped its way toward her crotch. Afterwards they lay and talked about money problems for a while and Susan exchanged the rest of her money for German marks. She was told that the main highway north was nearby and she decided to hitchhike her way north.
On the road she quickly got three good rides toward home and only had to pay for one of them with a quick screw while they were parked in a rest stop area. She finally met a nice man who let her sleep in his hotel room over night-in bed with him, of course. But he was so tired that as quick as she took his prick he fired off on his own stomach. She lay for a while and splashed with the thick jelly until she fell asleep.
By now she was almost halfway home. She saw more cars with Massachusetts license plates. Then she saw the car. Her friend was in a roadside cafe eating. She had already finished and had come out for some fresh air. A long, red car with Massachusetts license plates had pulled up. A red Ferrari. She walked around it. It was as though an electric shock went through her brain when she saw the number AH 13373. That was the car she had seen in the garage. The one she had sneaked into. She had never seen the owner, but she knew that he often took trips south. Then she had to act. A tall thin man was coming directly toward the Ferrari and her friend had come to the door of the restaurant. She climbed behind the seat of the Ferrari and a moment later she felt the car begin to move. Then she fell asleep.
Susan had eaten and relieved herself and she really needed the sleep. For during the second night with her friend he had shown her Germanic efficiency even when it came to screwing a hitchhiking girl. She lay hidden, comfortable under a blanket, and did not awaken until the car stopped and the tall man stepped out. He entered a small restaurant, leaving the car under some trees near a ditch. Susan felt dirty and climbed out of the car. She removed her dress and washed herself in the ditch, then she climbed into the tree to relax in the sun. A crowd of men came out from drinking beer. She did not have time to fetch her dress, only her sexy slip before she got back into the car. And just as she expected them to drive away, the man returned. He opened the car door and saw Susan. His eyebrows rose. With a single glance he had taken in all her charms through the wet slip. He smacked his lips and got in, and a few moments later they were again driving north. A half an hour later he stopped the car and allowed Susan to get out. He stood and stared lustfully at her. Then he pulled his prick out, grabbed Susan by her hair, and pulled her face close to his prick. She understood. He wanted his prick sucked. He said nothing to her because he thought she was a foreigner. She thought it would be amusing to pretend she did not understand English.
When his prick was stiff and hard, he forced her to the ground. She spread her thighs and allowed him to enter her. She seemed to be always spreading her thighs these days when a man pointed at her, at least when he pointed in this way. But the man was really quite nice and caressed her breasts, kissed her, and whispered love words to her. She smiled at him and over his shoulder looked at her surroundings. It looked as though he had driven off the highway just to fuck her. When his spouting fountain had exhausted itself in her crotch, he patted her gently on the cheek. He mumbled something she couldn't quite hear.
"Oh, honey, it is too bad I cannot take you any further with me."
But he smiled friendly as he said it. Then he said:
"O.K., baby, you have gotten a ride with me and have paid for it in the usual way. So now our ways must part."
He gave her her soiled slip and pointed. Susan went behind some bushes and pretended to wash the seed out and the man walked to the other side of the car and let his warm golden stream pour out onto the soil. While he was gone, Susan sneaked back into the car. He did not look for her, but started up and after a long bumpy trip was back on the highway. Susan slept again, she did not know how long. When the car stopped, she climbed out, threw her arms around the man's neck. He looked surprised but then led her into a small grove of trees. She saw from a sign that they were halfway between Washington and New York, so it was not far to home now.
The man led her with a smile among the trees. He lay down on his back and let Susan sit astraddle him. She rode him to a lovely climax and fell beside him in a relaxed position. He stood up and put out his hand to her and led her to a open spot where he divided a bar of chocolate with her. Then he picked up her slip and carried it back among the trees but away from the highway. In about ten minutes he came back without the slip. He pointed. She saw now that he had placed it on the branch of a tree near a small lake far from his car. He pointed again.
"Look, little girl, while you fetch it I can drive off and leave you."
Susan looked unhappy. She seemed about to cry and walked slowly among the trees. But as soon as he disappeared toward the highway, she turned around. Stark naked, she ran down the steep slope and reached the car before him and climbed in before he could see her. He started again and from now on she stayed quietly in the dark space behind the seat. She did not want to be kicked out again. Susan slept off and on for hours. Finally she felt sure they were nearing Boston and she started to get concerned. Her problem was that she no longer had any clothing. She did not worry about not having any panties on, that luxury she had long done without. She felt the car slow, heard the noise of city buses, listened to the drivers driving with their horns instead of their heads as they always did, then she began to stretch her legs. She had no idea where the man planned to end his trip, she did not even know what his name was, just that he was a good customer at Pete's garage. She would give ... yes, she would give a whole night's fucking for free just to know where she was headed.
At the garage, Pete stood and looked around. His fiancee had thrown him over and he thought about the little girl who was so hot after him. Young, but passionate. He went up to Henry, who had been so silent after the rumors that the girl had disappeared. He had admitted that he had had her out driving, but not that he had whipped her, only that he had put her out of the car out in the suburbs.
"Are you sure that you just fucked her. I know that she did not want to screw with you. And why did they find her dress covered with blood?"
"I do not know, boss. I fucked her and put her out." Henry figured, like the others, that the girl had been raped and killed after she had not turned up, so he felt he could deny everything, even the whipping.
They heard a loud engine and the red Ferrari came rolling into the garage.
"Hey, Pete, I am home again. What about a checkup. I do not want to touch the wheel for days. You take care of all the necessary things, eh?"
"O.K. But it will be Henry, since he knows the car best."
Henry flinched. The car reminded him of the disappeared, naked Susan. He walked toward the car. Pete watched him and said to the car's owner:
"Maybe you did not know since you have been gone so long, but a girl disappeared from this street while she was out with Henry. He had had your car out for a test drive and fucked her and kicked her out."
"That is funny. I also had a girl in there. I fucked her and threw her out, too. Come here, see where she hid herself."
Henry became pale at their words. Then the man gripped the back of the seat and with a quick jerk pulled it forward allowing light to pour down over Susan. Naked and as delicious as always, she jumped up and looked down at the three frightened men.
"Hi, every one, here I am. Thanks for the trip."
THE END
---------
Book II - STRANGE PERVERSIONS
CHAPTER ONE
On a lovely June day a Viscount aircraft sped along the runway at Lyon airport and rose majestically into the air. It was an internal flight bound for Paris. Two minutes later it crashed just beyond the perimeter of the airport. No one survived the tangled mass of wreckage and exploding fuel tanks.
Fifteen-year-old Claude Dumont, who had been waving goodbye to his parents as the aircraft had roared overhead, stared in disbelief. He then stared at his grandmother, who had fainted and lay on the ground at his feet. After that everything became confused.
Two weeks later Elsa Mollet, Claude's aunt, and his mother's sister, stood waiting at the train station in Paris for a train from the south. A kindly-faced forty-five-year-old woman, comfortably plump, she looked anxiously over her spectacles when the train arrived and the passengers disembarked. When she saw Claude, standing alone with his suitcase and looking lost, she bustled towards him a smile on her face. Taking his suitcase, and putting a protective arm around his shoulders, she led him towards a taxi stand.
Elsa Mollet, who had volunteered to take Claude under her wing at a family meeting soon after the plane crash, took her new duties seriously. She was determined to treat Claude exactly the same way as she treated her own son-sixteen-year-old Jacques. She had explained the situation to her son, and Jacques had agreed to accept his cousin and treat him like a brother. Elsa's husband, as always, fell in with his wife's plans, accepting the fact that he now had two sons instead of one.
Claude, who had recovered from his shock although not his grief at what had happened, accepted his new home with an obedient docility which sometimes worried his aunt. Although she tried her best, and indeed always treated Claude as if he was her own son, she never really got to know him. He seemed to be deaf to her overtures. Unlike her own son who was noisy, garrulous, and affectionate, Claude remained polite, reserved, and almost deliberately distant. After a while she stopped worrying. Claude had-good appetite, and he looked healthy enough, so she left it at that. He was attending the same school as her son, and his school reports were good. She had done her duty towards her sister's only offspring. She only wished that she had seen more of Claude before the airplane crash. But that hadn't been possible. When her sister had marred a Greek emigre, and gone to live in Lyon, they had seen very little of each other. Occasionally her sister would visit Paris, and sometimes she would bring Claude with her, but not often. In fact on the day of the fatal crash, she bad been looking forward to seeing her sister and her husband in Paris. It was the first time they had traveled to the capital by air. Usually they took the train.
Claude liked his aunt, and sometimes he felt quite affectionate towards her. But he always stifled any overt signs of this affection. He would hear again the roar of the aircraft inside which sat his parents on their way to Paris. Then he would hear the horrible crash, and see the exploding flames. He didn't want to love his aunt the same way he had loved his parents. "Young though he was, he had come to recognize the world as a hard plare, and he knew for certain that there was no kindly god directing the world. Once he had half believed that there was a god in the sky. Now he knew that there was only one thing in the sky-death. And he kept these thoughts to himself. He didn't want to argue about them with anybody. They were simple, logical conclusions he had drawn from his own experiences, and he intended to remember them. He didn't want to be confused with words. He was glad that his aunt didn't try to make him go to church on Sundays with herself and her family. He had no intentions of wasting time on his knees praying to a god which he knew didn't exist.
Instead, he spent his Sunday mornings in the cafes along the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, not far from the Rue Des Jeuneurs where his aunt and uncle had their three room apartment. It was in these cafes on Sunday mornings that he spent his small allowance on glasses of cold chocolate. The rest of his money he put into the ball-game machines at which he was an expert. Sometimes he would be joined by another youth, and they would play together, seeing who could get the highest score. It was better when someone played with him, because his companion would also put money into the machine so that they could have another game. It was also more interesting to compete against someone.
The Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle is a busy thoroughfare, and never more so than on Sunday mornings. On the wide pavements stand kiosks, tempting passers-by to try their luck on wheels of fortune, or to shoot at moving targets in order to win a prize. Fast-talking men stand beneath tents with microphones attached around their necks, and surrounded by their merchandise-usually a vast assortment of clothes. Some of them do a brisk sale, knocking down bargain after bargain with a rapidity that comes with years of practice. The jostling crowds of people are usually good-natured. It is Sunday, a holiday, and they are relaxed.
But there are some who move among the Sunday morning crowds whose eyes, sometimes hidden behind sunglasses, are sharp and searching. They pay scant attention to the wheels of fortune, and the fast-talking salesman. Instead their eyes search the faces of the passers-by. Sometimes they join the crowds of people standing around the open-air stall. But they rarely buy anything. They just stand and watch the faces of the crowd. Occasionally they see a face that is interesting, and casually they move close....
Claude, emerging from a cafe and licking chocolate off his lips, joined a crowd of people standing around a stall and listened to the swift patter of the salesman. He had two francs left in his pocket, and on the stall he could see a pile of saffron colored T-shirts. He wondered if two francs would be sufficient to buy one, and decided to hang around and see if the salesman got around to selling the T-shirts. Standing with his hands behind his back, he peered hopefully over the shoulder of the man in front of him, who had just bought six highly colored towels for what the salesman announced was a bargain price. Above his head was the canvas top which had been erected above the stall to protect the merchandise from rain. Not that this seemed likely, because at that moment the sun was shining strongly, and Claude could feel the heat through the canvas roof. He was only half aware that someone had moved in front of him, standing between him and the man who had bought the towels. It was only when he felt a tickling sensation between his legs that Claude realized that someone was stroking the front of his jeans. Looking down, Claude saw that the hands which were touching him belonged to the man in front of him. Like himself, the man had his hands behind his back.
Claude was just about to move away, when the hands touched him again, and this time they pressed directly onto his genitals. Claude felt his cook stiffen inside his jeans. Instead of moving away he stayed where he was, suddenly sexually excited and also curious. His prick had gone quite rigid inside his underpants, and the man's hands were now boldly fondling the bulge at the front of his jeans. He could see that the man was also wearing jeans, and that he had dark curly hair. Once he turned his head and Claude could see by his profile that he was quite young. Claude swallowed hard when the zip of his jeans was pulled open, and a hand went straight inside and closed over his throbbing prick. After a little while, the hand was inside his underpants as well, and his naked cock was being held in the stranger's firm grasp.
Claude's excitement mounted when the cool hand slowly massaged his dick until it was wet with juice and jerking wildly. He closed his eyes, completely forgetting that he was standing in the middle of a crowd on the pavement. He could feel his spunk rising up from his balls, and he knew that he was going to throb out his juices all over the man's hand. When the hand suddenly released his prick, and swiftly refastened the zip of his jeans, Claude felt only disappointment and frustration. Opening his eyes he saw that the man in front of him was moving away out of the crowd.
For a moment. Claude didn't move, but just stood there recovering his breath. Then he turned, edging his way out of the crowd, wondering why the man had excited him to the point of an orgasm, and then just left him feeling frustrated. Although it was the first time anything of the sort had happened to him. Claude was aware that he had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. He decided to go home and toss himself off while the others were still at church. He tossed himself off a lot, although he didn't have much privacy. He shared his bedroom with Jacques, his aunt's son, and he didn't like to think that Jacques could hear him tossing himself off in bed. Certainly he had never heard Jacques playing with himself, although several times he had noticed that when his cousin got out of bed in the mornings that he had an erection beneath his pajamas. Claude remembered the morning he and his cousin had indulged in a friendly tussle while they were still in their pajamas. On that occasion they had both got erections, but they had pretended not to notice.
Emerging from the crowd, Claude saw with a sense of shock that the man who had been standing in front of him in the crowd had not gone away after all. He was standing not far away against a newspaper kiosk, and he was smiling. Feeling awkward and nervous, Claude stood rooted to the spot. He felt he ought to turn and walk away, but was incapable of moving. The slim young man with the dark hair moved towards him. He was wearing a black pullover and dark blue jeans. The jeans were very tight, and Claude's eyes were drawn to the bulge of the man's genitals.
A half an hour later, after a short metro ride to the Latin Quarter, Claude found himself ushered into a small attic room by his companion. During the entire journey, neither of them had spoken. He had not spoken because he felt shy and awkward. Now, however, his companion asked a question, his voice tinged with slight curiosity.
"How old are you?" the young man asked.
"Fifteen," Claude muttered.
"You look older. I took you to be about seventeen," his companion replied.
Claude, who had seated himself on a narrow divan bed, relaxed slightly. "Yes, most people think I look older," he said, smiling.
And this was true. Although his height was average, he was well developed for his age, and the dark handsome good looks he had inherited from his Greek father made him appear more mature than he actually was. He had high cheekbones, large black eyes, and a firm cleft chin. Only his lips gave away his true age. They were well shaped, but still had the fu'l softness of a child. Also his smile was more of a grin-a childish grin which revealed small white teeth. He had also inherited his father's hair-jet black and very straight which he wore short and brushed back from his temples. In fact, his mother often used to say that she couldn't see any of herself in Claude, only his father. His mother's hair had been light brown, and her skin had been fair. But none of this had come out in Claude.
"Do you live on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle?" Claude's companion asked.
"No, but near it," he answered.
The young man sat down on the divan bed next to Claude, and gently he pushed him backwards so that he lay on his back. He then leaned over him, looking into the youngster's dark almost secretive eyes.
"And do you have many adventures like this?" he asked.
Claude shook his head, feeling his throat go dry, because the young man was caressing him, and again his penis throbbed into life beneath his jeans. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the clever hands which undid the buckle of his jeans, and opened the zip. It was very warm in the small attic room, and a tiny bead of perspiration trickled down his forehead. He kept his eyes closed while his shoes were removed by his companion. He lifted himself slightly while his jeans and underpants were slid over his narrow hips and off his feet. He then got onto the bed completely, lying on his back, his rampant prick sticking up between his legs, eager and waiting. Nothing happened, so he opened his eyes to find his companion had just stripped to the waist, and was about to remove his own jeans. Claude watched, and his eyes caught sight of his companion's tassel. It was thick, heavy, and surrounded by a luxuriant mass of dark pubic hair. His companion also had a sturdy muscular body, and his chest was covered with hairs. Claude moved over slightly to allow the young man to lie by his side.
"Take this off," the young man whispered, and obediently Claude sat up and took off his T-shirt, which apart from his jeans had been the, only garment he was wearing on this warm summer day.
Claude closed his eyes again. Completely inexperienced as he was, he had no idea what to expect, or what was expected of him. He just lay there, enjoying the hand which was now caressing his entire body and sending delightful sensations through his nervous system. And then he felt something else. Something wet and clinging sliding across the smoothness of his hairless chest. Opening his eyes he saw that his companion was now on his hands and knees straddling his outstretched body. What Claude could feel on his chest was the young man's mouth and tongue.
For what seemed a long time, Claude enjoyed the novel sensation of having someone lick his naked body. First of all, the wet lascivious mouth moved over his chest, paying particular attention to his nipples. Afterwards his nipples were standing up hard, and wet with saliva. When the mouth moved down to his navel, Claude felt his cock rising and falling stiffly on his belly with palpitating excitement. For what seemed an eternity he felt his companion's tongue sliding over his belly, until at last it touched the stem of his prick, and then slid wetly over his testicles. Quivering with anticipation, Claude began to moan softly when the wet tongue licked along the side of his rigidly palpitating penis, and once again his spunk started to rise. But once again he was cheated of an orgasm, because just when he started to arch his back, the licking tongue left his achingly excited tool. He then became aware that his companion was changing position, and looking up, Claude saw that the young man was now astride his head facing his feet. On either side of his head were his companion's hairy legs, and Claude found himself looking directly up at a pair of heavily hanging bollocks, and a stiffly jutting prick, which looked very large.
Reaching up, Claude felt with one hand the large sac of his companion's balls, while with his other hand he stroked the young man's massive prick. Suddenly the young man crouched lower, and Claude felt the hairy testicle pouch brush his face, while a strong aroma of aroused male sex filled his nostrils. Abruptly, Claude then found his mouth filled with hard prick.
"Suck it," he heard his companion say.
Choking on the big cock, which forced him to keep his mouth wide open, Claude caught hold of the stem of the fat cock to prevent too much of it sinking into his throat. It tasted very strange, and when he rubbed his tongue over the naked knob, more prick juice ran into the back of his throat.
"Suck," repeated his companion.
Valiently, Claude started to suck the large phallus that was jammed into his wide open mouth, so that his jaws were already aching with the strain. And every time he sucked the throbbing fuck-stick, more and more juice made him choke even louder. But he persisted, because how he could feel his own prick being sucked deeply into his companion's throat And this time he knew he was going to be allowed to spunk.
In fact, Claude started to come almost as soon as his prick had been swallowed into his companion's mouth. His slender hips rising from the bed, Claude spunked profusely, jetting his cream into the mouth of the young man who was sucking him off in long spurting jets. Just as he was coming to an end of his lavish release, Claude felt the large cock that was filling his mouth throb with power. This was followed by a gushing stream of sperm into his throat. There was so much of it that it completely filled his mouth and ran out of the corners down his chin. Frantically, Claude pulled the spewing prick from between his lips, so that the second stream of spunk splashed onto his chest. He then lay holding the spunk dribbling prick in his hand, swallowing the stuff he had received in his mouth noisily and ineffectively. When he tried to speak, he found that his voice had gone....
Claude was late home for lunch that day, although his aunt did not say anything as he took his place at the table. Jacques, a pleasant-faced brown-haired boy with blue eyes, was sitting at the table still dressed in his Sunday best, which he had worn for church. The dark blue suit and white shirt and dark tie suited him. For the first time Claude looked at his cousin with interest-sexual interest. All during lunch he wondered what it would be like to suck Jacques' prick. He tried to imagine how big his cousin's cock might be, and would Jacques pant and make a noise when he came. By the time the meal was over Claude had another erection inside his jeans. Excusing himself, he went straight up to the room he shared with Jacques, and flung himself onto his bed. He lay for some time going over his experiences of the morning. He didn't know the name of the young man who had taken him to the attic in the Latin Quarter, and they had not arranged to meet again. But he was sure that one day they would meet again. In fact, the young man had said that they would probably meet on another Sunday morning on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle. Claude hoped so. He had enjoyed having his prick sucked. And in spite of his aching jaws, and the fact that he had choked an awful lot, he had also enjoyed the experience of sucking a big juicy prick into his own mouth. He was eager to repeat the experience....
Claude's seduction of his cousin occurred about three weeks after his meeting with the young man on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle. During that three weeks, Claude had not seen the young man again, although he had looked for him every Sunday morning on the boulevard. And neither had he met anyone else. Although he had stood with the crowds of people who surrounded the open-air stall, no one had touched him. Avid for more experience, Claude turned to his cousin.
Jacques, although a year older than Claude, was, at this stage, even more inexperienced than Claude. In other words he had not even had one experience. Nevertheless, like most sixteen-year-olds, he was randy enough and had a lot of wet dreams about a young and pretty teacher at the school which he and Claude attended. One night when he was in bed, and Claude was meandering around the room dressed in his pajamas and tidying up his clothes, Jacques broached the subject of the pretty teacher at their school who taught them grammar.
"Yes, she's not bad," Claude admitted, looking at his cousin, curiously, who was sitting up in bed, his blue eyes alight with enthusiasm.
"I have a lot of dreams about her," Jacques admitted sheepishly.
Claude sat on the edge of his cousin's bed. "What sort of dreams?" he asked.
"Well, you know. Wet dreams," Jacques replied, lowering his eyes like a girl.
Claude playfully pushed his hand beneath the bedclothes, and put it straight between Jacques' legs.
"Are you going to have one tonight?" he laughed.
Jacques tried to pull Claude's hand away from between his legs. "Stop that!" he protested.
But Claude kept his hand where it was. Through Jacques' pajamas he could feel his cousin's sex stirring into life. Forcing his hand into the open fly of his pajamas, Claude caught hold of his cousin's rapidly erecting cock. Jacques fell back onto the bed, panting like a dog on heat.
"Claude!" he protested again, although his voice wasn't very convincing.
Without taking his hand away, Claude slid into bed by his side. Pushing the bedclothes back, he had a good look at his cousin's prick, which he was grasping tightly in his hand. It was quite large, and Claude could see that the red crown was very wet. Bending his head, Claude stuck out his tongue and slid it across the surface of Jacques' cockknob.
Jacques, only half aware what Claude was up to, gave a small whimper of pleasure when Claude's tongue lapped against his quivering cockknob. But when Claude got astride his head, he made no attempt to put his hand up between Claude's pajamas-clad legs and feel for his cousin's cock.
Claude now very excited, was aping what had happened to him in the small attic he had been taken to in the Latin Quarter. But when Jacques made no effort to reciprocate he became impatient. Feeling between his legs, Claude pulled his cock out of the opening of his pajamas. Bending the stiff length downwards, he crouched lower over Jacques' face. Locating his cousin's mouth, he thrust his prick between Jacques' lips, then quickly bent to his own task of sucking Jacques' strongly jerking tool.
Jacques, completely taken by surprise by Claude's actions, had no time to be shocked. His prick, now being sucked hard by Claude, had grown terribly stiff. Almost automatically Jacques commenced to suck the throbbing stick of Claude's penis which had been shoved so rudely into his mouth. The more he sucked, the more excited he became, and it wasn't long before both boys were sucking each other at a very fast pace, while the breath rasped in their throats.
Claude winced when Jacques' teeth scraped against the sensitive undersides of his knob, but it didn't stop him from releasing his sperm. Crouching low over Jacques' face, he shoved his cock as deeply as he could get it into his cousin's throat, spunking with a great deal of virility. He didn't relax until he had completely finished, in spite of Jacques' choking gurgles and helpless moans. Grasping the base of Jacques' stiff prick firmly in one hand, Claude then sucked long and hard on his cousin's penis. It began to throb so wildly that Claude had difficulty in keeping it in his mouth, and when Jacques pushed his hips upwards, Claude prepared himself for his cousin's sperm. It came in a sudden sharp burst which filled his mouth with tangy tasting cream. Swallowing the thick liquid, Claude continued to suck the lava-erupting tool until it ran dry.
Afterwards, when they had both cleaned themselves up at the sink in their room, Jacques was inclined to be sulky.
"Who taught you to do things like that?" he asked, his voice full of disapproval.
Claude, now in his own bed, grinned across at his cousin. "Nobody. I had an inspiration," he lied. "Why? Didn't you enjoy it?"
Jacques, who blushed easily, went red, but he didn't reply.
Claude laughed, and turning out the bedside light, snuggled down into his bed. He knew that Jacques had enjoyed himself, and that now he would have something else to dream about besides the pretty teacher at their school. When Jacques' light also went out, Claude bade his cousin a good night. He got a grunt in reply, and Claude grinned to himself in the darkness. He didn't feel at all ashamed of himself for having seduced his cousin. He was only sorry that he hadn't thought about it before. But then before he had met the dark-haired young man on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, he hadn't really thought about such things. Not consciously anyway, although when he considered the matter, Claude remembered that he had in the past had fleeting sexual fantasies about other boys. He remembered once, in his home town of Lyon, he and another boy had tried to masturbate each other one hot afternoon in the countryside. But they had been too young, and nothing had happened.
Turning his mind back to the young man he had met in the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, Claude wondered if he would ever meet him again. Although it had been fun playing about with Jacques, it hadn't been the same as what had happened in that attic room in the Latin Quarter. Claude remembered the heat, and the man's muscular hairy legs astride his face. He remembered the young man's huge prick-so much bigger than Jacques'-and the way it had throbbed in his hand and inside his mouth. Also Claude remembered the expert sucking that his own cock had received. Not at all like Jacques' efforts in that direction.
Claude turned restlessly in his bed. Thinking of the young man he had met on the boulevard had given him an erection. In spite of the fact that he had only recently satisfied himself by spunking into Jacques' mouth, Claude reached down and pulled his stiffening cock out of his pajamas. Noisily, he started to toss himself off, not caring if Jacques could hear him or not-not after what had happened between them. After a little while he gave an extra loud gasp, and shot a stream of spunk onto his pajamas. He knew it would make a stain, but he didn't care. He just went to sleep with his pajamas wet with his own come.
CHAPTER TWO
At the age of sixteen, Claude asked his aunt if he could leave school, and go out and be a bread-winner. His aunt told him that this was not necessary, but Claude persisted. He was bored with school, and bored with the small allowance which he received each week. He wanted to go to work like his friend, Paul Darrin, who worked at a men's hairdressing salon. Paul earned good money-mainly in tips-and Claude saw no reason why he shouldn't do the same.
Claude finally got his own way, and through his friend Paul Darrin, he got an interview with the owner of Chez Bernard, a men's hairdressing salon in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, which was not so far from where he lived with his aunt and her family.
Bernard Martin owner of the salon known as Chez Bernard, was quite delighted with the young and attractive Claude. He had been looking for an apprentice for some time, but so far had not found anyone suitable. Claude, with his dark good looks, and his enthusiasm to learn the trade, fitted the bill exactly. He also knew that many of his customers would be as pleased as he was with the young Claude. When Claude had left the salon, the interview being satisfactorily completed, Bernard telephoned Paul Darrin to thank him for sending the boy to him. Paul, who worked at Chez Herman, an elegant men's hairdressing salon in the Boulevard St. Germain, answered the 'phone himself. Not having a customer to attend to at that moment, he settled down with the white telephone for a chat with his friend Bernard Martin, whom he had known for some years.
"The boy is quite innocent of course," Paul warned, after listening to Bernard's enthusiasm for the young Claude.
There was a pause on the line, then Paul heard Bernard laugh. "Do you mean to say that you are delivering your young friend into my hands completely unsullied?" he asked.
Paul glanced around the salon where he worked, noting that the other assistants were busy with their customers, and that Herman, the owner, was still out at lunch.
"He's only sixteen you know," he replied in a guarded voice.
."Even sixteen-year-olds have to learn," Bernard's voice floated back over the wires. "Anyway, since when have you been playing the Dutch uncle?"
Paul sighed. "I'm not playing the Dutch uncle. I'm just being careful in view of his age."
Bernard's voice when he replied was serious.
"Well, I suppose you know what you're doing. Anyway I'll let you know how the young man progresses," he said.
Paul replaced the white receiver into its cradle, a thoughtful expression on his face. Ever since he had met Claude wandering around the pond in the Gardens of the Tuileries one sunny afternoon, he hadn't been sure about the boy. He was friendly enough, and in Paul's view certainly attractive enough. But Paul, a sophisticated twenty-two-year-old Parisian, found himself at a loss in the face of Claude's obvious innocence. Instead of bouncing the boy into bed, which had been his natural inclination, Paul had paused. But the pause had done him no good at all. Claude remained as apparently innocent as ever, while Paul was only too conscious of the fact that he himself remained as frustrated as ever in his relationship with the boy.
What Paul didn't know, was that when he picked up Claude in the Tuileries, Claude had entertained high hopes of being bounced straight into Paul's bed. When this hadn't happened, Claude had been most disappointed, but of course he had been unable to express what he was thinking. He was, as Paul had rightly assessed, still very innocent. But what Paul had failed to grasp, was that Claude was only too anxious to lose his innocence and gain some experience. In fact, Claude was as frustrated at Paul's attitude, as Paul was frustrated by Claude's apparent innocence.
Claude was thinking of these things as he emerged from the Cardinal Lemoine metro station, and made his way to Paul's apartment in the Rue Thouin. It was a beautiful evening, and Claude breathed the air gratefully after the heat of the metro. Dressed in tight blue jeans, with a dark blue T-shirt, he felt himself overflowing with excess energy-and sex. Which wasn't surprising. Apart from an occasional mutual masturbation session with his cousin, he had no other sexual outlet. And Jacques had not proved to be a very stimulating sex partner. He was enthusiastic enough once he got going, but it took a long time to get him going, and Claude was rapidly getting bored with their attempts to satisfy each other. He still remembered the young man who picked him up on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, but now he had given up all hopes of ever seeing him again. And no matter how long he spent standing at the open-air stalls on the boulevard, he had never had another similar experience.
Climbing the steep Rue Du Cardinal Lemoine with all the ease of his youth, Claude turned into the Rue Thouin. He then had five flights of stairs to climb before he arrived at the door of Paul's apartment, which was one of many in a large, rambling, and very old building. Paul answered the door with a white towel wrapped around his loins, and not for the first time Claude noted the muscular strength of his friend's athletic body. He had an impulse to tug the white towel from around Paul's waist, and look at the rest of his body, but he resisted the impulse.
"Help yourself to a drink, I'm just about to take a shower," Paul said, disappearing into the small shower-room which led off his kitchen.
Claude walked through the kitchen and into Paul's large bed-sitting-room, which was so comfortably furnished that it was nearly, but not quite, luxurious. A long row of glass doors which led out onto a small balcony gave the room a sense of airy spaciousness. The curtains were drawn, and some of the glass doors stood open, filling the room with the warm night air. Two lamps cast a flattering glow over the russet-brown, wall-to-wall carpeting, the deep armchairs, the brass table containing drinks and which looked like gold, and the low shelf containing Paul's complicated array of stereo equipment.
Pouring himself a coke and adding ice from a black and silver ice bucket, Claude sprawled into one of the deep chairs. He could hear the splashing of water, and the sound of Paul whistling to himself as he showered. A few minutes later Paul entered the room, still dressed in the white towel, his long black hair tousled and wet. Pouring himself a stiff whisky, Paul fell into an arm chair with a sigh, his grey eyes looking quizzically at Claude.
"So, my friend. How did you get on with Bernard Martin?"
"Well, I went to see him this morning as arranged, and it seems to be all right. I'm starting work next Monday," Claude replied, sinking further down in his chair and kicking off his shoes with a casual childish gesture.
As always when he found himself alone with Claude, Paul felt the stirrings of sexual desire. The boy's huge dark eyes, red lips, and slim mobile body were an attractive combination. Paul also wished that Claude wouldn't wear such tight jeans....
"Did you like Bernard?" he asked, dragging his eyes away from Claude's open legs, and looking into his dark eyes.
"Yes, he's a nice man," Claude replied, and Paul saw the boy's pink tongue pass provocatively over the fullness of his lips.
"Can I put a record on?" Claude asked.
Paul nodded, and took a sip of whisky. He watched Claude's small bottom as the boy bent over the stereo-player, and this time Paul felt his cock really stiffen beneath the towel which he had wrapped around his loins. He was just about to do something about it when Claude turned, and Paul saw the boy deliberately staring at his obviously hard cock, which was bulging beneath the towel. Paul didn't move, although his heart started to hammer in his chest when he realized that Claude was continuing to stare, and that the boy's face expressed only interest. His prick rose another few notches, and Paul knew that Claude could now see beneath the towel which was being raised up into the air by the strength of his erection. The record which Claude had put onto the turntable played softly in the background. It was, Paul knew, Claude's favorite record-a long player of Spanish guitar music.
Claude stared at Paul for some time, until he broke the tension with a laugh. "You've got a big one," he said candidly.
Paul released his breath, and sliding aside the white towel, allowed Claude to have a good look at his thick seven-inch prick, with its rosy-red circumcised knob already gleaming with juicy excitement. He could see that Claude's dark eyes were fascinated, and he remained perfectly still when the boy moved towards him. But when Claude reached his side, Paul got up from the chair, leaving his white towel behind. Pulling Claude close to his naked body, Paul clasped him tightly in his arms, kissing the boy full on the mouth and pressing his throbbing prick against the front of his jeans. While he kissed the boy, Paul enclosed Claude's small tight buttocks in his hands, caressing the firm globes through the rough material of the boy's jeans. Claude's lips were as he had always imagined they would be-soft, pliable, but completely inexperienced.
After a while, Paul drew away from Claude and pulled him down onto the carpet. Claude immediately lay on his back, his legs apart, his stiff prick bulging inside his tight jeans. His dark eyes looked up at Paul who was kneeling by his side, and Paul laughed softly. Gently he tugged open the zip of Claude's jeans and slipped his hand inside. Claude was wearing underpants, but through the thin material he could feel the hard throbbing length of Claude's sex stick. It was big for a boy of Claude's age, and excitedly Paul pulled it out into the open. He caressed it lovingly, making the thick cock swell and jerk in his hand. He could hear Claude's breath rasping in his throat as the boy writhed on the floor while his penis was caressed. When a sharp premature line of white spunk shot out of Claude's cock-slit, Paul released the boy's genitals and concentrated on getting him completely undressed. He had always wanted to see Claude naked. Paul wondered why he had been so stupid as to imagine Claude was too young, and too inexperienced. Expect that Claude was young, and he was undoubtedly inexperienced. But these things didn't count in view of Claude's very apparent eagerness. The boy was, Paul observed, positively overflowing with sexuality-literally.
Claude, now completely naked, once again lay on his back. His thick prick, laving stiffly along his belly, was dribbling white sperm and he was breathing hard. Paul was stroking his smooth body, and Claude was finding Paul's caressing hand on his naked skin very exciting. Although Paul wasn't actually touching his genitals, Claude could feel his prick rising and falling on his belly. It was so stiff that it was almost painful, and Claude, panting for breath, felt that if Paul so much as breathed on the stiffness of his tool he would shoot a long line of sperm all over himself. In his excitement, Claude had got his hand between Paul's legs, making Paul's fine big prick stiffen and jerk like his own. But when Paul pulled his hand away, and rolled him over onto his stomach, Claude obediently accepted his new position. Pressing his face, and his prick, into the soft carpet, he shivered when Paul's hand roamed over his ass cheeks.
Paul who had always had an obsession about ass cheeks, particularly those belonging to young nubile boys like Claude, was enjoying himself. Claude lay on his face, his outstretched legs slightly apart, and Paul could see the boy's bollocks nestling between them. Carefully Paul reached between Claude's legs, and juggled the fine pair of spunky nuts in his hand, while with his other hand he continually caressed and stroked the firm globes of Claude's buttocks.
Releasing Claude's balls, Paul got astride his legs, so that he could really concentrate on Claude's small boyish bottom. After pinching and then caressing the two globes alternatively, so that they turned a dark pink, Paul held them apart with both his hands so that he could feast his eyes on the shallow indent between Claude's buttocks. It was smooth, completely hairless, and Paul could see the very small puckered orifice of the boy's ass. Bending his head, and starting at the base of Claude's spine, Paul deliberately started to lick his way down the smooth ravine. When he reached Claude's asshole, Paul splayed the boy's cheeks further apart. Wetting his tongue, Paul wiggled it inside the clinging rim of Claude's orifice. Pushing his tongue as far as he could get it into the tight hole, Paul was soon frigging Claude's anus with his tongue. Claude tried to clench his buttocks; but relentlessly, Paul held them wide apart. He was thinking how nice it would be to sink his large fat prick into Claude's asshole. He wondered if Claude had been fucked before. Somehow he doubted it. Nobody could get fucked and look as innocent as Claude looked. The idea of screwing a virgin sixteen-year-old ass filled Paul with an urgent lust. Taking his tongue out of Claude's asshole, he pushed two fingers up into the tight orifice, testing flexibility.
Claude, squirming beneath the odd sensation of Paul's tongue, jumped when Paul's fingers took the place of his tongue. As Paul had surmised, Claude really was still very innocent, and Paul's apparent obsession with his ass puzzled him, although it didn't distress him. The sensations he had received from Paul's tongue had been odd but not unpleasant, and even Paul's fingers, now churning around inside his asshole, was more exciting than anything else. But even though Claude was an innocent virgin, he wasn't so innocent that he hadn't heard of the possibilities of sodomy. In the back of his mind, he had already guessed what Paul was up to, and the thought of Paul's very large prick being pushed into his ass excited and frightened him at the same time. But Claude still had a very stiff erection, and while Paul thoroughly frigged his ass with two fingers he squirmed helplessly on the carpet, his stiff cock rubbing sexily against the soft pile.
When Paul stopped frigging Claude's ass, Claude lifted his head to see that Paul had stood up and was leaving the room. He could see his friend's big cock, jutting up from between his legs, and the heavily hanging sac of his balls. Then Paul left the room. Puzzled Claude was just about to roll over onto his back when Paul reappeared. He was carrying something in his hand, and there was a slight smile on his face.
"What are you going to do?" Claude asked with a look of alarm on his face.
"Fuck you," Paul said simply, getting down on his knees by Claude's side. "Have you ever been fucked before?"
"No. I think you will hurt me," Claude replied in an uncertain voice.
Squeezing jelly onto his fingers from the tube, Paul swiftly slid his hand between Claude's buttocks and smeared the greasy fluid onto the rim of his ass. He then pushed his fingers right inside, thoroughly lubricating Claude's orifice.
Claude turned his face down onto the carpet again, squirming as Paul's greasy fingers moved in circles just inside his asshole. He then heard more grease being squeezed out of the tube, and knew that Paul was applying it to himself. Claude waited, his heart beating painfully, while Paul positioned himself above him. He jumped when Paul's fat prick slid between his buttocks, and the big circumcised knob pressed against the portal of his ass. It felt much too big to go inside him, and he was just about to tell Paul that he was wasting his time when it happened. Paul's knob sank into his asshole.
"Oooh! No! Stop!" Claude moaned, the sudden penetration of his virgin ass making him jump like a scalded cat.
Paul, resting on his hands, which he had placed on either side of Claude's shoulders, paused. He had got about two inches of his prick up into Claude's tight back passage, and he had a strong desire to push the rest of it up into the protesting Claude. But he didn't want to hurt the boy too much, so he waited, while Claude continued to pant and moan as though he was being stabbed in the back with the knife. But as soon as the moans had abated somewhat, Paul relentlessly continued to screw his prick deep into Claude's ass. At last he was virtually lying on top of Claude's back. Paul started to move his hips, rooting his cock into the tight sheath of Claude's asshole with a great deal of satisfaction and enjoyment. Every time the boy clenched his buttocks, Paul experienced a sharp thrill as his prick was squeezed tight by the contracting sphincter of Claude's ass. He began to fuck the boy with long slow strokes.
The record which Claude had put on the turntable set at repeat, stopped and then started again. Claude was only half aware of the twanging guitars. But he was very aware of Paul's rod, which was now sliding smoothly up and down his ass. It seemed to fill him completely, although now that the psychological shock of being penetrated had worn off, Claude was experiencing a gathering storm of carnal sexuality. The big phallus riding his ass was making him breathless with lust. Every time Paul pushed downwards, burying his dick deeply into Claude's asshole, Claude clenched his buttocks on the thick stick, wriggling his bottom provocatively. He soon had Paul panting as loudly as he was himself; and what was more, Paul speeded up his thrusting movements.
Virtually bouncing up and down on the carpet, Claude was soon pushing his bottom upwards to meet Paul's rapid downward thrusts. It was when Paul pushed his hands beneath Claude's narrow boyish hips, and caught hold of his throbbing prick, that Claude's limbs went rigid. His asscheeks clamped together hard, and Paul felt his prick, at that moment buried deeply inside Claude's asshole, gripped by the boy's strength.
Claude started to come, jetting his cream onto the carpet, and smothering Paul's hand which was gripping his prick.
Letting his whole weight fall onto Claude's back, Paul closed his eyes. While Claude was still spending, Paul clenched his own buttocks tight, and shot a stream of spunk up into Claude's ass. Both of them spunked profusely, while the record, coming to an end once more, finished with a crescendo of guitars and hand clapping. Paul felt as though he was being sucked dry by Claude's tightly clenched ass, and when at last they both finished, Paul remained where he was, lying on top of Claude. He could feel Claude shivering beneath him, probably as the result of his violent orgasm. But Paul felt too drained of energy to move. He rested his head on the back of Claude's shoulder, and idly nibbled the boy's ear. Claude started to giggle, and Paul was reminded that he had just fucked a boy who was hardly more than a child. Paul felt no remorse. He hadn't forced Claude to do anything: The boy had wanted it....
Claude's education really started on that evening he lost his virginity to Paul Darrin. Paul, now that the barriers were down, made a great fuss of Claude. And Claude, anxious to find his feet in a complicated world, drank in everything that Paul told him. For the first time he began to look at other people with an educated eye. He no longer wandered aimlessly along the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle on Sunday mornings, hoping to meet with an "adventure." Now, with his freshly acquired knowledge, he could tell at a glance where adventure beckoned, and where it didn't exist.
Not that Claude had a great deal of time to look for further adventures during this period of his life. He worked long hours at Chez Bernard, and on most evenings he got into the habit of visiting Paul at his apartment in the Rue Thouin.
Paul encouraged Claude. Almost every evening he fucked the boy before sending him back to his aunt's house, and Paul found that Claude was sex-mad and a very apt pupil. Their loveplay slowly became more sophisticated, until Paul reckoned that they had tried almost everything in the book.
One of his, and one of Claude's favorite situations, involved the use of kinky clothes. Paul discovered that Claude became highly stimulated at the feel of such materials as leather, silk, and fur. Paul, who had long been interested in such stimulation, allowed his imagination to run riot on the long summer evenings which he and Claude spent together. Sometimes Paul found himself exhausted by Claude's sexual demands, whose extreme youth and capacity for several orgasms within the space of a single hour outweighed his own capabilities. But exhausted or not, Paul found himself becoming more and more attached to Claude. The boy was no longer innocent, but he remained candid, and retained his wide-eyed charm. In fact Paul often thought of asking Claude to leave his aunt's home, and live with him. But he didn't. Claude was still very young, and Paul was afraid that there might be awkward questions if the boy told his aunt that he wanted to leave and live with a "friend."
Claude, still busily finding his feet, was quite happy with his life at this period. He enjoyed his work at Chez Bernard, and he enjoyed his evenings with Paul. But although as Paul had observed, Claude had retained a wide-eyed charm, he was not quite so candid as Paul supposed. Perhaps this was inevitable. Claude was growing up, and he was learning that diplomacy was sometimes better than being candid. For instance he never told Paul that Bernard Martin, the owner of the hairdressing salon where he worked, had more than once propositioned him. So far he had managed to keep Bernard at a distance, but he wasn't sure how long this would last.
Not that Claude found the thirty-eight-year-old Bernard Martin physically distasteful. Bernard was a smooth-skinned, brown-haired man with kindly brown eyes and a slim physique. He had a handsome face and a lot of persuasive charm, and Claude had more than once found himself tempted to accept Bernard's offer of a drink after the salon had closed for the day. As Bernard had his own apartment above the salon, Claude knew that it was there that he would be expected to go if ever he accepted Bernard's invitations. But he had refrained for two reasons. He knew that Paul and Bernard were acquaintances, and as Paul was inclined to be possessive almost to the point of jealousy, Claude could see complications if he became more than a mere apprentice at Chez Bernard. In fact, Paul had asked him more than once if Bernard had made any advances in his direction. He had always replied in the negative.
The second reason Claude kept Bernard at a distance was more subtle. Claude was ambitious, and he had no intentions of working for other people all his life. One day he wanted to control his own hairdressing salon, and he didn't want to wait until he was an old man before this happened. Bernard had told him that he had started his business when he was twenty-five. Claude wanted to start his own business before he became that age, and although he hadn't worked out the details, he had a premonition that Bernard could help in this respect. So, until he had worked out the details, and saw clearly just how Bernard could help him, Claude considered it prudent to keep a respectful distance between himself and Bernard. In other words, Claude was learning that it was possible to combine business, as well as pleasure, between the bedsheets. It was just that so far he had not been able to work out a plan for himself and Bernard.
Paul, unaware of Claude's very strong ambitions, and unaware that the boy was already beginning to scheme in that respect, continued to look upon Claude as a child-a sexy child. He, himself, was quite happy in his job, which he found interesting and was well paid. He didn't know that Claude secretly thought he was silly to be satisfied working for someone else at his age. He didn't know that Claude's ambitions were getting stronger daily, and that for a "child" he was becoming remarkably astute.
On Claude's seventeenth birthday, Paul stocked up with drinks, and awaited Claude with a very expensive present. It was a suede jacket, which he knew that Claude had coveted ever since he had seen it in the window of a St. Germain shop. As in many expensive shop windows, the jacket had not been priced-a warning enough for those who did not possess a lot of money to spend on their clothes. Paul therefore, had not been surprised at the high price, and now that he had bought it he was impatient to see if it fitted Claude.
Claude arrived at Paul's apartment at his usual time-around 8:30 pm, and immediately attacked Paul's refrigerator. He had worked late, and had gone to Paul's straight from his work. He was standing by the refrigerator in the small kitchen, chewing on a piece of cold chicken, when Paul presented him with a parcel.
"Happy birthday," Paul said, kissing Claude lightly on both cheeks.
Claude, forgetting for a moment that he was now grownup, dropped the chicken with a whoop of glee, and rushing into the sitting-room, sat on the carpet and tore open the parcel. Although he had told Paul a week ago that he was about to have a birthday, he had thought that Paul had forgotten. Paul had not said anything when he first arrived at the apartment, but now here was a nice bulky parcel wrapped in soft yellow paper and tied with expensive-looking tape.
The jacket fitted perfectly, and his pleasure at the gift was so apparent, that Paul was pleased he had bought it-in spite of the price. Claude paraded in the jacket for some time, while they both admired it. When Claude took it off he hung it carefully on a coat hanger, and pulled Paul down onto the divan which was also Paul's bed. For a while they rolled around on the divan until they were both excited. Claude then got off the divan, his cheeks flushed and his dark eyes alive with excitement. Walking over to a cupboard built into the wall, he pulled open the sliding doors. It was where Paul kept his clothes, and the bottom two shelves contained an interesting assortment of kinky garments. .
While Paul lay on the bed watching him, Claude stripped completely, then bent down to sort through the collection of garments, trying to decide what to wear. Paul noticed that Claude was filling out, and that his shoulders were getting broader, emphasizing the slimness of his waist and hips. He could see Claude's perfectly shaped asscheeks, and his smooth flawless skin. Getting off the divan, Paul took off his clothes. Lying down again on his back he caught hold of his stiff prick. Still watching Claude trying to make up his mind what to wear, Paul played with himself, gently squeezing his circumcised knob, which had grown very wet in his hand.
Claude had difficulty in getting his genitals inside the pouch of the dark brown leather G-string because of the stiffness of his cock, but he managed it. The G-string consisted simply of a pouch for the genitals, a wide brown leather elasticized belt, and a leather string which ran from the back of the belt, fitted snugly into the ravine of the buttocks, and joined the genital pouch beneath the crotch. Claude, who had worn the G-string before, enjoyed the feel of the soft leather which enclosed his genitals, and the coolness of the leather string pressing inside the ravine of his buttocks. The garment fitted him perfectly, enhancing the slimness of his hips, and the developing muscles of his legs and torso.
Claude next took from the wardrobe shelves four leather armlets. The armlets, which were five inches wide, each had two silver strap buckles, and from the top and bottom of each strap dangled six-inch long chains. Claude fixed two of the armlets on each of his wrists, and the other two he strapped to his legs just above his ankles. Finally he strapped around his neck a two-inch wide brown leather neck-band, fixed into the bottom of which were four chains, two hanging down onto his chest, and two hanging against his back.
At this point, Paul rolled off the divan, and walking over to the wardrobe pulled out a brief loin cloth made in silver chain-mail and -lined with black leather. He strapped this garment around his loins, having the same difficulty as Claude because of his rampant erection. Next he slipped two thick armlets, also in chain-mad, onto his wrists. Lastly he fished from the back of the shelf a pliant black leather three-thonged whip.
Claude winced when the three thongs of the whip caressed his chest. But Paul had exerted no strength when he flicked the whip, and Claude's grimace was purely an automatic reaction. His eyes were, in fact, fixed onto the front of Paul's glittering loin cloth, visibly bulging at the strain of containing Paul's erection. Paul, seeing where Claude had fixed his eyes, I caught hold of the two chains hanging from the front of Claude's leather neck-band. With a firm grip he pulled them downwards, forcing Claude onto his knees at his feet. Releasing the chains, Paul casually flicked the whip over Claude's head and onto his naked back. This time he used just a little more force, and Claude cowered, a slight whimper escaping his lips. Paul flicked the whip again. He liked to hear Claude when he whimpered. It was a very sexy noise which started in the back of the boy's throat, and ended with a kind of sigh.
When the whip curled around his back for the second time, Claude swayed forward on his knees, his hands resting on Paul's hairy thighs just below the brief loin cloth which he was wearing. Paul was standing with his legs together, and abjectly Claude pressed his face against them. Again the whip flicked across his back-just hard enough to make his skin tingle beneath the trailing leather thongs.
Claude slid his hands higher up Paul's thighs beneath the chain-mail loin cloth. He then moved his hands onto Paul's asscheeks, digging his fingers into the lean hard buttocks. The Whip flicked over Claude's head again, and this time the pain made him gasp. Quickly he got to work with his tongue, licking between Paul's hairy legs, and slowly moving upwards. Paul's big bollocks were hanging at the same level as his short loin cloth, and Claude was soon licking the heavily hanging testicles.
When Claude's tongue lasciviously slid to and fro across his balls, Paul rested his hands on his hips, the whip dangling from his fingers. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to Claude's sensuous mouth and tongue, which occasionally went straight underneath his balls and tickled the very sensitive patch of skin just behind them. He was thinking that it was he who had taught Claude about the many erotic zones of the male physique, and that Claude had learned how to put the knowledge to good use.
Claude only stopped tonguing Paul's balls when he had covered the entire area with his saliva, so that the hairy sac looked as though it had been dipped into water. Reaching beneath Paul's shiny loin cloth, Claude next levered into view Paul's very stiff prick. It throbbed strongly in his grasp, and releasing it, Claude watched it jerk backwards against the chain-mail of Paul's loincloth. Sliding his hands back onto Paul's buttocks, Claude tongued the base of Paul's pulsating cock, moving slowly upwards. When he reached the undersides of Paul's circumcised knob, Claude lingered. Every time the tip of his tongue touched the wet sensitive undersides, Paul's knob jerked away from him as if it had been touched with a red hot poker. Claude followed it, curling his tongue and lapping up the juice which was now running freely down the sides of Paul's tool. The acrid, tangy smell of male sperm assailed his nostrils, and Claude dug his fingers harder into Paul's buttocks as he licked. And then, unable to resist temptation any longer, he slid Paul's knob straight into his mouth, and sucked it deeply and satisfyingly into the back of his throat. Without pause Claude then rapidly moved his head backwards and forwards, giving Paul a real professional cock-gobble".
It was so professional that Paul nearly lost control and spent himself inside Claude's mouth. He avoided this with a double action. Jerking his knob out of Claude's mouth, he brought the hard whip down hard onto Claude's back, then stepped backwards. With a yelp of genuine pain Claude fell forward on his hands and knees. Bending down, Paul caught hold of the two chains which hung down Claude's back from his leather neck-band, and jerked him forward to the foot of the divan-bed.
Claude floundered, the chains attached to the armlets on his wrist and ankles jangling melodiously. When Paul gave an extra strong pull on the chains suspended from his neckband, Claude fell forwards onto the carpet flat on his face. Swiftly Paul fastened Claude's wrists to the two rear legs of the divan-bed, using the chains attached to the boy's leather armlets. He then caught hold of Claude's ankles and pulled him backwards so that he was spread-eagled onto the carpet on his face. Attaching the chains which hung from Claude's ankles to the two front legs of one of the heavy arm chairs, Paul straightened up to survey his handiwork. Claude's slim, smoothly muscled body, spread-eagled and chained to the floor, made a mouth-watering spectacle.
Getting onto his knees by Claude's side, Paul slid a hand over the boy's upturned naked buttocks, and with his fingers followed the leather string which ran from the back of the wide leather elasticized belt around the boy's waist, and disappeared between the round firm spheres of his ass. The feel of the leather string biting into the ravine of the boys buttocks caused Paul's prick, which was jutting up from underneath the chain-mail loin cloth he was wearing, to throb and pulsate. Still following the string between Claude's asscheeks, Paul pushed his hand underneath the boy, closing it over the leather pouch which held Claude's genitals. For a while Paul caressed and squeezed the hard stick of Claude's prick through the leather pouch which enclosed it, while Claude squirmed helplessly, making the chains which kept him spread-eagled onto his face on the floor rattle loudly.
Tiring of this activity, Paul stood up again, after picking up the whip, which he had dropped onto the floor. Holding the leather handle above Claude's spread-eagled body so that the three thongs lay curled around the boy's neck, Paul trailed them all the way down Claude's body, trailing the thongs along the back of each of the boy's legs. He then moved the whip up again, trailing the thongs over Claude's buttocks and back. He did this for some time, moving the thongs backwards and forwards, until Claude was shivering and goose pimples appeared on his flesh. Claude started to whimper again, this time with pleasure, as the trailing leather thongs caressed him from head to toe. He was still snuffling with pleasure when Paul changed his tactics, and raising the whip into the air brought it down with real force directly across Claude's buttocks. Claude had a dark skin, but even so the whip caused three faint red lines to appear on his asscheeks.
Raising his head from the carpet, Claude twisted it sideways and looked up at Paul, his dark eyes full of pain. "That hurt," he protested.
"It's your birthday," Paul replied, and swung the whip again, this bringing the leather thongs across Claude's back.
Claude dropped his head back onto the carpet, the backs of his legs felt as though they were on fire. But all the time, Claude was aware that his prick continued to throb like a dynamo inside the leather pouch of the G-string he was wearing. The stinging whip, and the soft leather rubbing against his pulsating cock, was a combination which made his heart hammer in his breast, and a black void to appear in front .of his eyes. Feeling his spunk rising up from his bollocks, Claude pressed himself down even harder onto the thick carpet. When the whip struck his tingling buttocks yet again, Claude began to spunk, filling the leather pouch of his G-string with his helplessly spurting cream.
Paul, hearing Claude's moans change to a gasping sob, and seeing the boy's pressing downwards onto the carpet, guessed that Claude was having an orgasm. Throwing the whip to the floor, he unbuckled his loin cloth and dropped it to the carpet. Getting astride Claude's buttocks he spat saliva onto his hand, and covered his cock with the stuff. Pulling the leather string which ran between Claude's buttocks to one side, Paul then pushed his prick deep into Claude's asshole. He went on pushing until he had fully penetrated the gasping boy. Lying in a straight line on top of the spread-eagled Claude, Paul commenced to fuck him-hard.
Claude, who had been still spunking when Paul's prick slid into his ass, came to an end of his orgasm just as Paul started to fuck him. Paul's weight on his back, plus his strong downwards thrusts, made Claude's prick slide up and down inside the spunk-filled pouch of his G-string. For a couple of minutes, Claude could do nothing except regain his breath, but after that he started to get worked up again. The spunky leather pouch rubbing against his still-stiff cock, plus Paul's big prick fucking into his ass, soon aroused him once more.
When Paul started to have an orgasm, Claude clenched his small buttocks onto the lava-spurting fuck-stick buried so deeply into his ass, and proceeded to have another orgasm himself. Paul didn't need to be told that Claude was having another orgasm. The fierce clamp of Claude's sphincter was expressive enough. As always when he fucked Claude, Paul felt as though his prick was being sucked dry by a vacuum cleaner....
CHAPTER THREE
Six months after his seventeenth birthday, Claude had become Bernard Martin's lover, and was living with Bernard in his apartment above his hairdressing salon in the Rue du Fauborg St. Denis. His aunt, who was his official guardian until he was twenty-one, had been dubious about the move. She naturally had not been able to understand the necessity for it. It wasn't as if Claude's place of employment was so very far from her own home, so it wasn't a question of Claude having to travel long distances every day. But Claude, who could now be very persuasive and eloquent when he wished, managed to talk his aunt into accepting the fact that he wished to move from beneath her protective wing and live his own life. His uncle, as usual, took very little part in the discussion. He was, as usual, quite happy to allow his wife to deal with such matters. Jacques, Claude's cousin, who had now found himself a girl friend, was relieved that Claude had decided to leave. This was because Jacques was trying to forget the things that he and Claude had done together!
Paul Darrin had, of course, been furious when Claude calmly announced one evening that he was going to live with Bernard Martin. After a bitter argument, Claude had eventually stormed out of Paul's apartment and had never seen him since. Claude had not been unduly surprised at Paul's reaction to the news, but he had been surprised at Paul's intensity. He had not expected him to take the news quite so badly, and he was genuinely sorry that they had not managed to remain friends. The way Claude saw things, the fact that he was going to live with Bernard didn't make all that much difference. It was simply that he wouldn't be able to visit Paul quite so often as he had done before. Paul, however, didn't look at it in this light at all. He seemed to think he had been betrayed. Claude couldn't understand this. He looked at things in what he considered a more practical light. And as far as he could see it was practical for him to go and live with Bernard, who had more or less promised him a partnership in his hairdressing business.
And this was quite true. Bernard Martin, who had been interested in Claude from the first moment he saw him, had eventually become quite infatuated. His promise to Claude of a partnership in his business was made in good faith, although as he pointed out to Claude this could not take place until he had thoroughly learned the trade and he had reached the age of twenty-one. Claude was quite happy with this promise, and saw himself well on the way to realizing his ambitions. And Bernard who was now rapidly approaching forty, was well content to capture the attentions of the young and attractive Claude. But Bernard was no fool, and he could see right from the beginning that if he wanted to possess the young Claude, then it would be necessary to dangle a carrot. The promise to Claude of a partnership in the hairdressing salon had seemed a most suitable carrot. As Bernard expected, Claude went straight ahead after the prize.
The Rue du Faubourg St. Denis is one of those long, narrow, crowded streets which tourists are apt to refer to as "typically Paris." The denizens of the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, unaware that they were typically anything, and hellbent on being individualistic, filled the street with a noisy clamor practically twenty-four hours a day. The traffic, which was one-way, moved carefully because there were always as many pedestrians on the narrow road as there were on the pavements. Open-fronted butcher shops, cake shops, and fruit shops, mixed up with innumerable cafes, whose chairs and tables spilled out onto the narrow pavement, vied with each other for customers. And there were always plenty of those around. The cafes were filled day and night, mainly with men, and the shops were always crowded-mainly with women.
The Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, noisy, dirty, but always full of life, is a popular rendezvous for a wide range of homosapiens. It has, for instance, its own quota of prostitutes who stoically parade the pavements day and night, no matter what the weather. The prostitutes of the Rue du Fauborg St. Denis are not elegant, and neither are their customers. They are mainly women who are past their prime, and rather like the street in which they work, they look down at heel, and not particularly clean. But whatever else they may be, they are not downhearted, and are willing to indulge in a boisterous and insulting verbal match with anyone so foolish as to take them on.
Bernard Martin's hairdressing salon, situated near the end of the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, where it emerges from beneath a large and impressive arch known as the Porte St. Denis, catered to a large variety of customers. Bernard employed six assistants, and they were rarely idle. The price of a haircut at Chez Bernard was modest, in keeping with the neighborhood, and although the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis may not be particularly chic, it was right in the center of Paris.
One day, at about eleven o'clock in the morning, Claude found himself with a customer whose face he hadn't seen before. It was a face which was going to play quite a large part in his life, although at that moment he was naturally unaware of the fact. But he was aware of being attracted towards the stranger in a way that hadn't happened to him before. Many attractive males walked into the hairdressing salon every day of the week, and some of them couldn't keep their hands to themselves. Most of them knew Bernard personally, and of course they liked to have their hair cut by Bernard's latest assistant-the young and handsome Claude.
Claude, knowing that Bernard, who himself worked at a chair at the head of the salon surrounded by mirrors, and missed nothing that happened, was careful how he treated these friendly customers. Although he exchanged verbal pleasantries with them, and was every bit as friendly as they were, he was careful to avoid their hands, which they would innocently rest on the arms of the chair, waiting for him to move close while he cut their hair. At first he had fallen into the trap, and he would feel a stealthy hand slipping beneath the blue apron which he wore, and stroking the front of his trousers. This had excited him, particularly if the customer was young and attractive. But always through the mirrors he would see a frown of annoyance and disapproval on Bernard's face. Bernard, as Claude knew full well, was far more possessive and jealous than Paul had ever been. Therefore, he learned how to avoid the wandering hands of customers, dexteriously keeping his distance while he cut their hair. This was no mean feat, but it was one of which Bernard thoroughly approved!
Claude, at this time, was not having sexual relations with anyone except Bernard. However, it would not be strictly true to say that Claude's fidelity came from the heart. He often wished that he had another lover, someone a bit younger than Bernard.. Not that Claude found Bernard to be lacking in virility. On the contrary, Bernard's sexual capabilities were in accordance with someone half his age. But he did lack imagination, and after the erotic games he had played with Paul, Claude found himself being bored with Bernard's unimaginative sexuality. But finding an imaginative lover was not easy. For one thing, Claude found that living and working with Bernard meant that he was never left alone to his own devices. Bernard was always there, or if not actually on the spot he was never far away. Also, although Claude knew that any one of the customers with wandering hands would have willingly become his lover, this would not have been diplomatic. Although some of the customers were very attractive, and they excited Claude very much, he had to remember that Bernard knew them all. If he took any one of them as a lover, Bernard would be bound to find out. And if that happened, Claude was certain that all hell would be let loose.
Not that there was any need for caution with the stranger, whose hands remained firmly on his lap, and whose conversation was circumspection itself. Claude settled the man in the chair, and helped him into the overall which all customers wore while they had their hair cut. Twice Claude met the man's eyes through the large mirror which faced them, and twice Claude experienced a sexual attraction which was so strong that it left them breathless. The man asked for a shampoo and a razor cut, and pulling himself together Claude went to work with steady hands. Once Bernard walked over to where he was working, fussing around like a hen with a chick. He had taught Claude how to razor cut, but he still liked to see that Claude was doing it properly. This was something which annoyed Claude, and he was glad when Bernard at last went back to his own customer.
"You're new here?" Claude's customer asked.
Claude met the man's eyes again through the mirror. They were big and dark like his own, and once more he felt the magnetic pull of the man's sexuality. Claude had noticed him as soon as he had entered the salon. Although of medium height, and wearing a dark suit with a blue shirt and dark blue tie, it was clear that the man was powerfully built. But he walked lightly, almost like a dancer, although Claude doubted if that was the man's profession. His chisled features were devastatingly handsome, with a straight nose, a full, firm mouth, and square determined chin. Claude had noticed that his hands, although small, looked very strong and capable.
Claude wrinkled his nose at the man's question.
"Not exactly. I've been working here for about eighteen months. But Bernard, the boss, is a bit fussy."
Henri Dupuy smiled into the mirror at the young boy who was attending to his hair, thinking that although there was a difference in their ages, they could have been mistaken for brothers because of the similarity of their black hair, dark eyes, and the brown pigmentation of their skin. Henri, who was French, but whose father was from Crete, wondered if the young assistant might also come from that part of the world, "Are you French?" he asked.
Claude smiled. He had been asked that question often enough before.
"Yes, I'm French, although my father was Greek," he replied.
Henri Dupuy smiled again. "My father is also Greek, from Crete," he murmured.
Claude paused, holding the razor in his right hand, and allowing the fingers of his left hand to rest lightly on the man's neck.
"My father came from the north, but he is dead now. Both my father and mother were killed in a plane crash over two years ago," he said, and then wondered why he had confided this news to the stranger. He didn't usually mention the subject of his parents' death. It was something he preferred to forget.
"That's tough," the customer replied.
After that Claude found himself talking easily to the stranger, and by the time he had finished with the man's hair-over which he took longer than he usually took with a customer-they had exchanged names. As soon as the man had left the salon, however, Claude saw Bernard beckon to him.
"Someone you know?" Bernard asked casually, although Claude was not deceived. Bernard was jealous.
"Not before this morning," Claude replied with a shrug. "We were talking about Greece. He's got a Greek father, and as you know my father was Greek."
Claude then walked away from Bernard before anything else could be said on the subject. And really there was nothing else to be said. There was no need for Bernard to be jealous, because Henri Dupuy had been friendly, but nothing else. Claude was sorry about that, although he had high hopes of seeing Henri again. The man had told him that he had recently moved into the area, and would be returning in due course for another haircut. Expressing satisfaction at Claude's efforts with the razor, he said he would make sure that Claude cut his hair on his future visits. Claude had shaken hands with Henri before he left the salon, and again he had experienced the sexual magnetism which the man held for him. But if Henri had felt the same way, he had given no sign of the fact. Claude had started on his next customer feeling elated and let down at the same time.
In actual fact Henri Dupuy had felt the overtones of sexuality, which had sprung up between himself and the young hairdresser's assistant. He had tried to suppress the thoughts which had entered into his mind about the handsome young boy, but he hadn't been very successful. Henri, who was twenty-eight, and had been married for three years, was aware that he shouldn't have such thoughts about a young boy. He was also aware that he would be unwise to return to the hairdressing salon in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis. He knew this just as well that he knew he would return. Not for the first time he wished that Sara, his wife, had been able to have children. Perhaps then they would have both been more contented. Or at least perhaps Sara would have been more contented, and he would have had more t-'me to explore that other part of his personality. The part which was attracted towards young boys.
Henri, thinking of these things as he walked along the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis after leaving the hairdressing salon, wore a frown on his face. He was thinking that he had failed completely to suppress his interest in young boys. He had imagined that once he got married he would be interested in Sara. But it hadn't worked out that way, and if anything the situation was getting worse. Although he hated to admit it, Henri knew that after three years of marriage he was not interested in Sara at all, and that her sexual demands left him exhausted and frustrated. And as his interest in Sara waned, until it had reached zero, so did his interest in young boys grow, until it was almost an obsession. And the obsession, like most obsessions, derived from the fact that he had little time or opportunity to do anything about it. Sara was possessive, another trait in his wife which he found disagreeable, and which he was sure would have been averted by the advent of children. And Sara's demands for attention, plus his job as a free-lance cartoonist, left him little time for extramarital activities.
Henri Dupuy, whose cartoons appeared regularly in several Paris magazines and newspapers, and who was becoming quite well known, and well paid accordingly, had wandered into the profession almost by mistake. His passion had always been cars, and when he had left school he had immediately gone to work in a garage and became a mechanic. There was nothing he didn't know about the internal combustion engine, and the car hadn't been invented which could defeat Henri's efforts to understand it. But he had always been interested in sketching, which was his hobby when he wasn't working on some car or other. He also had a sense of the absurd, and often he would sketch the people around him, putting them in amusing situations. One day the owner of an expensive Italian sports car, on which he was working at the time, saw a pile of his sketches, which he had dumped onto the work bench at the garage where he was employed. The man, who had turned out to be the editor of a Paris magazine had expressed interest. And that's how it had all started.
Sometimes Henri regretted the fact that he was no longer a mechanic. Although as a cartoonist he earned much more money, and with much less effort, he still missed the satisfaction of diagnosing and treating an ailing engine. As a compensation he spent a lot of time on his own car, a DC Citroen. He would have liked to have owned a powerful sports car, but up to now he couldn't really afford such a luxury. And anyway Sara would have objected. She didn't like sports cars.
When Henri reached the apartment which he had recently taken over on the Boulevard Haussman, he found that his wife was out-probably shopping. Sara spent a lot of time shopping, and since their financial affairs had improved, Henri had noticed that she had acquired an extravagant taste in clothes. The apartment, which was large, comfortable, and expensive, had been Sara's idea also. Henri, whose requirements were simple, would have preferred a smaller apartment. In fact he was quite happy with the one they had in Montparnasse, but had not tried to stop Sara from searching for a bigger, better, and of course more expensive place for them to live in. In fact he rarely made any objections to anything Sara decided to do. He reckoned he had a kind of guilt complex towards her, and allowed her to have her own way in most things as a compensation for the fact that he no longer desired her. Although nothing had ever been said between them, Henri was almost sure that Sara had noticed his lack of ardor. He sometimes wondered if the expensive clothes which she bought for herself were bought in an effort to attract him. He hoped not, because if that was the case Sara was wasting his money and her time!
On Henri's third visit to Chez Bernard on the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, he asked Claude if he would like to accompany him to the Le Mans twenty-four hour car racing jamboree, an annual event in France not to be missed by racing car enthusiasts. Claude, taken by surprise by the invitation, nearly sliced off more of Henri's black springy hair than he had intended, but was saved from this mistake when the razor slipped in his hand. When he had recovered he accepted the invitation blindly, although he knew, even before Henri told him, that it would mean leaving Paris for at least three days. The race was being held that weekend, ; which gave him most of the week to think of an excuse for his absence from Paris that would satisfy Bernard.
In any event Claude partially told Bernard the truth. He said that he wanted to go to Le Mans for the twenty-four hour race. But he didn't tell Bernard that he was going with Henri Dupuy. He said that he was going with his uncle. Bernard, much to Claude's relief, did not appear to be suspicious. He knew that Claude's uncle was interested in cars, and that he spent a lot of his spare time beneath his own battered Fiat, and it seemed natural enough that he should be interested in Le Mans, and natural enough that he should ask his nephew to accompany him. Also Claude had been working hard, and working well, and Bernard took the view that a break would do the boy nothing but good. In fact Bernard had been lulled into a false sense of security in his relationship with Claude. The boy had, in Bernard's opinion, behaved so well that he now trusted him completely. Not that Bernard had stopped being jealous. He hadn't. But the fact that Claude had broken with Paul Darrin, and had not taken up with anyone else, had blunted the jealous streak which Bernard undoubtedly possessed. He was well on the way to idolizing Claude, which for a man of his age was asking for trouble.
Henri picked up Claude on Friday morning at a cafe on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle. He had not asked why Claude wished to be picked up at a cafe, presuming that possibly the boy lived with his parents and the arrival of a stranger in a DC Citroen might prove embarrassing. Henri did not know that Claude lived with the owner of the hairdressing salon in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis. In fact he knew nothing about Claude at all, just as Claude knew nothing about him.
Henri's plan was to motor slowly to Le Mans, stopping fori lunch on the way. He had already booked a hotel room in Le Mans for the night, and he already had the two necessary pass-tickets for the famous Le Mans twenty-four hour car race which started on the following morning. In the boot of the Citroen, Henri had a tent, plus a complicated array of camping gear. Like many enthusiasts he intended to camp for twenty-four hours at some point along the race track so that he wouldn't miss anything.
Skillfully driving the big Citroen through Paris after picking up Claude on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, Henri soon got them out of the city and onto the open road. Claude, for the first time alone with Henri, felt tongue-tied.
He had been looking forward to the trip so much that he hadn't paused to consider that he didn't know Henri at all. All he knew was that the man attracted him strongly. But he wasn't at all sure if Henri felt the same way about him. So he sat silently in the comfortable passenger seat of Henri's car, and for the first time wondered if perhaps he had made a mistake. Perhaps, he thought, Henri Dupuy was just being friendly and had invited him to Le Mans quite innocently. After all, apart from the couple of occasions when their eyes had locked in the mirrors of Chez Bernard, nothing else had happened, and nothing had been said.
Henri, sensing the strain which was developing between them, decided to break it. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he put his other hand onto Claude's leg.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked.
With an audible sigh of relief, which made Henri smile, Claude slid further down into his seat, and closing both his hands over Henri's replied that he was quite comfortable.
Henri kept his hand on Claude's leg until he needed it to get the car past a heavy transport lorry. But the close contact with Claude had excited him, and Henri began to scan the passing countryside, looking for a secluded place where he might stop the car for a short while. Claude, also excited, leaned towards Henri so that his head was almost resting on his shoulder. Henri was wearing a dark brown suede jacket which was unbuttoned, an open-necked white shirt and black well-fitting trousers. Putting his hand onto Henri's leg, he slowly felt his way up into the man's crotch feeling for his prick.
It didn't take him long to find it, because it was already stiff. Undoing the buttons of Henri's fly, Claude put his hand inside. By the time Henri had found a place to park, his cock had been pulled out of his underpants and was jutting through the open fly of his trousers by Claude's busy hand. It was long, thick and straight, with a big circumcised knob, and it throbbed powerfully in Claude's grasp.
Henri had stopped the car on the grass verge at the end of a wooded hill. The road was behind them, but they were still in view from passing motorists. Pushing his rearing prick back into his trousers, Henri suggested that they leave the car and make for the wooded hill. Claude agreed, and clambered out of the car. He was wearing dark blue tight-fitting jeans, a short-sleeved dark blue shirt and a black jacket. He took the jacket off and left it on the seat of the car. The sun was very warm on his naked arms as he moved towards the wooded hill with Henri at his side.
Once they had gained the cover of the trees, they soon found a bed of ferns beneath the shade of the closely packed trees. It was very quiet in the wood, and the zoom of passing traffic on the road they had just left sounded a million miles away. They didn't talk, but fell onto the bed of ferns, using Henri's jacket for a pillow. They lay facing one another, pressing close and kissing deeply. Henri couldn't get enough of Claude's full soft mouth, and time and time again he pushed his tongue between the boy's lips.
Languidly, Claude moved over onto his back, and his hand once more went inside the fly of Henri's trousers. Henri hadn't put his cock back inside his underpants, and Claude soon had the thick rod in his grasp. He hung onto the stiffly pulsating member while Henri continued to kiss him. He could feel Henri's hand undoing the belt of his jeans, and the rasp of his fly zip being pulled apart. He raised himself slightly to allow Henri to push his jeans down to his knees. His jeans were immediately followed by his underpants. He sucked hard on Henri's tongue which was inside his mouth, all the time caressing Henri's big prick in his hand, while his own hard tool was caressed in return.
His arm beneath Claude's neck, and his mouth pressed against he boy's soft lips, Henri became violently excited. He could feel Claude's hand tantalizing the hard length of his penis so that the spunk was rising from his balls. Biting Claude's lips in his sudden storming climax, Henri spurted a strong stream of spunk onto Claude's naked thigh. Claude, himself excited to the edge of an orgasm, lost control when Henri's cock throbbed in his hand and he felt the spurting lava splash onto his thigh. With a muffled sob he began to spend himself, shooting his cream through Henri's masturbating fingers and high into the air.
After that they stopped kissing, and lay panting like two wounded animals on the bed of ferns. Henri fumbled in his jacket for cigarettes before folding it into a pillow again for Claude's head. He lit two cigarettes and handed one to Claude. They had both been completely lost in each other, but now that they had returned to reality Henri looked anxiously around them to see if there was any chance of them being disturbed. But the wooded hillside was very quiet, and it was beautifully cool beneath the shade of the large trees. Henri lay back, his head next to Claude's on the makeshift pillow, and drew smoke into his lungs. Above him, through the thickly spreading branches of the trees, he could see the blue sky. Suddenly he heard Claude chuckle. "I'm covered in spunk," the boy said.
Henri produced a handkerchief, and bending over Claude, whose shirt was pushed up around his neck, and whose jeans and underpants were around his knees, carefully wiped the long lines of glistening sperm off the boy's thigh and chest. Like himself, Claude still had an erection, and Henri saw the boy's stiff prick quiver when his hand brushed against it. He then lay back, and continued to smoke. His own cock, now very spunky, was jutting out of his black trousers, and Henri knew that his trousers would probably be stained. But he didn't want to take them off-not here in the wood. It might be difficult if they heard someone approaching.
Claude, finishing his cigarette, had other ideas on the subject. He knew that Henri had a strongly muscled, powerful body, and he wanted to see it naked, or as near naked as possible. Bending over Henri and smiling down at him, he undid the buttons of Henri's white shirt all the way down the front to reveal his deep hairy chest. Undoing Henri's trouser belt, he then urged him to raise himself so that he could push his trousers and underpants down to his knees, the same as his own. At first Henri demurred, but when Claude persisted, he allowed the boy to have his own way. He drew in his breath sharply when Claude leaned over him, and the boy's soft wet mouth slid down his chest and straight on his cock.
Claude took his time licking Henri's exciting phallus, which was the biggest one he had ever seen. It was even bigger than Paul's, and at the time he had thought that it was big enough. And it was certainly larger than Bernard's, Claude reflected as he tongued the quivering rod from the base to the top of the spunky arrowhead. While he licked, he played with Henri's testicles, juggling the hairy sac in his hand, until Henri's muscled legs were flexed with sexual excitement.
Getting the big wet knob into his mouth, Claude sucked hard until Henri's breath was grating in his throat, and the muscles of his stomach were rippling as he tried to move his hips up and down on the soft bed of ferns.
Henri, completely lost once more in a fog of overpowering sexuality, pushed his hand behind Claude and explored the swallow divide of the boy's smaller firm buttocks. Getting a finger up into Claude's asshole, Henri frigged the boy while he sucked. Soon he had two, and then three digits up into Claude's ass.
Claude, squirming as his ass was frigged so thoroughly by Henri's strong fingers, began to gag as his mouth was filled with juice which was running out of Henri's prick and into the back of his throat. Releasing Henri's beautiful pair of balls, he caught hold of the base of his thick stiff prick. It was throbbing furiously, and Claude knew that if he continued to gobble Henri's cock any longer that he was going to receive a mouthful of hot spunk. And although not at all averse to this, Claude had other ideas. Sliding Henri's wildly quivering fuckstick out of his mouth, he pulled the man's hand away from his asscheeks. Struggling out of his shoes jeans and underpants, Claude got astride Henri's hips. Pulling Henri's cock into a vertical position, Claude pushed the large wet knob between his buttocks, and onto the rim of his anus He then let go of Henri's dick, and resting his hands on Henri's naked chest wriggled his small bottom on the big cockknob which was already w-edged into his well-frigged asshole.
Suddenly Claude pushed himself downwards, sinking the powerfully rampant joystick deep into his ass. He didn't stop until he had got all of it up his backside. He then paused, his fingers twisting Henri's nipples which were surrounded by soft black hair. Panting for breath, Claude looked down a Henri, who had his eyes closed. But he was also breathing hard, and Claude could feel the continual throb of the man's potent prick which filled his asshole.
At that moment Henri, on the knife edge of another climax, hardly dared move in case he spent himself too quickly. Taken by surprise at Claude's expert sensuality, he felt helplessly excited at the boy's lewd carnality. He was glad that Claude paused after spearing himself so thoroughly, and with a determined mental effort Henri forced his rapidly rising sperm to sink back into his bollocks. When he felt more under control, he put his hands around Claude's delightful buttocks, pulling them wide apart so that the boy could spear himself even further. Then Henri released Claude's tight asscheeks, so that they clenched together. Henri licked his dry lips when he felt the tight clamp of Claude's ass closing around his prick. Sliding his hand around to Claude's genitals, he slowly started to masturbate Claude's hard cock with one hand, while playing with the boy's balls with the other.
Claude, himself not so very far from a second orgasm, started to move his ass up and down on Henri's fuckstick. Keeping his mobile buttocks tightly clenched, he deliberately wanked Henri's tool with his ass. His breath coming faster at every minute, Claude was soon riding Henri hard. Every time he pushed himself downwards, burying Henri's member deep into his ass, he felt it throb with virile power. And the faster he rode the big cock, the faster Henri wanked him, until Claude couldn't see anything more because of a black void filled with flashing stars which filled his eyes. Spunking abundantly, his slim muscular body shaking with the strength of his climax, Claude gripped Henri's prick hard between his buttocks, virtually sitting on the pulsating stick. Through the mist which clogged his brain, Claude heard Henri moaning feverishly. It was then that Claude felt the hot spunk shooting up into his ass.
Claude lay back in the comfortably padded passenger-seat of the Citroen and closed his eyes. Soon after he and Henri had left the wood where they had made love, they had stopped and eaten a large and very good lunch. They had also drunk wine, and the effects of sex, food and wine made Claude feel very sleepy. He was also feeling very contented. While they had lunch he and Henri had talked. It had been a shock to discover that Henri was married and lived with his wife. But it had also been a shock for Henri to discover that he lived with Bernard Martin, the owner of Chez Bernard. As lunch had progressed Claude had found himself talking to Henri in a way that he had never talked to anyone before. Henri had a way of listening to what he said as if he really cared, and Claude had told him his entire life story, which wasn't much, although it seemed quite a lot to Claude. He told Henri about the plane crash which had killed his parents, his life in Paris living with his aunt and her family. He told him about Jacques, his cousin; about his first adventure on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle; about Paul; about Bernard and about his ambitions. Claude had listened, and he had seemed to understand. Claude, for the first time in his life, was in love.
CHAPTER FOUR
Soon after his eighteenth birthday Claude went into the army to do his national service-obligatory in France. By this time he had known Henri for six months, and they had been meeting where and when they could. But their meetings had been infrequent. They both had commitments-Henri his wife and Claude had Bernard. Strangely enough Bernard never suspected that Claude had a lover. And as Henri never went to Bernard's hairdressing salon again after the weekend he and Claude had spent together, Bernard completely forgot about the handsome dark-haired stranger. After all Henri had only been to the salon three times, and there were always new faces in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis.
Claude did not like being a soldier, and most of his sixteen months service was spent cutting the hair of other soldiers at a big army camp on the outskirts of Bordeaux. Whenever he had leave, he made a dash for Paris and Henri. But of course he also had to spend a lot of time with Bernard. On his last leave before he was finally allowed to return to civilian life he went to Paris as usual. But he had not written to Bernard telling him that he was on leave and would be in Paris. Instead he stayed incognito at a hotel on the Boulevard St. Michel. He checked into the hotel at midday, took a shower, changed into pajamas, and lay on the bed smoking and waiting. At 3pm there was a knock on the door, and Henri came into the room. They hadn't seen each other for four months, and the sexual magnetism which existed between them made the small hotel room seem suffocating. Locking the door behind him, Henri walked over to the bed where Claude lay propped on one elbow, and sat on the edge of the bed looking at him. He was thinking that Claude, who was now nearing twenty, was no longer the child he had met over two years ago. The boy was now fully developed, with strong fine limbs, and his handsome features were more sharply etched. Henri particularly noticed Claude's mouth. His lips were still full and invitingly pink, but the comers were no longer uncertain as they had been when they had first met Claude's mouth looked firm and determined, like his cleft chin.
As always when they met after a long separation, Claude and Henri did not talk. After they had looked at each other in silence Henri undressed. Getting onto the bed, Henri took the cigarette out of Claude's hand, stubbed it, and pulled Claude into his arms. They lay facing one another, pressing close, and kissing deeply. Although Claude was well built, he looked almost frail by the side of Henri's thick set, muscled, and hirsute physique. When Henri moved his arms, pushing his hand down into the back of Claude's pajama trousers, his biceps rippled sleekly beneath the smoothness of his brown skin. Claude kicked the pajama trousers off his feet, then pressed close to Henri once more. Their pricks erect and hard, rubbed together excitingly. Claude sucked Henri's tongue into his mouth, while Henri slowly pushed him onto his back and rolled on top of him.
When Henri rolled on top of Claude he first of all pushed his prick between the boy's parted legs, fitting it into the slot of his asscheeks. Undoing Claude's pajama jacket, Henri pressed his own broad hairy chest against the boy's smooth hairless one, and once more closed his mouth over Claude's soft wet lips. He could feel Claude's cock, trapped between their bellies, throb and pulsate. Putting his arms beneath Claude's shoulders, Henri held him in a bear hug. His own tool, snugly w-edged between Claude's buttocks, swelled alarmingly. Biting Claude's lips frenziedly, Henri only just managed to control his rising spunk. It was four months since he had held Claude in his arms. Four months when he had thought of no one else. Four months when he had even imagined himself to be with Claude when he was fulfilling his marital duties. Quickly Henri dismissed the thought of Sara from his mind. Although he tried not to think about it, he knew that he was beginning to hate his wife.
Claude, who had also thought of no one except Henri for the past four months, was no less excited than his lover. Henri's muscled hairy body lying on top of him, plus the had pole of Henri's sex throbbing between his buttocks, and the man's hard demanding lips, filled him with a fierce need. He pushed upwards against Henri so hard that his dick throbbed and jerked against Henri's muscled belly. His heart hammering, his brain plunging into the familiar trackless void, Claude spunked uncontrollably, his rich cream soaking both his own stomach and Henri's.
Henri continued to hold the shuddering spunking Claude, while the boy's wet spurting cream made their bodies slippery. When Claude came to a gasping end of his urgent climax, Henri slid his prick from between the boy's buttocks, then let his weight rest on top of Claude again. This time Henri allowed his cock to slide onto Claude's spunky belly, next to Claude's wet cock which was still hard. Henri then started to fuck, sliding his long hard tool up and down on the spunk-wet surface of Claude's belly. Quicker and quicker he fucked, and in his rapidly rising excitement Henri caught hold of Claude's full lower lip between his teeth, biting it unmercifully.
Henri's muscles locked and his body went taut. As from a great distance, he heard Claude cry out, and knew that his teeth were hurting the boy's lip. But he couldn't stop; not now when he was on the brink of an orgasm. And then Henri started to spend, lavishly spraying his pent-up desires in a long surging stream.
Henri's sperm, plus the results of Claude's own orgasm, made them both feel they were having a bath in the stuff. Not only were their stomachs wet and slippy, but Henri's long virile cock had spurted wet cream onto their chests as well. But Henri did not attempt to roll off Claude after his climax. Resting his head on the boy's shoulder he shuddered from the strength of his release, and then lay still, recovering his breath.
Although Henri was heavy, Claude was content for him to remain where he was. Putting his arms around Henri, Claude stroked his broad back with hands as gentle as butterflies.
Their passion temporarily spent, it seemed very quiet in the small hotel bedroom. A late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, and in the street several stories below there was the sound of traffic and the every day world. Claude was reminded of that first time he and Henri had made love. It had been, he remembered, in a wood on the way to Le Mans. He remembered the silence of the wood and the traffic on the main highway which had been quite close but had sounded a million miles away. It was the same now, he thought. He and Henri created their own world, and the other world, the one which was full of traffic and people, was a million miles away.
"I love you," Henri suddenly said in a quiet voice.
Claude didn't answer, but turning his head searched for Henri's lips, and his hands went down to Henri's thighs, which were strong and firm like two tree trunks. With an intensity that was almost painful, Claude's sexual desire for Henri flamed into new life. He squirmed seductively beneath Henri's weight, and his cock, which had gone a little limp, quivered and swelled into a new virility. Forcing his hands between their sticky bellies, Claude grasped Henri's tool in both hands, causing the thick member to throb into life at his touch. Henri's fuck-stick was wet and slippery from their combined sperm, and when he raised his haunches, Claude raised his legs into the air and positioned Henri's knob onto the rim of his anus. Claude then released Henri's cock, and wrapping his legs around Henri's thighs waited to be penetrated.
Henri had no trouble in sliding his tool into Claude's ass. His cock, wet with spunk, went into the boy's asshole like a well-greased piston.
"Oooh! Henri!" Claude gasped, the speed of Henri's raping lunge taking him by surprise.
But he didn't say any more, because Henri's mouth closed over his lips, and his lover's tongue entered his mouth.
Henri kissed Claude passionately while keeping his prick buried deeply into the boy's ass. Once again Henri could find Claude's cock, hard and throbbing between their bellies. Reaching down from Claude's legs, which were wrapped around his hips, Henri forced them to surrender their grip. Putting his arms beneath them, Henri bent Claude's legs well back and well apart. Now he had much more space to fuck Claude's deliciously tight ass. Without taking his month from Claude's, Henri tentatively moved his hips up and down, making his prick slide seductively up and down inside Claude's asshole. He did this for some time, almost as if he was testing the tightness of Claude's back passage.
It wasn't long, however, before Henri found himself unable to continue this pleasurable but almost playful tantalization. At least it tantalized him, and by the urgent jerking of Claude's cock between their bellies, Henri imagined that he was experiencing the same pleasure.
Keeping Claude's legs looped over his arms, Henri put his hands underneath Claude's back and closed his hands over the boy's shoulders. Claude's knees were now pressed well back, his upturned ass defenseless and in a perfect position for being fucked. Wasting no more time, Henri slid his cock out of Claude's anus to the point where his knob was wedded just inside the orifice. He then slid his prick back into Claude's sheath in one long sliding movement. He repeated this several times, his hips rising and falling at each full thrust.
Claude, bent almost double while Henri fucked him, could only move his arms. Excited by Henri's short tantalizing thrusts, followed by long hard ones up into his ass, Claude fiercely scored Henri's muscled back with his nails.
The pain of Claude's nails acted like a spur to Henri. Still withdrawing his cock from Claude's ass to the point where he nearly lost purchase before plunging it back in again, Henri nevertheless moved faster. Soon he was fucking Claude so fast that the bed springs creaked in protest. But neither of them heard the noise. They could hear nothing except their own heavy breathing, and the distant thunder in their ears as they came nearer to another orgasm at every passing second.
They came simultaneously, Henri spurting his hot come up into Claude's asshole, and Claude releasing his second orgasm between their writhing bellies. The bed springs, which had reached a crescendo, fell silent, and the noise was replaced by the heavy panting of both Henri and Claude. In between his pants Claude begged Henri to release him. Doubled up as he was, and with Henri's full weight on top of him, in which position they had been for some time, Claude felt a paralyzing cramp taking hold of his strained limbs. He breathed a sigh of relief when Henri raised himself.
"Oooh! Christ!" Claude exclaimed when Henri's spunky cock at last slid out of his ass with a squelchy plopping noise. He then let his legs fall back onto the bed, while Henri kneeled between them.
Henri, looking down at Claude, smiled.
"You look a mess," he said.
And it was true. Claude was streaked with sperm from his chest down to his pubic hairs, where there was a big pool of it from his last orgasm. His prick, now half-erect, lay stranded in the pool of sperm. Spunk was also seeping out of his asshole and down the inside of his legs. His black hair was tousled, and his face streaked with perspiration.
Claude grimaced, looking down at himself ruefully. Then he looked at Henri on his knees at the foot of the bed.
"You don't look much better yourself," he replied.
Which was true. Henri's black springy hair was plastered across his forehead with perspiration, while his hairy chest was soaked with perspiration and spunk. His long cock, hanging half erect between his legs, was covered with sperm. Like Claude, Henri looked down at himself and grimaced, Swinging off the bed he made for the shower cubicle which had been built into the small room by the window. A few minutes later he was joined by Claude. There wasn't much room for two people inside the cramped cubicle, but they managed it. They very nearly made love again....
Henri and Claude went out to dinner after they had showered. Henri took Claude to a small restaurant he knew just off the Boulevard St. Michel which served excellent Chateaubriant and which was, as Henri knew, a favorite of Claude's. Claude, who had brought civilian clothes with him to Paris, into which he had changed, beamed with pleasure and tucked into the meal when it arrived with relish. The Chateaubriant was excellent, and virtually melted in his mouth.
"What time do you have to be back?" he asked Henri in between mouthfuls.
Henri shrugged. "Around midnight, I suppose," he replied. He then leaned across the table, his eyes searching Claude's face. "I'm going to get a divorce," he said flatly.
Claude paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and looked so surprised that he made Henri smile.
"You're what!" Claude asked incredulously.
"I'm going to divorce my wife," Henri repeated.
Claude took a gulp of wine. "On what grounds?" he asked.
"Desertion. I'm going to leave her, and after the necessary length of time allow her to divorce me for desertion," Henri said.
"And suppose she won't?" Claude asked.
"She will. I know Sara. She's the sort of woman who must have a man around more for prestige than anything else. She will want to search for another husband," Henri said, although there was no bitterness in his voice, just a faint tiredness.
Claude didn't quite know what to say to Henri's sudden announcement that he intended to divorce his wife. Somehow he had always imagined that Henri was happy enough being married. He had never talked about his wife, and Claude never remembered hearing him criticize her in any way. And he had never asked Henri any questions on the subject, thinking that it was best left alone. So long as he and Henri could meet, Claude had come to accept the fact that he was also married. At first he had felt jealousy about Henri's wife, but that had worn off when he came to realize that Henri was much more interested in him than her.
"Does your wife know anything about me?" Claude eventually asked after a long pause.
Henri shook his head. "Of course not," he replied.
"Well, it will be easier for us if you do get divorced. I wish it had already happened, then you could stay with me at the hotel until I go back to Bordeaux," Claude said.
"Yes that would be nice, but I wasn't thinking about now. I was thinking about the future. You will be out of the army nest month. What are your plans?"
Claude lifted his eyebrows. "Go back to Bernard and hairdressing," he said. "What else can I do?"
Henri's dark eyes clouded. "I hoped that when I was divorced that perhaps you would consider working somewhere else, and living somewhere else," he said meaningfully.
Claude, realizing he had been tactless, looked contrite. "I'm sorry Henri, but your plans for a divorce took me by surprise," he said, then paused. When he continued he chose his words carefully.
"If you remember, Henri, I told you after that first time ... on the way to Le Mans...." he began, but Henri interrupted him.
"Oh yes, I remember. Bernard has offered you a partner ship in the business when you are twenty-one. And then after that what? You spend the rest of your life working at Chez Bernard in the Rue de Faubourg St. Denis?"
Claude looked pained. "I have no intentions of staying in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis all my life. I told you. I want to open my own business, but I can't without money."
"And how is becoming Bernard's partner going to help?" Henri asked.
"I'm not sure, but it's the only chance I seem to have of doing something except being a hairdressing assistant," Claude replied candidly.
Henri took a sip of his wine. "I have some money, and also a few useful contacts. I could help you start your own business without waiting forty years for Bernard to die," he said quietly.
Claude's eyes gleamed with such obvious mercenary interest that Henri laughed outright.
"You are very interested in money aren't you Claude?" he asked, his voice half joking and half serious.
Claude colored. "Who isn't?" he muttered, lowering his long black eyelashes.
Henri looked thoughtful. "You're right," he said at last, "We're all interested in money ... except that some of us are more interested than others. Anyway, what do you think of my proposition?"
Henri glanced at his watch. It was 9:30pm.
"Let's go back to the hotel and discuss it," he replied, finishing his wine.
Henri called for the bill.
On the day that Claude was due to arrive in Paris, no longer a soldier but a civilian once more, Bernard Martin went to some trouble in making himself and his apartment presentable for the occasion. Closing his hairdressing salon earlier than usual, he set off for the train station to meet Claude.
Claude, who had been rehearsing a speech for Bernard's benefit all the way from Bordeaux, was taken by surprise to find Bernard on the platform waiting for his train. He couldn't help but notice that Bernard was spruced up for the occasion, and he couldn't help but remember all the letters which Bernard had written him while he had been in the army. Some of them he had answered, some he hadn't. He also remembered the fuss which Bernard made of him whenever he had returned to Paris on leave.
They took a taxi back to the apartment above the hairdressing salon in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, and once they arrived Bernard took a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator.
"This is an occasion. At last you're back again," Bernard said jovially, popping the champagne cork and filling their glasses.
Claude, lifting his glass to Bernard's toast, couldn't bring himself to deliver his well-rehearsed speech, although he knew it would have been kinder to Bernard if he had done so. Instead he fell in with Bernard's festive mood and his plans for them to go and eat that evening at a bar and a restaurant on the Rue Therese where the clientele was entirely male.
However, although Bernard did not comment on the fact, he had sensed an unusual reserve in Claude. He tried to find a reason for it, eventually put it down to the fact that apart from occasional leaves, Claude had been living a very different sort of life to what he was accustomed in Paris, and had not yet become adjusted to being a civilian again. With this thought, Bernard redoubled his efforts to make Claude feel that he had returned home. And after all, Bernard thought, his apartment was Claude's home. The boy had lived here for six months before going into the army.
Bernard, who was now forty-one, had aged during the sixteen months that Claude had been in the army. The change wasn't obvious, and when he made an effort with his appearance, as he had done for Claude's return home, the change was hardly noticeable at all. But Claude, watching Bernard pour them more champagne, noticed that Bernard's brown hair was now flecked with grey, and that the lines around his eyes were more deeply etched. Not that the change necessarily made Bernard less attractive, Claude thought. He was still a handsome man. Also, like many young people, Claude found that he was more attracted to older men, although usually he preferred them to be around Henri's age. He was now thirty-one. And of course, in Henri, Claude had also found his physical ideal. He found Henri's thick set, muscular virility, to be irresistible. Which was quite different to the mild attraction he felt towards the slim, suave Bernard.
Bernard, unaware of the thoughts which were flickering through Claude's mind like summer lightning, handed him his third glass of champagne and sat next to him on the long, very deep, and very comfortable green leather divan. Bernard had originally bought the divan to put into his hairdressing salon, but had taken such a liking to it that he had finally found room for it in his quite spacious apartment above the salon. He had bought another, less expensive piece of furniture, for his customers to sit on while they waited to have their hair cut.
Claude, losing his tension beneath the influence of champagne on an empty stomach, didn't try and stop Bernard when he started to make love. Bernard's hand, stroking the front of his trousers, was exciting him. He could also see Bernard's excitement rapidly rising beneath his trousers. Lying back, Claude opened his legs, letting Bernard have his way. He breathed deeply when Bernard's lips, cool with champagne, closed over his own. He heard his zip being j undone, and his breathing became deeper when Bernard's hand went inside his trousers, fumbled with his underpants, and then closed over the naked hardness of his prick. Putting his hand between Bernard's legs, Claude encouraged him by stroking the bulge of his cock beneath the material of his trousers.
Bernard stopped kissing Claude, his brown eyes alight with desire. "Let's go to bed," he said, his voice hoarse.
Claude smiled lazily. "Why not here?" he suggested.
Bernard stood up, suddenly impatient. "There's not enough room. Come on," he said, walking towards the bedroom.
With a sigh Claude got up off the divan. He was thinking that Bernard always had been conventional. It was different with Henri. He was willing to make love anywhere at any time. Taking off his shoes and socks, Claude undid the buttons of his shirt and dropped it onto the divan. Dropping his trousers he walked out of them and went into the bedroom wearing only his underpants, out of the front of which jutted his erect prick. Bernard was still undressing, so peeling off his underpants Claude rolled onto the top of the bed which had a dark blue silk cover. The material was cool and soft to his skin, and lying on his stomach Claude pressed his hot excited cock onto the sensuous material.
Claude's lewd sensuality always excited Bernard, and quickly he got onto the bed by Claude's side. In one hand Bernard held a tube of grease, and squeezing some onto his fingers he slid the greasy digits between Claude's tight young buttocks. Wasting no time, Bernard quickly greased Claude's asshole, and dropping the tube of grease onto the bedside table, rolled on top of him. Bernard was slim and wiry, and his cock, although not particularly large, was very stiff and very willing. He sank it into Claude with ease.
When Bernard's tool slid into his greasy asshole, Claude's own cock stiffened and throbbed against the silk bed cover. Closing his firm mobile asscheeks around the pulsating phallus inside his ass, Claude massaged it inside the sheath of his back passage. He felt Bernard's cock swell even more, and heard him groan.
"Stop that, or I'll come right away," Bernard panted.
Obediently, Claude relaxed, and when Bernard had got himself under control again, he put his arms beneath Claude's body and around his chest. Bernard then slowly rolled onto his back, taking Claude with him, and making sure that his cock remained firmly embedded inside Claude's ass. When Bernard had reversed their positions, so that he was lying beneath Claude who lay on his back on top of him, Bernard slid his hands around Claude's slim hips and closed them over his genitals. Bernard loved to play with Claude's big wet prick, and he particularly liked to play with it while he fucked Claude at the same time. Not that it was actually necessary for him to fuck Claude in the position that they were at the moment. Now that he had started to massage Claude's prick, Bernard found that the boy's asscheeks were clenching and unclenching spasmodically. He found that Claude's beautiful bottom was doing all the work. The faster he wanked Claude, the faster Claude's ass worked on the cock stuck up inside it.
Lying with his arms stretched out, and his legs apart, Claude was spread-eagled on top of Bernard, who lay in a straight line beneath him. Claude was finding Bernard's clever hands that were masturbating his prick and caressing his bollocks to be very exciting. Digging his heels and elbows into the bed, he began to raise and lower his hips, riding Bernard's cock which was not jolting forcefully inside his ass. He began to pant from his exertions, and also he was rapidly nearing an orgasm. But without stopping the up and down movement of his hips, Claude controlled himself. He knew that now Bernard had got into his stride he would take his time about rising to his climax. And anyway, Claude thought, it was better not to come too quickly. Riding on the brink of a spunking climax was nearly as enjoyable as the climax itself.
With this in mind, Claude slowed the frantic pumping of his hips, leisurely sliding Bernard's prick up and down in his ass. Bernard, sensing what Claude was about, also changed his tactics. Instead of thoroughly wanking Claude's throbbing cock, he began to play with it. Running a hand along the hard quivering stick, Bernard occasionally closed his palm over the wet knob, holding it firmly. While he did this he continued to fondle Claude's balls with his other hand. They indulged in this exhilarating occupation for quite some time, but although they both tried hard they couldn't stop the gradual increase in the tempo of their movements. Claude in particular could not keep up the steady pace, because although Bernard was no longer actually wanking him, his spunk kept on rising and falling, and it was only a question of time before it shot out of his cockslit and smothered his belly.
When it did happen, it was quite sudden. Falling with all his weight on top of Bernard, and squirming his ass on Bernard's prick crammed into his asshole, Claude gave a gasp of pleasure as he came.
Bernard, who at that moment was caressing Claude's quivering knob, felt the hot sperm spray between his fingers. At the same time he felt his prick gripped tight by Claude's ass. Pushing his hips upwards, and lifting both himself and Claude, Bernard pumped his spunk into Claude's ass while Claude was still spurting his own juices....
The restaurant was, as usual, full. The small bar was packed, and so was the small restaurant beyond it. But as Bernard had reserved a table, he and Claude did not have to wait for a vacant place. Claude had been to this place once before with Bernard, and although the food had been good he hadn't particularly liked the place. But he hadn't told Bernard this; he seemed to enjoy the atmosphere. Claude found it claustrophobic, although perhaps it was nearer the truth to say he had never enjoyed the sort of atmosphere which existed in the "special" bars of Paris, which catered exclusively for homosexuals. He didn't find the antics of the more extrovert clientele to be particularly amusing, and the long lingering looks he was apt to receive from some of them annoyed him more than pleased him.
Bernard, however, appeared to be perfectly at home. And the looks cast in Claude's direction may have annoyed Claude, but they pleased Bernard. Claude was young and very handsome, and Bernard basked in the reflected glory. In spite of Claude's protests he ordered more champagne, and when it arrived once again toasted Claude's return to civilian life. And, of course, Claude's return to the apartment in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis.
Claude nearly blurted out there and then that he hadn't returned to the apartment in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis. That he wasn't even staying there that night. That the only reason he had seen Bernard this evening was to say goodbye. But once more he choked the words back. Bernard was ordering from the menu. They might as well at least enjoy dinner together. Claude didn't know just how Bernard would take the news that he was leaving him, but he had a feeling he would take it badly. Claude remembered the scene he had gone through with Paul, who had been far more intense than he had expected. Would Bernard be the same? He wondered. He also wondered if he had done the right thing in seeing Bernard at all. Perhaps a letter would have been more appropriate, he thought, although it was much too late to be considering alternatives. He was with Bernard, having dinner with him, and not so long ago they had made love. It was too late to be thinking about what he ought to have done. Somehow he would have to tell Bernard the news that he had not returned to him, but to someone else.
"You're very quiet," Bernard said.
Claude looked guiltily up from his food.
"I was thinking," he replied.
Bernard, remembering Claude's quietness earlier on in the evening, particularly when he had met him at the station, had a flash of intuition. His face suddenly looking tired, he leaned across the table towards Claude.
"If there's something you want to say, you might as well say it now," he said quietly.
CHAPTER FIVE
Six months prior to his twenty-first birthday Claude went into business, backed by Henri's money. Chez Claude, a hairdressing salon for men only, was a modest establishment tucked away in the Rue de Fleurus not far from the Jardin Du Luxembourg. It was small, but well equipped, and there was just enough room for Claude, his two young assistants, and of course the customers.
During the time Claude had been preparing to open his salon, he had been living with Henri in a pleasant apartment situated in a block of modern apartments in the Boulevard Raspail, off which ran the Rue De Fleurus. Claude who opened his salon at 8am every morning, therefore had no distance to travel. Life was perfect. He was in business at last, and although his capital was money "borrowed" from Henri, he was confident that he would soon be able to pay him back. He had dismissed from his mind the awful scene which had taken place at the restaurant after he had told Bernard that he no longer intended to live with him, or work for him. A scene which continued in a taxi all the way back to the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, and ended up with Bernard physically trying to stop him leaving the apartment with his suitcase, which he had left unopened on his arrival from Bordeaux. He had immediately taken another taxi direct to a hotel where Henri was waiting for him.
Henri, in accordance with his plans, had left his wife. He did not argue with Sara, who became quite hysterical at the news that her husband was walking out on her. He simply told her that if she wanted to start divorce proceedings against him, he would be happy to oblige. Sara, weeping copiously into a lace handkerchief after Henri had walked out, carrying two loaded suitcases, dried her eyes and telephoned a solicitor friend. Their conversation was all about money. At the end of it Sara agreed that her friend should look after her interests, and they arranged to meet the following day for dinner. Sara dressed very carefully for the rendezvous. She was a pretty woman when she tried, and her solicitor friend, a bachelor, was in her opinion attractive. Sara, as Henri well knew, couldn't bear the thought of being without a man. She regarded a husband as a status symbol, and she looked upon those women who had either not managed to find a man, or had lost him, with nothing but contempt. She had no intentions of joining their ranks!
Henri was much happier living with Claude than he had been with his wife. At last he did not have to pretend to be interested in Sara, or in any woman. At last he was following his natural inclinations-Claude. He no longer had to put up with Sara's insistence on "keeping up appearances." In Sara's parlance, this meant that wherever she lived must always look like a shop window-elegant but not to be lived in. With a sigh of relief Henri scattered his cartoon sketches all over the floor of the apartment he shared with Claude. With another sigh of relief he walked about the apartment either in pajamas, or naked, depending on the weather, filling ash trays and generally making himself at home. Occasionally, but only occasionally, he and Claude would make a halfhearted attempt to stow a few things away in the many cupboards which existed in the well-equipped apartment. Otherwise they relied on Madame Mauve, who arrived three times a week to do her best with hoover and a large array of dusters. Madame Mauve, who took her work seriously, filled the apartment with exclamations of distress at the general disorder. However, when she left, the apartment was always spick and span. Henri and Claude never lost much time in reversing the efforts of Madame Mauve!
Claude's two assistants at his salon had come to him through an advertisement which he had inserted in several newspapers that had a wide circulation. He had chosen the two boys carefully, taking note of their appearance as well as their credentials. He remembered the many customers at Bernard's salon who had enjoyed having him cut their hair because he was young and pretty. These customers always came back for more, and they tipped well. As he was paying his two assistants a basic salary only, he was relying on them to make up this basic amount with tips. He had been careful to explain the position before he had employed his two assistants, and when they readily agreed to the arrangements, he knew that they were perfectly aware of what was expected of them.
Albert Drier, and George Menla, were both twenty. Their careers had closely followed Claude's in so far as they had become apprentices at different hairdressing salons when they left school. They had then gone into the army to complete their national service, and on returning to civilian life had looked about them for a new start. Chez Claude appeared to them to be a good bet, in spite of the low wages offered. They were quite sure, as Claude was quite sure, that once Chez Claude became known as a salon which employed attractive young men willing to pander to the tastes of the customers, then business, and tips, could only go one way-up.
Claude chose red and green for the decor of his salon, plus a lot of mirrors to make the working space look larger than it was. The floor, tiled in dark green, contrasted well with the row of comfortable arm chairs in plush red which were for customers while they waited. Above the chairs were mirrors which reached to the ceiling, which was the same color as the floor. On the other side of the salon stood the four working chairs, in red leather, facing a row of wash basins, and shelves loaded with hairdressing equipment. Above the shelves were tall mirrors, which also reached to the ceiling. Claude and his two assistants wore long loose-fitting jackets of dark-green silk, which buttoned up one side and had high Chinese-type collars in dark red. The sleeves, which were long and wide, fastened around the wrist with bands of scarlet, and a red sash-belt, tied around the waist loosely and held in place with a press-stud, completed the garment.
Claude had himself designed this flamboyant costume for himself and his assistants, and was well pleased with the result. Henri said that they looked like Hungarian gypsy violinists, but Claude was not tempted to change the style of his work uniforms. They were flattering and he had a feeling that the customers would think so, too. Henri chided Claude, telling him that he was running a hairdressing salon, not a male bordello, but Claude stuck to his point of view. Henri's remark, however, instilled into Claude's brain the kernel of an idea which was later to grow and bear fruit.
At first business at Chez Claude was not good, but Claude expected this until he had established a regular clientele. During this first three months he and his two assistants had a lot of time on their hands. Customers were infrequent, and they were invariably people temporarily out of reach of their regular hairdresser, and in need of a quick hair cut. Some of these "oncers" were foreigners, because on the Rue de Fleurus was a building belonging to the Alliance Franchise, and whose main building was situated in the Boulevard Raspail. This was a school which taught French to foreign students of all ages, and they found Chez Claude a convenient place to get their overgrown locks trimmed. Patiently Claude and his assistants dealt with these people, although they were not the customers that they wanted.
After three months, however, the first trickle of regular customers began to frequent Chez Claude. Men of all ages, and from all sections of life, they went to Chez Claude because they all had one thing in common-a weakness for handsome young men. Within six months Claude had to employ a boy, whose job it was to answer the telephone and make bookings, and when he wasn't doing that he swept the floor of Chez Claude and generally made himself useful. The boy, sixteen-year-old Marc Laforter, and hand-picked by Claude, was, needless to say, very pretty! He was small, slim, and with large blue eyes, long fair hair, a snub nose and a cheeky grin. He vied for the popularity of the customers with Albert and George, who were inclined to be a bit sharp with the cheeky Marc, who displayed no fear for anyone bigger or senior in years to himself.
As for Albert and George, they were like two peas from the same pod so far as their personalities were concerned. Smooth, ambitious, hard-working so long as it paid dividends, they smiled angelically at the world while their brains clicked like cash registers. They were both slim, with good physiques, which they attended to with loving care. George was perhaps the better looking of the two with almond-shaped violet-blue eyes and short light-brown hair. Albert, more sturdy than George, wore his dark hair very long, almost shoulder length, and his dark eyes, with their thick eyelashes, were capable of speaking volumes. Outside the salon both boys wore the uniform of their generation-flared trousers, shiny buckled shoes, brilliantly colored shirts and casual jackets. Dressed in the uniform designed by Claude for himself and his assistants, only their flared trousers and shiny shoes could be seen.
Claude celebrated his twenty-first birthday by showing a profit at his salon. He also celebrated it with a five hour sexual endurance test with Henri, which left them both exhausted, but happy. When Claude got home from his salon that evening he was wearing a solid band of gold around one finger. Henri had presented it to him for his birthday before he had left the apartment that morning. Claude, who had not had the time to thank Henri properly at that early hour, made up for it as soon as he returned.
Henri, who was in the shower when he heard Claude enter the apartment jmst after 8pm, was surprised when a few minutes later Claude came into the bathroom naked, and walking under the shower, caught hold of him in his arms. Laughing he tried to push Claude away, but found that he was unable to do so. Claude was holding him tight, and he was strong. Also, Claude was excited, and Henri felt an answering throb in the region of his own genitals. Without moving from beneath the spraying warmth of the water, they found each other's lips, and their cocks, pressed close together, stiffened and grew hard. Henri moved away from Claude a little, to allow their trapped pricks to swing upwards against their bellies. Kissing each other deeply, they moved together again, undulating their bodies so that their stiff tools bumped and pressed against each other.
Claude trembling with eager desire, pulled his mouth away from Henri's, and twisted in his arms so that he had his back to him. Quickly he pushed his ass onto Henri's long hard stick, holding the powerfully throbbing pole between his buttocks. Putting his arms up and behind him, he crossed his hands behind Henri's neck. Turning his head, Claude pulled Henri's mouth onto his own so that they could continue kissing.
Putting an arm around Claude's waist, Henri kept them both close together, enjoying the sexy movements of Claude's asscheeks, which were gripping his cock. With his other hand Henri wanked Claude's cock until he was panting with lust.
Suddenly Claude stopped kissing Henri, and uncrossed his hands from behind Henri's neck. Leaning forward, Claude gripped the hand rail, which was fixed to the sides of the shower cubicle, and urgently rubbed his ass against Henri's prick. The warm shower water, now cascading down onto his naked back, turned his smooth skin into slippery velvet. Henri stroked down his back with both hands, before he picked up the soap. Taking his cock from between Claude's buttocks, Henri proceeded to rub soap into the cleft. Dropping the soap onto the floor, Henri caught hold of his fuck-stick, and sliding the big knob between Claude's cheeks, probed for the hole of Claude's ass. When he found it he gave a short sharp forward jab of his hips so that his knob became w-edged inside the soapy portal. Then, holding Claude's slender hips, Henri screwed his prick inch by inch into Claude's anus. When he had made a complete penetration Henri leaned forward so that his chest was resting against the wet nakedness of Claude's back. Moving his hands around to Claude's genitals, Henri proceeded to fuck Claude's ass and masturbate his beautifully hard and powerfully throbbing penis.
Now that he was leaning against Claude's back, Henri could feel the warm cascading shower water hitting his shoulders and running down his spine. The warm spraying water, and Claude's sexy ass, quickly brought his lust to boiling point. Fucking Claude rapidly, Henri was soon thrusting his cock into Claude's ass from all angles. Left, right, up and down he screwed Claude's backside, until Claude shouted aloud in the passion of his impending climax.
"I'm coming ... I'm coming...." he shouted above the noise of the shower.
Henri, holding Claude's spunk-spurting cock in his hand, gave one last upward thrust of his prick into Claude's ass, and kept it there. Biting the soft skin of Claude's neck, he then had an orgasm, his surging cream flooding Claude's feverishly rotating derriere.
Dressed in white knee-length towel-robes, with wide sleeves, and otherwise naked, Claude and Henri pottered around the kitchen making coffee and sandwiches. When they were ready, Claude carried them on a tray into the living room and put them onto the carpet. Sprawled on the floor, they then attacked the coffee and sandwiches with relish. They felt hungry after their "shower." The sandwiches soon disappeared, and putting cushions beneath their heads they lay side by side on the carpet smoking in silence. It was now nine o'clock.
"Do you want to go out this evening, as it's your birthday," Henri asked, blowing a perfect smoke ring into the air.
Idly, Claude put a hand through the smoke ring.
"No. I want to stay here," he murmured.
"Suits me," Henri replied, and stubbing his cigarette stretched luxuriously. "I feel sleepy," he said.
Claude rolled over onto his side and half lay on top of Henri, looking down at him with a glint in his dark eyes.
"What you need is a good massage. Would you like that?" he asked.
Henri looked up at Claude, a slight smile playing on his handsome chisled features. "So long as you promise to treat me very gently," he said.
They both laughed, and getting up from the floor Claude left the room. When he returned he was carrying a large rubber mattress rolled into a tight bundle and tied with a leather strap. Undoing the strap, Claude unfurled the rubber mattress onto the carpet. He left the room again, and returned once more with a large bottle of perfumed bath oil. Undoing the bottle top he poured a large quantity of the sweet-smelling oil onto the rubber mattress so that it formed a big pool in the center. Taking off his towel-robe, he got onto his knees just outside the pool of oil.
"Okay, I'm ready," he told Henri.
Taking off his own towel-robe, Henri sprawled face downwards onto the rubber mattress, and straight onto the pool of perfumed oil. The oily rubber was cool next to his skin, and a shudder of pleasurable anticipation rippled through his powerful frame. This wasn't the first time that he and Claude had "massaged" each other while lying on the rubber mattress in a pool of oil. Henri remembered being surprised when Claude first suggested that they buy a rubber mattress. It made him realize just how uninventive his sex life had been before he met the boy. But then he had never wanted to roll around in a pool of oil with his wife. Not that Sara would ever have agreed to such an idea. She was as conventional in the bedroom as she was in everything else.
When Henri was spread-eagled face downwards onto the oil-covered rubber mattress, Claude got astride his hips, and picking up the bottle of oil, poured the thick liquid lavishly onto Henri's broad muscled back. It was faintly green in color, and smelled strongly of lemon. It was a smell which always aroused Claude. Perhaps it was because he and Henri always used the same oil, and the smell reminded him of other occasions when they had writhed and twisted on the slippery mattress in the fury of their carnal desires. Whatever it was, even before Claude touched Henri's oil-covered back, he had a strong erection, his prick stiffening to such an extent that it jerked and bumped against his naked belly. Briefly playing with himself with oil covered hands, so that a deposit of the thick oil glistened on his stiffly throbbing shaft, Claude then set to work massaging Henri, who remained lying on his stomach, inert and relaxed.
Claude liked massaging Henri's firmly muscled flesh, and he took his time, starting with Henri's shoulders and slowly working downwards until he reached his waist. Moving backwards on his knees, Claude pummeled Henri's solid buttocks with his greasy hands. Curiously he pulled the two cheeks apart so that he could look into the divide. It was hairy, and he could see the wrinkled rim of Henri's ass surrounded by soft black hair. Henri didn't move, and Claude was tempted to go further. Usually Henri did not allow liberties to be taken with his ass, and Claude remembered that on those occasions he had been tempted to frig Henri's asshole, Henri had always stopped him. Keeping Henri's ass spheres well splayed, Claude bent his head and tentatively stuck his tongue into the hairy channel which ran between them. Henri's asscheeks quivered as they tried to close, but Claude, exerting pressure, kept them splayed, his tongue by this time tickling the warm aromatic hole of Henri's ass.
At first Henri was not sure what Claude was doing. He knew that Claude was holding his buttocks apart, but when he felt something wet probing the channel of his buttocks he didn't at first realize that it was in fact Claude's tongue. When he did, his immediate reaction was to clench his buttocks and pull himself clear from Claude's impudently probing tongue. But the wet muscle, now tickling the rim of his asshole, was sending delightful tickles of pleasure through his nervous system. He decided that now Claude had gone so far....
Claude, thoroughly absorbed in his occupation of exploring Henri's ass with his tongue, was pleased when Henri did not try to stop him. Still holding Henri's firm buttocks as far apart as he could, Claude forced his tongue as deeply as he could get it into the rubbery and flexible ring of his ass. The ring opened beneath the pressure of his tongue, and he was soon giving Henri a good tongue-frig.
For the first time in his life, Henri, who had never thought of being anything but active, wondered what it would be like to take a passive role with another male. Claude's tongue, frigging his ass so thoroughly, made Henri try to visualize what it would be like to have a stiff prick pushed up his backside. It was something he had never experienced....
Claude, his tongue feeling tired, lifted his face from between Henri's splayed buttocks. He could see the wet hairs which surrounded Henri's back passage, and the orifice itself glistening with saliva. Claude felt his cock give a jolt of excitement. Dare he, Claude wondered ...?
Henri's moan when Claude's grease-smothered penis slid smoothly into his ass was one of shock more than pain. Although he had been wondering what it would be like to have a cock pushed into his ass, he hadn't expected to experience the sensation right at that moment. Lifting himself on his hands, he prepared to dislodge Claude off his back. But Claude's arms went around his chest, clinging to him like a limpet.
"Don't stop me," Claude panted.
Henri paused, undecided. It was, he thought, too late to stop something that had already happened. Claude's prick was already throbbing inside the tight confines of his asshole. So sinking back onto the oil-smothered rubber sheet, he let Claude have his way.
Henri gasped when Claude began to fuck him, his ass feeling as though it was being speared by a tree-trunk. Claude's cock was big, he knew, but now that it was inside his ass it felt huge. He lay still while Claude settled down to a steady screwing thrust.
Almost in spite of himself, Henri's excitement mounted with Claude's. As Claude, figuratively speaking, changed into top gear and began to screw hard, deep, and fast, Henri's stiff cock, pressing onto the oil-covered rubber mattress, swelled and jerked uncontrollably. When Claude's entire weight came down heavily on his back, Henri automatically tensed his muscles. He very nearly spunked himself when he experienced the strong surge of Claude's hot sperm flooding inside his ass.
Claude withdrew his spent prick from Henri's backside, and fell weakly onto his back. Immediately Henri came at him like an enraged bull. Slipping and sliding on the oil that now completely covered both of them from head to foot, Henri lifted Claude's legs into the air and putting them over his shoulders, plunged his rampant tool between Claude's exposed buttocks. Rooting deeply with his oily dick, Henri began to fuck the ass off the moaning Claude.
While Henri fucked, he was conscious that his movements were causing sperm to trickle out of his recently violated asshole and trickle down the insides of his legs. The sexy trickle of sperm between his legs, and the exhilarating approach of a climax, made Henri slam his prick up and down Claude's oil-covered ass with a ferocious strength and speed. Perspiration running into his eyes, Henri forced Claude's legs back until his knees were touching his chest. Once he lost purchase of Claude's orifice, but roughly he stuffed his rigid cock back into Claude's ass.
Claude opened his mouth to protest at the rough treatment he was receiving, but his protests were stifled by Henri's lips closing over his own. Henri's cock swelled and stiffened inside his ravaged ass, and his belly was grinding hard against his slippery buttocks. Claude closed his eyes and went limp as Henri started to come....
Claude and Henri went to sleep, Claude using Henri's shoulder for a pillow. They lay where they were, stretched out naked on the oil-covered rubber sheet, their oily bodies temporarily exhausted. It was 9.30, and they didn't wake up until an hour later. Claude sat up, rubbing his eyes with oily fists, which didn't help. Getting to his feet, he walked unsteadily into the bathroom and turned on the bath taps. While it was filling with hot water he had a quick shower, j and just as he had finished Henri appeared. His hair standing j on end, his thick set muscular and hairy body covered with oil, he stood in the center of the bathroom looking like a cave man. Claude pranced around scratching his arm pits and laughing until Henri caught hold of him, lifted him up bodily in his arms, and with an almighty splash, plunged him into the bath, which was now full of water. Claude went under, still laughing so that water went into his mouth. Henri followed him into the bath, ignoring the shower.
Claude surfaced to find Henri sitting at the opposite end of the bath, grinning.
"Why didn't you have a shower first? You're filling the bath with oil," Claude protested.
Henri smoothed his hands over his oily arms. "Yes, it's nice isn't it?" he said.
Catching hold of Henri's feet, Claude gave a strong tug. His tactics were successful, because Henri slid forwards, his head going under the water which went over the sides of the bath in a tidal wave. It made a mess, but Claude and Henri ignored it.
When Henri sat up in the bath, spluttering from his immersion, he found that Claude was astride his legs and resting on his knees. Beneath the warm water, which had become quite oily, Henri felt his cock being wanked into an erection. He fell back into the water, his back resting against the sloping side of the bath, his chin at water level.
"Christ, don't you ever have enough," he spluttered, spitting water out of his mouth.
Claude ignored Henri's protests, but continued to wank Henri's cock which had blossomed into a large stiff erection, so that the pink circumcised knob peeped just above the water. Holding onto the base of Henri's aroused fuck-stick, Claude closed his palm around the big knob and wanked it strongly. When he had Henri helplessly excited and breathing hard, Claude rested his buttocks on Henri's legs. Positioning his own stiff tool close to Henri's, Claude struggled to hold the two thick shafts together at the base. He just managed it. With his other hand he continued to titillate Henri's knob, and also his own, until they turned a rosy red. As both their cockknobs were just above water level, Claude was able to watch their respective cockslits opening and closing like the mouths of two fish. Rapidly Claude moved his greasy palm backwards and forwards across the slippery surface of his own and Henri's knob. Henri's prick jerked and jolted next to his own, and he only just managed to keep them together. Concentrating on what he was doing, Claude never moved his eyes away from his own and Henri's prickknobs. He wanted to see Henri's spunk when it came, and he also wanted to see his own!
Henri, lying in a straight line and gripping the sides of the bath, surrendered himself completely to Claude's persistent sexuality. He was finding the hard palpitating stick of Claude's prick, throbbing and jerking against his own powerfully palpitating phallus, to be very sensual. And Claude's continual wanking of both their knobs, his greasy palm moving time and time again across their cock-slits, was driving him slowly insane. If it wasn't for the fact that he had already had two orgasms that evening, Henri knew he would have came almost immediately from Claude's carnal titillation. As it was his spunk was slow rising from his bollocks, but Henri could feel the telltale tingle which warned him that it wouldn't be so very long before he shot his load.
Still resting his bottom on Henri's legs, Claude kept his eyes on what he was doing, absorbed and breathless as he also came closer to an orgasm at every passing second. He felt the muscles of Henri's sturdy legs ripple beneath his asscheeks as Henri stiffened. Both their pricks were now throbbing with a steady urgent rhythm which could only mean one thing. Panting Claude steadied himself. His juices had already risen from his testicles, but before he released it he wanted to make sure that Henri was coming as well. He wanted to see both their cocks burst into a lather of sperm at the same time. Lovingly he went on sliding the palm of his hands across their cockknobs until he heard a choking moan escape Henri's lips. Out of the corners of his eyes Claude saw Henri's knuckles go white as his grip tightened on the sides of the bath. He knew it was only a matter of seconds now before they both started to spend.
Claude quickened the masturbation he was giving to himself and Henri, until Henri was squirming on the bottom of the bath. Through glazed eyes, Claude saw the spunk spurt from his cock, and wildly he continued to masturbate Henri's tool until that too throbbed out a strong spurt of juice.
Fascinated, Claude took his hand away to watch the sperm shooting out of his own and Henri's cocks. Considering it was the third orgasm for both of them that evening, there was quite a lot of sperm. The thick cream shot out of their cock-slits, and then floated on top of the greasy water of the bath. When their throbbing pricks appeared to dry up, Claude got busy with his hands once more. After a few seconds he urged another shower of spunk from his own and Henri's straining cocks.
Breathing hard with excitement, Claude watched this fresh discharge with trembling intensity, although it was apparent that both he and Henri were losing impetus. This last discharge didn't leap into the air like their first. It merely leaked out of their cock-slits to cover their knobs with a white foam. But Claude did not release Henri's fuck-stick until he was quite sure that it had gone completely dry....
Claude and Henri eventually got into bed just after midnight. They had been forced to take another shower after getting out of the bath because they were both once again smothered in oil and spunk. After showering they put on pajamas-something which they did only rarely, and lay in bed smoking. When they had finished Henri turned out the bedside light.
"I think we'd better go to sleep," he said. Claude grinned in the darkness which had suddenly enveloped them.
"Why? Do you feel fucked?" he asked cheekily.
Henri laughed, although there was a trace of embarrassment in his voice.
"You won't to that again in a hurry," he replied.
Claude turned over on his side and put an arm across Henri's broad chest. Undoing the buttons of Henri's pajamas jacket, he stroked the soft hairs on Henri's chest.
"Why not?" he asked, his voice a bit sulky. "You fuck me often enough."
"That's different," Henri replied firmly.
"I don't see what so different about it. I enjoyed it, and so did you. Go on admit it," Claude challenged.
Henri grunted but said nothing, and stealthily Claude got busy. Undoing the cord of Henri's pajama trousers, he slid his hand down Henri's belly, briefly ruffled his pubic hairs, and then grasped Henri's flaccid prick.
"Claude, stop that!" Henri exclaimed, catching hold of Claude's wrist.
Claude, however, hung on.
"It's my birthday ... remember?"
"It was you mean. It's past midnight ... remember?" Henri mimicked.
"So what?" Claude replied, his voice muffled and coming from beneath the bedclothes.
Henri stiffened. Claude was kissing his cock! Entwining his fingers in Claude's hair, Henri tugged. Claude, however, was determined, and Henri felt a trickle of pleasure in his loins while Claude continued to kiss and lick his limp prick. When he felt his knob being sucked into Claude's greedy mouth he relaxed his grip on Claude's hair. Although he doubted if he was capable of yet another orgasm, Henri knew that he was at least capable of another erection. In fact he couldn't have not had an erection, even if he tried-Claude's lascivious mouth was much too clever!
Claude felt stifled beneath the bed clothes, but he didn't attempt to push them to one side. There was something specially kinky about sucking Henri's tool beneath the dark heat of the bed clothes. He also enjoyed forcing Henri's penis into another erection. Also, as Henri's large cock stiffened, Claude could smell the exciting aroma of aroused male prick within the confined space. Getting Henri's knob well into the back of his throat, he sucked on the juicy arrowhead with relish. Pulling his own dick out of his pajamas, Claude wanked himself into a lather of perspiration as he sucked.
Although Henri had thought that he was incapable of another orgasm, Claude's gobbling mouth was making him change his mind. His dick had gone so hard that it almost hurt, and more than once Claude's teeth scraped against the sides of his large tool. But his slight discomfort was nothing compared to the kick he was getting from Claude's rhythmic sucking. It was obvious that Claude was determined to make him come. He also suspected that Claude was tossing himself off at the same time, although he wasn't sure. Putting his hand on Claude's back, Henri pushed his hand into the back of Claude's pajama trousers and onto his ass. His suspicion that Claude was tossing himself off was confirmed. Claude's buttocks was working overtime, clenching and unclenching rapidly. They were also damp with sweat.
Putting his hand to his mouth, Henri smeared three of his fingers with saliva, and then reinserted his hand inside Claude's pajamas. Momentarily, Claude's cocksucking faltered as Henri's digits went into his asshole, but he quickly recovered and continued to suck hard on Henri's tool, which was now jerking and vibrating inside his mouth with virile power. With two of his fingers inside Claude's ass, Henri gradually inserted a third. Frigging Claude's asshole as hard as he could, Henri now began to fuck Claude's mouth. Pushing his hips up and down, Henri forced his jerking prick time and time again into the back of Claude's throat. Henri's mouth curled at the corners in amusement when he heard Claude choke and gag beneath the bed clothes. He wanted it, he can have it, Henri thought. And what was more, Henri thought, Claude was going to get what he wanted quite soon-a mouthful of hot spunk.
Claude, taken by surprise when the so far passive Henri suddenly began to fuck his mouth, quickly recovered. Lifting his head off Henri's stomach, he held Henri's throbbing shaft in a vertical position. Keeping a large portion of it inside his mouth, Claude kept his head still, allowing Henri to fuck the back of his throat with his large knob, which was now continually seeping strongly favored juice. Whenever he had the opportunity, Claude swallowed the rich juice noisily. With his other hand, Claude also continued to wank himself, and he was becoming very excited. Henri's thick fuck-stick plunging up and down inside his mouth, and Henri's fingers frigging his ass, were almost enough in themselves to make him have an orgasm. Claude slowed down his self-masturbation when the sperm rose up from his testicles. He waited until Henri's back arched as he trembled on the brink of a climax. When the hot spunk came, Claude swallowed it noisily and greedily, sucking the long thick cock with rapid movements of his head. While he sucked Henri's rich cream, Claude started to come himself, smothering his fingers with his own spunk while he clenched his buttocks on Henri's fingers which were still frigging his asshole.
Henri released his sperm into Claude's mouth with a sobbing gasp of intense pleasure. His back arched, his powerful muscles bulging and locked, he filled Claude's mouth with come. He came so abundantly, and with such power, that it was almost as if it was his first time that evening. But when at last he stopped spunking, Henri experienced an enormous weariness. Sinking back onto the bed, his eyelids seemed as though they were being closed by an invisible force. Almost at once he fell into an exhausted sleep.
Claude, also extremely weary, swallowed the last of Henri's spunk, and pushed his head up outside the bed clothes. Half laying on top of Henri, who lay on his back, Claude also fell into an exhausted sleep. Before he lost consciousness, Claude was dimly aware of the fact that his pajama trousers were soaked with his own sperm, and that Henri's fingers were still stuck up his ass. But neither the wetness of his pajamas, nor Henri's bold fingers could keep him awake. As was his habit he slept with his head on Henri's shoulder. Henri woke hours later to find that his shoulder was numb with the weight of Claude's head. But too tired to do anything about, he drifted off to sleep again.
CHAPTER SIX
Six months went by very quickly for Claude, and at the end of it he had established a hard core of regular clientele at his hairdressing salon the Rue de Fleurus. They were all exclusively homosexual-which was what Claude wanted. The customers multiplied, his business bank balance was healthy, and he and his assistants bloomed beneath the warm sun of success. Claude was unconcerned that many of his customers were more interested in himself and his assistants than they were in having their hair cut. He turned a blind eye to the fact that his two assistants, Albert and George, all in the course of business and with an eye on a big tip afterwards, allowed some of their customers to go further than propriety allowed in the circumstances. He, himself, was careful to keep a respectful but friendly distance from his clients. But he was fully aware that Albert and George allowed themselves to be played with beneath the tunic blouses which they wore in the salon. He made no comment, concerned only that the customers returned for more, which they did.
One of Claude's customers, whose hair he regularly cut personally, was a certain Pierre d'Auberge was a gentleman in his middle forties, well dressed, pleasantly sophisticated, and gave the impression of being a man with a certain amount of wealth behind him. That was all Claude knew about his customer, until one day the man became quite confidential. He told Claude that he was married, and that he found things a bit "difficult." Pierre d'Auberge approached his subject carefully, and Claude, only half listening, was slow to catch on. When he did he was, at first, mildly amused. Piecing together Pierre d'Auberge's carefully chosen words, Claude gathered that the gentleman had strong yearnings for Marc LaForte, the sixteen-year-old boy who swept the floor of the salon, ran errands, and generally made himself indispensible.
But after he had stopped being amused, Claude began to have ideas. He remembered Henri's joking remark in connection with the tunic blouse he had designed for himself and his two assistants. "You're supposed to be running a hairdressing salon, not a bordello," Henri had said. And what, Claude thought to himself, was wrong with running a bordello as well as a hairdressing salon?
Claude began to think seriously about Mr. d'Auberge's desires in connection with the young Marc. It occurred to Claude that Mr. d'Auberge would be under no illusions that he would have to pay for his pleasures. And the man was only one of many who came to Chez Claude for more reasons than to have their hair cut.
Claude eventually told Mr. d'Auberge that he would try and arrange something in connection with the young Marc, and the man left the salon smiling like a Cheshire cat, and patting Marc on the bottom as he passed. Marc, who usually kept his distance from the more amorous customers, looked none too pleased at this familiarity. Claude noticed the displeasure on the boy's face, and wondered if his plans for the youth would be successful.
Several days passed before Claude got around to approaching Marc. This was because Claude realized that although Marc had been working for him for some time, he had never taken much notice of the boy. Marc was useful, and also-essential for Chez Claude-decorative. Apart from that he hadn't given Marc much thought. And even now that he had plans for the boy, Claude was not unduly concerned whether Marc fell in with those plans or not. Whatever Mr. d'Auberge was willing to pay for his pleasures, Claude was well aware that it would be a mere drop in the ocean to his own ambitious plans for the future. But Claude, who already had visions of a much bigger salon in a more fashionable area, and staffed with many pretty boys of the caliber of Marc, wanted to use the boy as a kind of guinea pig. His role as mediator between Mr. d'Auberge and Marc would be a useful experience to guide him in his future plans.
Claude's first problem was the fact that Mr. d'Auberge did not wish to take Marc to a hotel, and neither had he a suitably private place of his own. Mr. d'Aurberge had made it clear, in his roundabout way, that as part and parcel of the deal he would expect Claude to provide a suitable setting for a rendezvous with young Marc. This made Claude think about his future plans for a bigger and better salon. If, as a profitable sideline, he was going to use the hairdressing salon as a male bordello, then he must also have private apartments. He thought of Bernard, of whom he hadn't thought for some time. Bernard had private apartments above his salon in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, and Claude there and then decided that his own future salon would be similarly equipped.
But this decision did not solve Claude's immediate concern with his young errand boy and Mr. d'Auberge. However, knowing that it was never a good thing to put the cart before the horse, Claude first of all approached Marc. If Marc agreed to his proposition, then he would have to arrange a suitable place for the rendezvous he had in mind. If Marc did not agree, then it would not be necessary.
Claude chose to speak to Marc at the salon after Albert and George had left. On the pretext of needing help in clearing a row of shelves, Claude asked Marc if he would mind staying behind. Marc readily agreed. As soon as the last customer had left, and Albert and George had said good night, Marc locked the door and set to work tidying the shelves which Claude had stated were in a mess. Claude sat in one of the hairdressing chairs, smoking and contemplating the busy Marc. Marc had taken off the tunic blouse which he usually wore when he was in the shop, and with a feeling almost of surprise Claude noted that the boy was really very attractive. Claude had, of course, taken note before of the fact that Marc was pretty-otherwise he wouldn't have employed him in the first place-but somehow he had never thought of him in sexual terms. Possibly this was because Marc was so young, and Claude's interests were usually directed towards people older than himself.
But now that he had begun to think of Marc in sexual terms-mainly because of Mr. d'Auberge's interest in the boy-Claude found himself admiring the slim petit lines of the boy's physique. Although Marc was small, and his long fair hair and urchin face made him look pretty more than anything else, Claude now noted that the boy was no weakling. He was sturdy enough, and when he reached up to one of the top shelves which he was putting in order, Claude was surprised at the desire that stirred in his loins. The boy's buttocks, small, neat and firm, were clearly out-lined in his tight trousers as he reached upwards for the high shelf.
Claude knew very little about the young boy, apart from the particulars he had obtained when he had first of all employed him. He knew that Marc lived with his parents in the eighth arrondissement, he knew that he was sixteen, he knew that he was pretty and obviously sympathetic towards the atmosphere that existed at Chez Claude, and that was about all. If Marc had an interesting private life, and looking at him closely for the first time Claude would have been surprised if he hadn't, then he didn't know about it.
"What do you do in your spare time?" Claude asked, still sitting in the hairdressing chair smoking, one leg over the arm.
Marc turned, clutching an armful of bottles, surprise on his small elfin face. Claude noticed that Marc had very well-shaped lips, and that when he smiled they looked pink, wet and inviting.
"Nothing very much. I've got a friend and we often Walk around a lot. There's always something to see," Marc smiled
"And your friend? Who's he?" Claude persisted, charmed to see a slight color mount in Marc's fair cheeks.
"He's a bit older than me, and he drives a delivery van for an electronic firm," Marc replied, his voice betraying a certain amount of nervousness.
In truth Marc was feeling nervous. Ever since he had been employed at Chez Claude, Claude himself, had taken very little notice of him. At first Marc had been disappointed. He considered the dark-haired, dark-eyed, handsome Claude to be the epitome of masculine good looks, and had cast many a lingering glance in Claude's direction. But as time passed and Claude never seemed to notice his existence, apart from the occasions when he wanted something done, Marc came to the sorrowful conclusion that he just wasn't Claude's type. But now, after being employed at the salon for over six months, Marc suddenly found himself alone with his youthful employer, who was quite unexpectedly showing a distinct interest. It was the sudden change in Claude's attitude which made Marc feel nervous. And it wasn't something he enjoyed. Nervousness wasn't a part of his makeup. Quickly he shook it off, and presenting his back to Claude once more he replaced the bottles back on the top shelf after wiping them. He arranged them in orderly lines, and through the many mirrors which -lined the walls of the salon he could see that Claude was still watching him intently. Marc took his time about the top shelf, knowing that when he reached upwards his small mobile buttocks were prominently silhouetted in his tight dark blue trousers. At the same time all the attraction he had felt towards Claude, before he came to the conclusion that he wasn't Claude's type, returned to Marc.
Claude quickly sensed the change of atmosphere between himself and Marc. Claude thought quickly, remembering the well-known adage that business and pleasure did not mix. Marc was a junior assistant at the salon, and he, Claude, was the proprietor. Claude tried to think of the complications that might ensue if he got himself entangled with the young Marc He couldn't see any. Marc was a very young boy, and harmless. Also it was blatantly clear that Marc was very interested. Claude was under no illusions that it wasn't strictly necessary for Marc to spend so much time arranging that top shelf....
"Come and have a cigarette before you tackle the other shelves, then I'll start as well," Claude suggested, his voice lazy.
Marc wiped his hands on a towel, and turning around, walked towards Claude and took the proffered cigarette. He then perched himself on the arm of the red leather hairdressing chair on which Claude was sprawled, one leg over the other arm. Quite casually Claude put his hand onto the small of Marc's back, then stroked downwards onto his cute backside.
Just as casually Marc put his hand onto the front of Claude's trousers, stroking into his crotch and directly onto his prick, which rapidly stiffened at his touch. When it was really stiff, and bulging hard beneath Claude's trousers, Marc undid Claude's fly zip, and delving inside the gap, got his hand beneath Claude's underpants. Marc shoved his hand well down into Claude's crotch, getting a good feel of his bollocks before grasping the thrilling length of Claude's big prick. Pulling it out of Claude's trousers, Marc had a good look at his prize. It was, in Marc's opinion, magnificent, and getting off the arm of the chair he got onto the floor on his knees between Claude's widely parted legs, and instantly closed his mouth over Claude's wet, rosy-red knob.
Claude, who had always known that Marc was a cheeky boy, nevertheless had not been expecting him to react quite so quickly to his overtures. He had merely put his hand on the boy's ass, and now, a mere few seconds later, Marc was on his knees sucking his cock which was already throbbing strongly inside the boy's mouth. However, although what was happening had not been his real purpose for keeping Marc behind in the salon this evening, Claude did not object to the boy's audacity. In fact it was very enjoyable, because it was clear that Marc knew how to suck a cock once he had got one in his mouth. His soft sweet mouth quickly made Claude's spunk rise up the length of his prick, and he roughly pushed Marc's head from between his legs.
It was beginning to get quite dark in the salon, because apart from a pane of glass above the doors there were no windows-only mirrors. But Claude did not switch on any of the lights. He reckoned that for the purpose of himself and Marc, they didn't need too much light. Just enough to see themselves reflected in the mirror walls. The thought of fucking the young Marc in front of one of the big mirrors aroused Claude even more. That was something he hadn't thought of when he had designed his salon. He hadn't expected the present situation to arise. But now that it had he saw no reason not to go through with it.
Marc had got up from his knees, and rising from the chair Claude stood in front of the boy. Undoing Marc's trousers, Claude pushed them down to his ankles. Obligingly Marc kicked the trousers and his shoes off his feet. Marc was wearing a dark red shirt which reached down to the top of his legs, and putting his hand beneath the garment, Claude felt for the boy's cock. Marc was wearing a brief nylon slip, but beneath the smooth material Claude's hand closed over the boy's dick. It was short, thick, and very hard. Putting his hand onto Marc's slim hips, Claude slid the nylon briefs downwards. They dropped to Marc's ankles, and he disposed of them the same way as his trousers and shoes.
Next Claude undid the button which ran down the front of Marc's shirt. Marc stood motionless while he was undressed, although occasionally he licked his well-shaped lips and swallowed as if his mouth was dry. Claude took the shirt off the boy's back, then stood back to admire Marc, who looked very attractive naked. Just like Michelangelo's David, only with an erection, Claude thought.
While Marc stood motionless watching Claude undressed. He did it quickly, and his stiff cock stood rigidly to attention against his naked belly when he had finished. At least it looked big in comparison to Marc's short one, although he knew someone who was even better equipped in that department than himself-Henri. But he wasn't thinking of Henri as he allowed his hungry eyes to roam over Marc's well-knit youthful body. Marc was a quite different kettle of fish to Henri, and Claude was eager to sample the obvious delights of the naked boy standing in front of him. Naked that is except for a white pair of socks, but Claude allowed Marc to keep these on. He also kept his own on-the tiled floor of the salon could be cold to the naked feet.
Pulling Marc into his arms, Claude kissed the boy full on the lips, pressing his straining prick onto the boy's belly as he did so. Marc's tender lips were quite different to Henri's hard, demanding mouth, but the comparison only made Marc's lips that much more tempting. Claude could also taste his own cock juice on Marc's mouth when he started to kiss him, although it soon went away. Claude was sorry about that; he liked the taste of cock juice-even his own!
While he kissed Marc, bending his head because the boy was slightly smaller than himself, Claude fully explored Marc's asscheeks with his hands. They were so small they might have belonged to a baby, but they were also beautifully firm and very exciting to fondle. He played with them for some time, pushing his tongue deep into Marc's sweet mouth while he fondled and caressed the boy's tempting buttocks. When he had exhausted this pleasurable occupation, he led Marc back to the red leather hairdressing chair on which they had been sitting. Taking the headrest off the back of the chair, Claude told Marc to support himself on the armchair back, because he was about to get fucked.
Marc, as docile as a lamb, jackknifed himself over the back of the chair, wriggling his small bottom with anticipatory pleasure. Looking along the loaded shelves of the salon, Claude opened a large pot of hairdressing cream and liberally smeared the white grease onto his prick. He had a feeling that the slim petit Marc was going to be a tight fuel Turning back to the patiently waiting boy, who was bent over the back of the hairdressing chair, his head touching the seat, Claude parted the boy's small buttocks. The shallow ravine, which was completely hairless, and the small button of Mi asshole, tempted Claude. Getting on his knees, he prepared to frig Marc's asshole with his tongue. Holding the boy's sphere! well apart, he first of all licked along the entire channel before worming his tongue into the tightly closed asshole. B soon relaxed beneath the pressure of his tongue, which he got well inside before wiggling it to and fro. Marc tried to close his buttocks, but Claude held onto them keeping them well splayed.
Marc, who had been expecting to receive Claude's trig prick up his ass, wasn't sure what was happening at first. But he soon realized that Claude was tongue-frigging his asshole. It was the first time anyone had done this to the young Marc, and the wet tongue thrusting in and out of his orifice excited him immensely. His cock quivering and throbbing against the back of the leather chair, he automatically started to clench and unclench his small buttocks, but of course he was prevented by Claude's hands which continued to hold them well apart. Marc found the sensation of Claude's tongue inside his ass so sexy that his juice rose from his testicles. He began to pant, pressing his rigid cock harder against the back of the chair in his excitement.
Marc was still panting with excitement when Claude stopped tongue-frigging the boy. Standing up Claude released Marc's asscheeks, and sliding his greasy prick between the two globes thrust his cock rudely into the saliva-wet hole of Marc's ass. It went in easily enough, but Marc made such a fuss that Claude stopped with his cock still only halfway up the boy's ass. He waited until Marc's moans and groans had quieted; then he pushed forwards again, sinking his tool into the tight sheath of Marc's anus. And in spite of the frigging he had received, and the fact that Claude had taken the precaution of greasing his prick, it was a very tight fit. Claude felt as though his cock was being held in a vise, and at first he had trouble in moving it backwards and forwards so that he could fuck Marc. After a few moments, however, Marc's ass relaxed slightly, and Claude prepared to enjoy himself.
It was then that Claude realized that he wasn't taking full advantage of the many mirrors in the salon. In the position he and Marc were at that moment they were both behind the hairdressing chair facing a wall mirror. Looking through the mirror Claude could see Marc's back as he bent downwards over the back of the chair, and he could also see himself as far as his waist. Looking over his shoulder Claude saw his own back reflected in the opposite wall mirror, but nothing else. It wasn't possible to see his cock sliding up and down between Marc's very fuckable buttocks.
"Marc, stand up," Claude urged.
Marc, who had just got accustomed to the thrilling length of Claude's hard prick w-edged inside his ass, wanted to stay where he was. But when Claude insisted, he reluctantly unfolded himself off the back of the chair and stood up. Releasing the swivel on the chair, Claude pushed it around so that it stood sideways to the two opposite wall mirrors. Putting his arms around Marc's slim body, Claude lifted him off his feet, and keeping his cock well up into the boy's ass put him down again behind the chair which was now much more favorably positioned for him to see himself fucking Marc through the two opposite wall mirrors.
When Marc was once more bent forwards over the back of the chair, Claude placed his hands on the boy's back, and withdrew his cock as far as he could out of Marc's asshole without actually taking it right out. He could feel his knob throbbing just inside the tight rim of Marc's asshole, which was opening and closing with such excitement that Claude felt as if his knob were being sucked by a greedy mouth.
In the new position which they had adopted, Claude now had splendid view through the mirrors on both sides of the wall. He could see Marc's slim body bent forwards over the back of the red-leather chair. The boy had fair skin, which contrasted to his own dark pigmentation. Claude admired himself in the mirrors, pleased with the reflection of his stream-lined muscular physique. He could also see quite a lot of his prick before it disappeared between Marc's buttocks. Tentatively Claude pushed his cock a fraction more inside Marc's ass, and then withdrew it again. He did this several times, titillating the rim of Marc's orifice with his knob. While he did this Claude looked at their reflections first through the mirror on the wall to his right, and then through the one on the wall to his left. Each time he pushed forwards slightly, so that his prickknob agitated Marc's ring, Claude saw through the mirrors the boy's asscheeks clench and unclench rapidly. He also felt this action by the increase of pressure on his cock between the two clenching buttocks.
Keeping his eyes to the right, and enjoying what he saw through the mirror, Claude gradually eased himself forwards sinking his dick straight into Marc's ass. He saw Marc's buttocks move backwards to meet his forward thrust; and then Claude felt his belly press hard against Marc's spheres. Sliding his hands down the boy's slim wiry body, Claude closed one hand over the hanging sac of his balls, and with his other clasped Marc's short but quite thick cock, which was palpitating like a water-diviner which had discovered an ocean. The short squat stick was very wet, and Claude felt Marc's juices running onto his fingers and over the back of his hand. So much preorgasm juice excited Claude. Breathing hard, and eventually panting breathlessly, Claude started to shove his tool up and down Marc's tight sheath at a fast speed. As he fucked, he wanked Marc, whose moaning had grown in volume, and so had the speed with which he was clenching and unclenching his buttocks.
Keeping his eyes on their reflection, Claude watched his prick going in and out from between Marc's asscheeks at a very fast pace. Marc was himself moving his hips backwards and forwards at a great speed, and at one point Claude stood still, watching the boy's reflection as his ass moved energetically to and from. Claude knew that he could quite easily have remained still and let Marc do all the work. The boy's ass was working fast and furious, sliding up and down on his prick. But Claude liked the idea of actively fucking the moaning boy, so once again he started to meet the movements of Marc's ass with strong forwards thrusts which caused his belly to slap hard against Marc's buttocks.
Claude blinked his eyes. The reflection of himself fucking Marc's ass was beginning to blur, and his heart was thumping furiously in his breast. Turning his head away from the mirror, Claude closed his eyes, slamming his throbbing pole as deeply as he could get it into Marc's ass. Wanking the boy furiously, Claude jammed his belly hard against Marc's buttocks, and revolving his hips in a circular movement, discharged his sap in a long white stream into the boy's asshole. He was still coming, when Marc's cock, which he was wanking so quickly, gave a particularly violent throb. A second later Claude felt the hot lava spurt out of Marc's cock which continued to vibrate strongly. Marc released so much spunk that it was like a waterfall. It ran down the back of the red leather hairdressing chair in a stream. Claude also spunked copiously inside the tight-fitting sheath of Marc's ass. When he had finished spunking, Claude continued to revolve his hips, enjoying the sexy squelching noise which his cock now made inside Marc's well-fucked spunky asshole....
Claude never did approach young Marc on the subject of Pierre d' Auberge. He had enjoyed having sex with the young boy so much he was reluctant to share the pleasure which he had received. He wasn't sure if it was because Marc was so young, or if it was simply because the boy provided a totally different sort of partner to Henri. But whatever it was Claude wanted more of it. So instead of attempting to turn the young Marc into a prostitute, he gave the boy a raise in his salary and personally started to teach him the art of cutting hair. He promised Marc that when he managed to obtain a new and bigger hairdressing salon, there would be a place for him as a hairdressing assistant.
Marc, well pleased with his increased wages, and eager to stop being an errand boy and become a professional hairdresser, trotted around after Claude with a certain dog-like devotion in his blue eyes. Apart from his increased earning power, and the promise Claude had made him for the future, Marc was also very interested in Claude sexually. He couldn't have enough of Claude's virile cock, and quite often he contrived to stay behind at the salon after Albert and George had left.
Albert and George were not unaware of the sudden and unexpected interest Claude had taken in young Marc. They were intrigued, because up to now their youthful employer had been nothing but business-like. They knew nothing about Claude's personal life, and nothing about Henri who had deliberately stayed clear of Claude's hairdressing salon, once it had opened. Claude had agreed with his decision not to be seen at the salon, deeming it wise that the less his assistants knew about his private life the better.
"And what do you think caused that little romance?" Albert asked George one evening when they had left the salon, leaving behind Marc and Claude.
"I can't think. It's so peculiar. Why didn't it start long ago?" George asked plaintively.
"Funny, I've often thought of trying to get young Marc in a corner and fucking that tight little ass of his, but I've never trusted him. He's damn sight too cheeky," Albert said.
"Yes, I know what you mean. He's got one of the cutest pair of buttocks I've seen in Paris. But you're right. He's much too cheeky. I wouldn't trust him either," George told Albert.
"But he seems devoted enough to our dear boss," Albert continued, thinking aloud. "And since they've been having it off together, Marc hasn't been quite so quick to shoot off his mouth when you ask him to do something."
"Too busy shooting off something else," George said with a leer. "I bet those two fuck like a family of rabbits on double heat when they get going."
"Do you think they do it in the salon?" Albert asked curiously.
George rolled his almond-shaped violet blue eyes. 'Too bet they do. I arrived early this morning before young Marc had time to open the shutters. I slipped on something greasy on the floor tiles. I didn't know what it was, but the obvious has just occurred to me. It was spunk of course."
"Young Marc's spunk I suppose," Albert replied.
George rolled his eyes again. "I would be very surprised if Monsieur Claude Dumont wasted his virility on the floor. No. I'm sure that when he reaches the zenith of his pleasure it is right inside the cute derriere of our young errand boy."
"By the look of it he isn't going to be an errand boy much longer. Have you noticed that Claude is now busily teaching the boy the tricks of the trade?" Albert asked.
"Yes, I've noticed. But where is he going to put another assistant? There's not room," George replied.
"Claude is ambitious. I'm sure that once he's got this salon on its feet he'll sell out and buy a bigger one. Probably slap-bang on the Champ Elysees," Albert said.
"Well, I'm sure that will suit us," George said with a satisfied smile.
The two young men, who had become friends since they had started to work at Chez Claude, then parted company. They arranged to meet later that evening. They both lived with "affairs"-men older than themselves and who could well afford what Albert and George had to offer. Albert and George were, like Claude, ambitious. They well understood that before they lost their physical charms it would be well for them to have made a lot of money. They worked hard at Chez Claude-because the money they made was good. They worked hard to please their "affairs" because it was well worth their time. But occasionally even Albert and George had to take time off from their pursuit of money. And the way they did this was completely at variance with the smart, suave personalities which they had created for themselves. When they met for their occasional evenings out together, they did not, as might be expected, haunt the discotheques or smart "special" bars of Paris where their type is usually found. They were not interested to amuse themselves in the Latin Quarter, or around the area of the Champs Elysees. Instead they chose the Pigalle, an area of Paris which is very much on the seamy side of life.
Often Albert and George would start their evening together, and sometimes finish it, at a large rambling cinema in the Pigalle. The Cinema Louxor, situated opposite the Barbes Rochechooart metro station, on the corner of the Boulevard de la Chapelle, was a cheap cinema to get into. For a mere two francs and fifty centimes its customers had the choice of sitting in the stalls, the first balcony, or the second balcony. Those customers who had actually gone to see the film usually chose the stalls, or if they were full found their way to the first balcony. The second balcony, high up next to the roof, was uncomfortable, but never short of customers. But then these customers were never there to watch the film. They were much too interested in each other!
The Louxor, like most cinemas in the Pigalle area, is much patronized by the Arab population of Paris. In fact it would be quite appropriate if the Pigalle was renamed Sidi Bel Abbes because of the number of Arabs who have taken up residence in that quarter. And wherever there are Arabs, there is always a great deal of fucking going on. The Louxor therefore, was as busy in that respect as any of the whorehouses which line the Boulevard de la Chapelle. The only difference is that in the Louxor, the Arabs don't have to pay for their pleasure. On the contrary. Sometimes they expect to be paid for the pleasure they give, although this doesn't happen very often. The Arabs who frequent the Louxor are often poor, they are often badly educated, but they all have one thing in common-an indefatigable erection!
On the evening that Albert and George had discussed Claude and his sudden passion for young Marc, they met at the Barbes Rochechouart metro at 9pm. Dressed in jeans, sweat shirts, and pullovers tied around their shoulders, they presented quite a different picture from the suave elegance they affected at Chez Claude. They crossed the road, and presenting their two francs and fifty centimes entered the glass portals of the Louxor Cinema. The film currently showing was a Cowboy, which was probably a very bad one, but neither Albert or George were interested. Mounting the once white but now dirty grey stone steps which led to the top balcony, they presented their tickets to the usherette, tipped her, and sat down in hard uncomfortable seats. After a few minutes they got up and walked out again. Here they parted company. George going back down the stairs to the corridors outside the first balcony, and Albert remaining where he was. In all the corridors of the Louxor there is a constant traffic of people-all men, and many of them Arabs-who either walk up and down, or lounge against the walls smoking and watching the passing "trade."
Albert, his long dark hair swept back off his face, and his dark eyes missing nothing, walked over to a young Arab who lounged against the wall dressed in a quite smart suit with an open-necked white shirt which contrasted with the dark brown of his skin. He had a handsome face, and he looked well-built. Albert stood very close to the Arab, whose hand immediately reached out to stroke his bottom. Albert turned, his own hand brushing across the front of the Arab's trousers. The Arab already had an erection-a big one-and Albert walked to the center door of the balcony, looking over his shoulders as he did so. Dropping his cigarette, the Arab followed.
The center door of the top balcony led to several rows of seats-most of them broken-right at the back of the balcony and fenced off from the front seats by a tall rail. It was pitch dark and warm, because if the Louxor possessed airconditioning apparatus, then either it never worked very well, or not at all. Stumbling on a steep step, Albert edged himself into the very back row of seats which were empty. He didn't try to sit down but leaned against the wall behind him. He knew that if he tried to sit down he would probably end up on the floor because all the seats were broken! The Arab, close behind him, immediately grabbed him in the dark, and Albert felt hands undoing the belt of his jeans.
While his jeans and underpants were being pushed down to his knees, Albert opened the fly of the Arab's trousers and fished inside for the Arab's cock. It was long, thick, and very hard. Wetting his hand with saliva, Albert closed his palm around the throbbing circumcised knob, making the Arab pant with excitement. Quickly he massaged the Arab's knob until his cock jerked violently. Albert then released the rearing phallus, and turning his back to the Arab presented his naked ass. The Arab wasted no time, and Albert nearly lost his balance when the big dark-skinned cock screwed into his asshole with force.
. Recovering his balance, Albert pushed back, wriggling his neat bottom and helping the Arab's penetration. He felt the Arab's arms around his waist; and he gasped as with a sudden forward lunge the Arab completed his penetration, and immediately started a strong thrusting fucking movement of his hips.
Albert, now that he was being fucked by the Arab's big cork, had a strong erection himself. Knowing that it was unlikely that the Arab would do anything about that, Albert began to toss himself off while he was fucked. But he didn't have to do so for very long, before a third person joined them. From two rows in front the newcomer, a small dark haired youth who looked as though he might be Italian clabbered over the broken seats, got on his knees in front of Albert, took hold of Albert's cock and pushed it into his mouth. Albert began to get really worked up now that he was being fucked and sucked off at the same time. Clenching his asscheeks on the Arab's large dick which was now pushing up and down his ass at speed, he strained his hips forwards as the dark-haired youth sucked his prick deep into his mouth, gobbling the juicy stick noisily.
Suddenly the Arab was fucking so furiously, that once again Albert nearly lost his balance. Leaning back against the virile attack on his ass, Albert felt the Arab's big cock swell inside his asshole, followed by his heavy breathing as he released his spunk. His hands clasping the head of the youth who was sucking his cock, Albert erupted his own lava into the boy's mouth. It was just as well that at that moment the Indians were attacking the cowboys on the screen, otherwise the pants and moans of Albert and his two companions would have been heard down in the stalls!
While Albert was enjoying himself in the top balcony, George was similarly enjoying himself inside a lavatory which exists halfway down the stairs between the top balcony and the lower one. The lavatory in question contained two quite roomy cubicles, one on either side of a small square space. While George and his companion, another Frenchman and not an Arab, were ensconced in one, the other cubicle was likewise busy. Out side the two cubicles, standing and smoking, were at least five others, all waiting their turn to get into the cubicles. While they waited they played with each other indiscriminately.
There were no locks on the doors of the cubicles, which necessitated those inside to lean against them to stop intruders. George's companion, a thick set tough-looking individual with black hair and a short beard, was himself leaning against the door of the cubicle. Dressed in a dark red short-sleeved shirt, which displayed his brawny suntanned arms, the fly of his' grey trousers was wide open, and his genitals hung out of the gap. He had big balls and a very impressive prick-something which George had discovered before he had got himself in his present position. George was on his knees in front of the man, licking his thick long tassel which was slowly rearing upwards into a full erection. When it was standing up straight it was even more impressive, and opening his mouth wide, George slid the big circumcised knob into his mouth. The man's hips strained forward as George got busy with his tongue, licking the sensitive undersides of the swollen arrowhead which jolted so excitingly inside his mouth. The big prick jolted so hard that George found it necessary to hold onto the base of the thick stick to stop it jerking upwards and right out of his mouth. With his other hand he played lovingly with the man's heavily hanging and very big bollocks.
George felt his own prick, fully erect, straining inside his jeans to such an extent that he feared he might lose his spunk inside his underpants in his excitement. Sucking hard on his companion's wildly throbbing phallus, George began to move his head up and down on the fuck-stick at speed. The man was panting hard, his hips moving backwards and forwards, his ass banging against the side of the door. George could well imagine the thoughts of those standing outside the door!
"Oooh! I'm going to come inside your mouth," George's companion gasped, his voice hoarse.
Agitating the base of the man's prick with his hand, George pushed his head forwards onto the swollen vibrating tool, sucking the big knob deep into the back of his throat. The man's phallus was jerking spasmodically upwards against the roof of his mouth, and suddenly it erupted into a flood of throat-clogging sperm. George gagged on the thick cream, unable to swallow all of it. But he kept the throbbingly virile dick inside his mouth until it ran dry, and the pulsating vigor of the big exciting cock had died down to a gentle tremble. Sliding the saliva-wet fuck-stick out of his mouth, George got up off his knees, still holding onto the base of the man's cock. Sliding his hand from the base to the knob of the gently vibrating prick, George squeezed a last drop of semen out of the man's cock slit. He then released it, and the man stuffed his genitals inside his trousers and did up his fly buttons....
George who hadn't spent himself inside his underpants as he feared he might because of his excitement, left the lavatory cubicle and went back to the landing of the top balcony. He was still hungry, and his hunger was reflected in his almond-shaped violet-blue eyes, and in the eager wetness of his lips. His light brown hair, usually so smooth and sleek, was ruffled. And although he hadn't actually come inside his underpants while he had sucked off his burly companion, George still had an erection. It bulged inside his jeans, obvious to anyone who cared to look, and almost everyone he passed did look. As he arrived on the top balcony, he was just in time to see Albert come out of the center door which led onto the balcony itself. Albert was still doing up the belt of his jeans, and as they passed they winked briefly at each other, but didn't speak. Albert went down the stairs to the lower balcony, and after a slight hesitation George stood next to a dark-skinned powerful-looking man dressed in a dark suit. George had a weakness for thick-set burly individuals, who were clearly artisans of some sort. It was a weakness which he shared with his friend Albert. But they had no fear of competition from each other at the Louxor Cinema. There was always a surplus of artisans from which they could take their pick!
George moved closer to the dark-skinned man, who was either Arab or Spanish. Their hands touched and entwined, and the hand which George closed in his own was big, hard and rough. When the dark-skinned man released George's hand and walked away, George immediately followed him. The man started to descend the stairs, George close on his heels. They went straight down to the ground floor, and George knew where they were going. In the basement of the cinema was another lavatory, a very big one, and it was always very busy. When they arrived there were a lot of individuals standing around smoking as usual, and many of them had erections inside their trousers which they did not trouble to conceal. On the contrary!
George followed his prize straight into a cubicle, locked the door behind him-it was one of the few cubicles where the lock still worked-and undoing the belt of his jeans dropped them to his ankles. He then pushed his underpants down to his knees. His cock, still stiff, pulsated strongly against his belly, and when he undid the zip of his companion's trousers and pushed his hand inside he became more excited than ever. The man's prick was nearly as big as the last one he had sucked. Pulling it out of the man's trousers, George saw that this one was also circumcised. But it was dark-skinned, almost black. It was also very stiff. The combination made George come to the conclusion that he was about to be fucked by an Arab!
Turning to face the door of the cubicle, George pressed the palms of his hands against the stained wood. Almost at once the Arab's cock was rooting between his asscheeks and pressing hard against the portal of his asshole. But it wouldn't go in-it was too big. Reaching down to his jeans which were around his ankles, George pulled out of one of the pockets a small flat tin of cream. He held it over his shoulder, and it was grabbed by the Arab who was breathing hard with excitement and also frustration. A few moments later, George felt the big black cock root between his asscheeks again. This time it was cool and slippy. Wriggling his ass George got the big knob w-edged inside the slot of his ass. The Arab lunged forwards, and with a moan George pressed himself flat against the door of the cubicle, his upright throbbing cock trapped between the wood and his belly. The Arab was penetrating him fast, going up into his ass like a torpedo under full power.
George stayed pressed hard against the door of the cubicle while he was fucked. The Arab did not attempt to wank him while he fucked, and neither did George wank himself, which he could have done if he had pushed back from the door. The truth was that George was so aroused, that he was already nearly coming without his prick being wanked. The harder the panting Arab fucked his ass, the more aroused George became, until his spunk rose in a strong surge upwards from his freely swinging balls. George pressed his forehead against the door of the cubicle as the semen shot out of his throbbing cock, splattering the wooden door and also his belly. Clenching his asscheeks on the black phallus rooting deeply into his ass he released another splurging spurt of spunk. And while he spunked, George's sphincter closed on the Arab's dick which was filling his ass with spurting cream.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Six months after his twenty-second birthday, Claude closed his hairdressing salon on the Rue de Fleurus. His new salon on the Rue St. Honore, close to the snob Place Vendome, and the very elegant Rue de la Paix, was in keeping with the area in which it was situated. It was elegant, snobby, and expensive. Claude, who had very little capital in spite of the success of his salon in the Rue de Fleurus, had no qualms about charging high prices at his new salon. The customers must necessarily pay for the decor, as well as having their hair cut. And the decor of Claude's new premises were worth paying for by those who like to be surrounded by the trappings of luxury.
The new Chez Claude on the Rue St. Honore was impressive. The salon was big, and Claude's passion for mirrors was given full scope. Plate glass mirror virtually covered all the walls, so that everything and everybody in the salon was reflected several times over. The long deep divans, and handsome "working" chairs were all in expensive black leather and chrome. They were the latest design, and at a touch from an impressive array of buttons at the backs of the chairs, it was possible to shoot a customer upwards, downwards, sideways, or swivel him in a half-circle so that he could lean backwards to have his hair washed. A chute, which attached on the back of the chairs and which joined the washbasins, enabled the customer to lie back in comfort while his hair was washed. The floor was in varnished mozaic wood, and the glass shelves above the long line of washbasins were loaded with expensive-looking bottles, pots, and jars of all shapes and sizes. There was enough room for Claude plus four assistants, and five at a squeeze. And to move into these new premises Claude had put himself heavily into debt with various financing companies. He was also still in debt to Henri.
Not that Claude was unduly concerned about his high debts. He firmly believed that to make money it was necessary to spend a lot of it first of all. Having spent a great deal of money, Claude was confidently determined to get it all back plus a great deal more. He had waved aside Henri's warnings about the need for caution. Claude was also convinced that fortune favored the bold-and he had every intention of being bold!
Henri, who was now thirty-three, had at last obtained a divorce from his wife Sara. It had taken Sara much longer than she expected to find a new husband, but until she did find one she would not agree to a divorce from Henri. An estranged husband was still better than no husband at all in Sara's view. But as soon as she had found a man willing to make her his wife, she lost no time in hustling divorce proceedings through the courts. And this time Sara was careful to choose a partner with precisely the same outlook on life as herself-firmly bourgeois. He wasn't much to look at, and even Sara had to admit to herself that her new husband couldn't compare with dark handsome good looks of Henri. But she comforted herself with the fact her new husband at least believed in all the right things-the main one of course being concerned with "keeping up appearances." Sara no longer had to put up with a man who was untidy, and who simply didn't seem to care what other people might think. Sara, as always, was more concerned with what people thought than she was about the things she thought herself!
Henri's freedom from matrimonial ties made no difference to the tenor of his life. After all he had no intentions of ever getting married again, and in fact had become quite a misogamist, almost going out of his way to avoid even the company of women. His work was progressing smoothly, and his cartoons were known throughout France due to the wide circulation of some newspapers for which he worked. He always worked at the apartment he shared with Claude, and was contented enough, although worried about Claude's burning ambitions to make a fortune before he got to the dreadful age of thirty. Henri hoped that Claude's fear of the advancing years would wear off as they advanced, although at the moment Henri could see no signs of this. But then in Henri's eyes, Claude was still very young.
Henri, who had known Claude for five years, had no thought of sexual adventures with anyone except Claude. In spite of the length of time he had known Claude, he still found himself completely satisfied with their frequent lovemaking. Also, Henri had never felt the need for promiscuity, except when he had been living with Sara. But that had hardly been a need for promiscuity. More a need of someone like Claude and a growing distaste not only for his wife but women in general. He had no idea that Claude, who had become very promiscuous, was frequently unfaithful. Sometimes Henri did wonder just what went on at Chez Claude on the Rue St. Honore-which he never visited. But perhaps wisely he made up his mind that Claude did nothing but work when he was away from the apartment. Even when Claude was very late getting back home, he accepted the fact that Claude was very busy-making money.
Henri did not share Claude's love affair with money. He was happy so long as he had enough to live comparatively comfortably. He had no burning ambition, as Claude had, to pile up gold in some bank vault. Although Henri liked money well enough, he had no desire to become its slave. He realized, as Claude did not seem to realize, that money could be the world's most ruthless slave-driver. But although sometimes he tried, he could not shake Claude's belief that money solved all problems. Henri wondered if Claude, when he grew older, would still think that money solved everything-even death itself. But he didn't think along these lines very often. The young and vitally alive Claude was a long way from death, and Henri thought, so he was himself. They both had a long way to go before they had to face the last problem which would inevitably confront them.
Claude, who never philosophized, did not try to understand Henri on those few occasions when he became philosophical. Claude saw life in black and white, and the subtle shades escaped him. That he was frequently unfaithful to Henri did not concern him-so long as Henri did not find out. When he and Henri made love, which they did no less frequently now than when they first met, they were both entirely satisfied. In view of this, Claude paradoxically saw no reason why he shouldn't also enjoy himself with other people. In fact Claude, with only a few reservations, would have accepted Henri doing the same thing. It would, in Claude's mind, have evened the balance sheet. But Claude knew well enough that Henri made no move in this direction, although Henri would have had no difficulty in finding someone. Henri was indisputably a very handsome man, and Claude, in spite of his promiscuity, was undoubtedly in love with Henri. But Claude had yet to learn that it is not possible to have one's cake and eat it at the same time. He was later to regret not having worked this one out much earlier in his life.
Claude had four assistants at his new hairdressing salon, plus a manicurist. It had taken him some time to find a male manicurist. It had taken him some time to find a male manicurist, but he had managed it. Eighteen-year-old Vernon Street fitted into Chez Claude like a duck taking to water. Slightly plump, with a round face and a happy smile, Vernon was probably the only male manicurist in Paris. He was proud of the fact, and his presence at Chez Claude emphasized the fact that women were not admitted through its white painted portals. Vernon also had an attraction towards men old enough to be his father. A trait much appreciated by the clientele of Chez Claude, who found the smiling Vernon, with his mass of auburn curls and liquid brown eyes, a most suitable acolyte to attend their manicures.
Of Claude's four assistants, only one was a new comer. The other three were Albert, George and young Marc who was now 17 1/2, and as cheeky and as sexy as ever. Claude still found the boy very attractive, and rarely a week went by when he didn't do something about the attraction he felt towards the young Marc. And Marc, on his part, showed no signs of flagging in his passion for getting himself fucked by Claude. Some of the things which he and Claude had got up to late in the evenings at the old salon in the Rue de Fleurus would have made even a libertine blush. Looking about the new salon, Marc could see that he and Claude were going to have even more fun. The mirrors in the new salon were bigger, clearer, and there was more space. Marc saw a lot of possibilities....
George and Albert, as smooth and suave as ever, were also pleased with the new Chez Claude-the tips they received were much higher than those they had received in the Rue de Fleurus. At first business was slow, because although many of their old customers came to the new salon, many of them also dropped out. The prices on the Rue St. Honore were beyond their means. Claude charged forty francs for a razor cut, and plus all the incidentals, a customer could well he landed with a bill for well over fifty francs. This, as well as tips, made the total a tidy sum.
Claude's fourth assistant, and a newcomer to his menage, was twenty-five-year-old Jon Lion. Jon, although pleasant enough, and good at his work, was nevertheless rather a dark horse and kept himself very much to himself. He had long straight black hair, large dark eyes which always half closed when he spoke to anyone, thick sullen lips when he wasn't smiling, and a powerful physique. He always gave Claude the impression of someone who had a lot of extrovert energy, but didn't wish to advertise the fact. Jon talked quietly, moved quietly, and never gesticulated or raised his voice. It was like watching a powerful machine which was well-throttled down. Claude often wondered what Jon would be like with the throttle open, but although he tried, he found himself up against a blank wall. Jon was polite, friendly, efficient. But it was apparent that he had no intentions of displaying any other qualities which he might possess. Claude decided to leave the undoubtedly attractive Jon to himself until the young man got more accustomed to the atmosphere at Chez Claude.
It was about this time that Claude again thought of the possibilities of running a male bordello as a sideline. He saw no reason why he shouldn't use his salon for this purpose. He had not managed to obtain an apartment above the salon, as he had desired. But he was. still hopeful in this direction. There was an apartment above the salon, but it was occupied. Claude had already started to negotiate, but so far the price of the apartment, which included the business of buying out the present tenants, was too high even for him to contemplate. He was hoping that the price would fall. And neither had he thought of a suitable reason to give Henri for the need of an apartment above the salon. Always presuming that he had to tell Henri of its existence. After all Henri never visited the place....
In the meantime he saw no reason not to use the salon itself. There was enough space, there were a lot of mirrors, there were pots of grease. What more did a fornicating couple need, Claude thought. But again he did not approach Marc on the subject which was on his mind. He was still, after a year, much too interested in the young Marc himself! Instead he approached Albert and George. He explained his plan quite bluntly. He would make his salon available, he would choose the prospective partners for Albert and George, and he would pay them fifty percent of what he charged. The first thing that George and Albert wanted to know was how much he was going to charge. After a little thought Claude said that his charges would depend on his assessment of the customer, but that in any event he would not charge less than a hundred francs. Albert and George then went into private conference, but their answer to Claude was in the affirmative. They were willing to cooperate. Claude rubbed his hands and viewed his customers with a fresh eye.
It didn't take Claude long to find among his clientele those who were very interested in his proposition. All men in their forties, prosperous-they had to be to have their hair cut at Chez Claude-they found the prospect of fun and games with either Albert or George interesting. They also found the idea of a sexual liaison within the mirrored walls of Chez Claude to be a kinky and therefore exciting idea. Its erotic appeal titillated their somewhat jaded appetites. Of course they did not find it cheap. But in view of the fact that Albert and George were two very well-endowed and versatile young men, and in view of the fact that the salon was thrown in with the deal, they paid what Claude asked willingly enough. Some of them even paid for the pleasure of having George and Albert together at the same time.
Albert and George, now servicing Claude's customers as well as their own personal "affairs," had to forget their evenings out together at the Louxor Cinema. They no longer had the time, or indeed the energy! But although they regretted the termination of their pleasure at the Louxor, they did not regret their much more profitable endeavors at Chez Claude. And it wasn't long before business was so brisk in this respect that Claude had a waiting list for his two hardworking assistants. At the same time business increased generally. The news of the facilities which existed at Chez Claude traveled fast along the grapevine, and more customers arrived to have their hair cut, and also to view other, and more interesting prospects.
Young Marc, who knew what was happening because Claude made no secret of the fact as far as he was concerned, thought a lot but said nothing. Jon Lion, Claude's latest assistant, guessed what was happening although no one had actually told him. Albert, George and Marc, like Claude, found Jon polite but distant. He didn't give or invite confidences of any sort.
Marc, however, had found out one thing about Jon. Sometimes Marc left the salon before Jon, and it was Marc's habit to dawdle along the Rue St. Honore, fascinated by the expensive shop window displays. Due to this, he twice saw Jon, who must have left the salon soon after him, climb into a black Peugeot parked some distance from Chez Claude. The first time Marc saw this he didn't think much about it. But when he saw Jon climb into the Peugeot on another evening, he realized that the car must wait for his polite but taciturn colleague at the same time every day. On both occasions the driver of the Peugeot, a black-haired man, had been wearing dark sunglasses.
When Marc told Claude what he had seen, Claude shrugged.
"No doubt it's his lover. Someone with Jon's obvious attractions is bound to have a lover in the background," Claude told Marc.
Marc, who was sitting on one of the black leather hairdressing chairs, smiled at Claude who was standing in front of the mirrored walls smoking and admiring himself. It was one of the few evenings when the salon was not occupied, and Claude had asked Marc to stay behind.
"Vernon is getting curious about what goes on here in the evenings," Marc said, changing the subject.
Claude turned to face Marc, his smooth black eyebrows raised.
"And?" he asked.
"I told him if he wanted to know anything, then he would have to ask you," Marc replied.
Claude shrugged again. Vernon Street, his eighteen-year old male manicurist, was popular with the customers. So popular that Claude was thinking of asking Vernon if he would like to earn himself some extra money. But he had decided to wait a little longer before he approached Vernon on this subject. The boy was young, and he might talk in the wrong places. Also Vernon, unlike Marc, had not been working for him very long. He deemed it wise to see how his young manicurist shaped up before approaching him on the delicate subject of what happened at Chez Claude after the last customer to have his hair cut had left.
Dismissing the manicurist from his mind, Claude walked over to where Marc lounged in the big leather hairdressing chair. Marc looked up at him, his blue eyes glinting with anticipation. They had both taken off the tunic blouses which they wore while they worked. For his new salon Claude had ordered another set of identical blouses which had been so successful at his old salon. They were both wearing T-shirts and trousers, which was what they all wore beneath the tunic blouses, which had high collars. It was customary for Claude and his assistants to take off their shirts and jackets when they arrived at the salon in the morning, and change into their tunic blouses. In the evenings they changed back again. But Claude and Marc had not on this particular evening changed. There wasn't much point in getting dressed only to undress yet again!
Putting out his hand, Marc stroked the front of Claude's trousers, urging his cock into a long thick erection. It pointed downwards, its quickly throbbing length trapped by his trousers. Undoing Claude's zip, Marc pulled the potent phallus out of his underpants and into the open. He then got hold of Claude's testicles, and pulled them out of his trousers also. Leaning forward in the chair, Marc opened his mouth and sucked Claude's knob into his throat. Claude stood with his legs apart, swaying backwards and forwards very slightly, enjoying Marc's soft lips and clever tongue which was caressing his prick. Marc knew how to suck a cock even before he met Claude, although during the time he had been working at Chez Claude he had got much better!
Claude, his spunk rising as a result of Marc's sucking, pulled his tool out of the boy's mouth. Taking off his shoes, Claude dropped his trousers and underpants, taking them off his ankles and flinging them onto another chair. Marc, meanwhile, had stood up and followed Claude's example. Wearing only their white T-shirts, they pressed close to each other while they were still standing. Bending his stiff cock into a straight line, Claude pushed it between Marc's thighs, wedging it up under his balls. Kissing the boy, Claude gently moved his excited cock inside the tight grip of Marc's legs. Every time he moved forwards, he could feel Marc's short thick tool, which was standing rigidly to attention, press into his belly. But it wasn't long before Claude's sperm rose asain, and quickly he pulled his tool from between Marc's legs. He was breathing hard and longing to get his cock inside Marc's cute ass.
Marc, as aroused and eager as Claude, turned round so that Claude could fuck him where he stood. Claude, however, had just thought of another position in which he could fuck the eagerly panting Marc. Telling the boy to sit in one of the big leather hairdressing chairs, Claude then touched the button, which swiveled it in a half circle so that the back was facing the mirrored wall above the washbasins. Claude then pressed the button which operated the back of the chair. Slowly it sank backwards, and Claude let it go the whole way until Marc was practically lying flat, his head on the same level as the washbasins. Through the mirror. Claude could see the boy's slim wiry body stretched out on the black leather chair, his stiff prick lying flat against his belly. Leaning over Marc, Claude pulled the boy's T-shirt up and over his head. Obligingly Marc held uo his arms until he was free of the garment. He then shook his long hair out of his eyes and lay back once more, looking up at Claude and obviously wondering what was going to happen next.
Pulling Marc forward slightly by his hips, Claude lifted the boy's legs, and pulling them well apart placed them over the high arms of the big chair. Marc's small buttocks, now exposed, presented an alluring target, and Claude lost no time in pressing the button which automatically raised the chair. Claude allowed it to rise just a few inches, so that Marc's ass was in line with his cock, and then he stopped it. Wetting his knob with saliva, Claude bent his dick downwards into a straight line, and prodded the juicy prepuce between Marc's slim buttocks. The boy raised his head.
"Claude, use some grease. You know I can't take it otherwise," he pleaded.
Claude, who had got only half his big knob inside the slot of Marc's asshole, withdrew it.
"Okay. Okay." he said. "I just thought I'd try without for once," he murmured placatingly.
Marc fell back. "What do you want to do, ruin me?" he asked.
Claude didn't reply, but walking to one of the shelves returned with an expensive-looking pot of perfumed hair oil. Dipping his hand into it, he smothered his cock with the stuff, and then replaced the pot. The next time he rooted his prick between Marc's buttocks, the boy's moans were entirely pleasurable. When he had got his prick halfway up Marc's ass, Claude stopped to look at their reflection in the mirror, and to excite himself still further. He had a perfect view of Marc stretched out in the chair, which now looked more like an operating table. He could see the boy's widely parted legs hanging over the arms of the chair, and his short thick cock rising and falling on his slim belly. Between Marc's parted legs, Claude could see a good length of his own cock, half of which was buried inside Marc's ass. Not liking the effect of his T-shirt, Claude divested himself of it, and dropped it onto the floor. Placing his hands on the arms of the chair just in front of Marc's legs, Claude flexed his stomach muscles and began to push the remainder of his tool into the boy's ass. Due to the fact that he had been liberal with the oil he had smeared onto his cock, he completely penetrated Marc with ease. Moving his hips fluently, Claude was soon fucking Marc with long easy-going strokes. Through the mirror, Claude could see the fine ripple of his muscles as he fucked, and the dark hairs which had appeared on his chest during the last six months. He could also see his cock each time he pulled it halfway out of Marc's ass before stuffing it back in again.
Marc lay with his arms at his side, his fair hair in disarray and his eyes closed. The faster Claude fucked him, the more excited Marc became, until his rigid cock was rising and falling on his belly at the same speed as Claude was shagging his ass. The thrilling length of Claude's thick fuck-stick inside his ass was quickly bringing him to the boil. Marc knew that before long he would have to let go and release his spunk.
And he knew that this would happen without him touching his cock. Sometimes Claude masturbated him and fucked him at the same time, and when this happened Marc always had great difficulty in holding his sperm back until Claude was ready to come himself. Marc liked it best of all when he and Claude came together. He liked to experience the hard throbbing length of Claude's tool spewing hot sperm into his ass, while he rose to his own climax.
Marc opened his blue eyes, which were glazed with the emotional impact of his impending climax. Moaning softly he rolled his head slowly from side to side on the black leather of the collapsed arm chair back. Through the mirrored wall opposite, no matter if he looked to the right or left of him, he could see the reflection of Claude's naked back. He could see Claude's firm buttocks, clenched tight as he fucked, and the straining muscles of his broad shoulders as he leaned slightly forwards, his hand resting on the arms of the chair. Marc stopped looking at Claude's reflection, and keeping his head still, looked directly at Claude himself. Their eyes met, the excitement they were both feeling reflected in the staring of their unblinking gaze. Marc saw that Claude's mouth was open slightly, his lips pinkly wet, and his breath rasping in his throat.
Using the chair arms as a lever, Marc slowly raised his ass off the chair seat as Claude's tool throbbed violently inside it. Claude had stopped fucking him, and was standing motionless. Still staring up into Claude's eyes, Marc released his cream. It surged out of his hard cock in a steady stream which reached as far as his chest. Due to the fact that his legs were widely stretched apart and gripping the chair arms. Marc couldn't close his asscheeks on Claude's virile prick. He was forced to keep them apart and receive the full brunt of Claude's sudden powerful lunge forwards. Through the mists of pleasure which clouded his eyes as he continued to throb out his juice, Marc felt the powerful lunge of Claude's spunk-spurting tool screw deeply into his ass and stay there, jolting and throbbing as if trying to escape.
Taking his hands off the arms of the chair, Claude fell forwards between Marc's lees, and lay on too of him. forcing the boy's squirming body to go down hard on the chair. Still spunking, Claude closed his mouth over Marc's soft young lips, biting them in the frenzy of his urgent climax. Claude could feel the wetness of Marc's sperm as he lay on top of the boy, pressing his broad muscled chest against the smooth slimness that so excited him about Marc....
While Claude and Marc were thus enjoying themselves, the latest addition to Claude's staff, Jon Lion, was having dinner at a restaurant on the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis. The restaurant was almost opposite Chez Bernard, the hairdressing salon where Claude began his career. Jon, however, was not aware of this.
Opposite Jon, eating in silence, was a handsome man with Jack hair and dark glasses which completely hid his eyes. Outside the restaurant stood the man's black Peugeot.
The restaurant, typically French and belonging to a way of life that only exists in Paris, was full as usual. It was very big, and the decor, art nouveau which had obviously not been touched since it was created around the turn of the century, was nostalgic. The walls, covered with vast mirrors, interspersed with elaborate cornices in dirty white plaster, and a ceiling inset with colored glass, all created an ambiance which entirely suited the clientele. And it was the clientele of Max's which really gave the impression of going back in time to the period of Toulouse Lautrec. A rag-bag mixture of food-loving artisans, the customers at Max's were generally middle-aged, generally colorful, often imbibed more than was good for them, and very volatile when they did so. But they were all far too busy being themselves to stop and ponder about the impression they might be creating to the eyes of the occasional stranger who wandered into the restaurant. Not that the clientele of Max's designed to notice strangers in their midst. A chicken leg in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, both being juggled during a flow of rapid and loud conversation with a neighbor, didn't allow enough time to notice strangers.
The prices at Max's were extremely modest; the food was good; and it was served by a mixed staff of men and women entirely sympathetic to their customers. Occasionally the staff found it necessary to voice loud protests as they guided one of their customers, who had drunk far too much, through the swing doors of the restaurant. And occasionally the customers would retaliate by raising their voices in protest when they couldn't get immediate service for the few francs which they intended to spend. But beneath the level of this constant battle waged between the staff of Max's and the clientele, there existed a basic understanding of each other. Also, and particularly on the part of the staff, there existed a big tolerance. This understanding and tolerance was, however, carefully disguised beneath the extrovert open warfare which more often than not raged between the two parties on the surface.
Jon and his companion were not strangers at Max's. In fact it was in Max's that they had first met over three yean ago, and they had been eating regularly at the restaurant ever since. Jon's companion Andre Antois, had been eating at the restaurant much longer than that. Andre, who had been born in the fifth arrondissement of Paris, and who knew it like the back of his hand, was at home in the restaurant. The fact that he could now afford, if he had wished, to eat at much more elegant establishments, did not deter him from his devotion to Max's. His father had swept the streets of the fifth arrondissement before succumbing to an attack of pleurisy and alcohol poisoning. His mother had been a prostitute until she had disappeared one day in the direction of Marseilles with a pimp. Andre himself was a small-time but successful gangster. In view of all this Andre saw no reason for elegance, even if he could afford to pay for it. He had been born in the gutter, and he didn't like to stray too far away from his origins. He liked to feel at home, and sensibly saw no reason in spending good money merely to feel uncomfortable.
Jon came from a solid bourgeois background, quite different from Andre's experience. But unlike Andre, Jon felt no ties to his origins. If anything he despised the values and traditions of his particular background. He had broken with them as soon as he possibly could, and now, at the age of twenty-five, bore hardly any traces of his strictly bourgeois upbringing. Only his reserve, and his habit of hiding his true feelings, remained as proof of the repression he had suffered in his extreme youth.
Andre took a drink of his wine and broke the silence. "How were things at the salon today?" he asked.
A ghost of a smile hovered at the corners of Jon's thick, sullen, but well-shaped lips.
"As usual. The menage, including myself, went through its usual routine. I'm now making as much in tips as the others. Claude is dragging in the customers at a fast rate. He's also got a sideline. I suspected it before, but now I'm sure. In the evenings my two colleagues, Albert and George, receive customers in the salon-but not to cut their hair."
Andre's dark eyes behind his spectacles glinted with interest. "You don't ssay? And what about your other two colleatrues-Marc and Vernon? Where do they fit into this cozy picture?"
Jon shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't think they've been included in on the deal. I overheard a conversation between Albert and George, which was how my suspicions became confirmed. I gather that Mr. Claude entertains the young Marc himself in the salon. Perhaps he doesn't like to share the boy. As for Vernon-he's still a comparative newcomer. Probably Claude is trying to decide whether to throw him to the wolves or not. I don't really know."
"I wonder how much the enterprising Claude Dumont charges for the services of his staff?" Andre asked.
Jon shrugged again. "I've no idea. As I haven't been taken into anybody's confidence on the subject, I can't ask questions. But knowing Claude I'd say the charge is steep. And knowing the customers, I'm sure they can well afford it. I'm also sure that George and Albert give good value for money. They're very keen on the-stuff and very anxious to make mountains of it as quickly as possible."
"Who isn't?" Andre asked, his firm mouth breaking into a smile to reveal teeth of such perfect whiteness and evenness that they looked almost false.
"All of us, I suppose," Jon said moodily, picking up his wine glass.
Andre drove the black Peugeot to where he lived with Jon in an old house at the top of the Rue Faubourg St. Denis, and where it joined the Rue Magenta, in silence. Although he and Jon had known each other for over three years, they had only been living together for the past eight months. So far it had worked out satisfactorily for both of them. Andre found it convenient to have a permanent hideout, using Jon as a kind of cover. And Jon, although not unaware of the risk he was running by living with a gangster, was too obsessed with Andre to worry about the possible outcome of such a dangerous liaison. He didn't care what Andre did, just so long as he didn't disappear. Sometimes of course Andre would disappear, without warning, but he always returned. And although the period of waiting for Andre's return was invariably a worrying time for Jon, he never asked questions when Andre finally put in a reappearance. The mere fact that he had returned was enough for Jon.
Once inside the old house where they had their apartment, Andre took off the jacket of his double-breasted dark blue suit, pulled off his tie and shoes, and sprawled onto a settee with a sigh of relief. He was a small man-smaller than Jon in fact-but he was powerfully built. He looked as though he could take well care of himself in a brawl-something which he had proved on many occasions during his lifetime. Andre was now thirty-four, and there were several white hairs to be seen on his head of smooth, jet-black hair, which he wore short with a parting on the left side. When he took off his dark glasses, Andre revealed grey eyes which appeared to stare indolently at the world. However, there wasn't much that went on which Andre missed. The indolence of his eyes was deceptive.
In his usual quiet way, Jon took off his shiny buckled shoes, his suede jacket, and black flared trousers. He then took of his shirt and socks, leaving him with a pair of ice-blue scants made from material so flimsy that they hid nothing. He had a good physique, and the scants hugged his narrow hips and firm buttocks like a glove. The material was so flimsy that his genitals swayed gently inside the scants when he moved, his heavily hanging cock clearly visible through the ice-blue material that was cross between chiffon and silk. Smoothing his long black hair which almost reached to his shoulders, Jon's large dark eyes hooded as usual when he spoke.
"Coffee?" he asked the sprawling Andre. Andre looked at Jon, his eyes traveling up and down Andre's body leisurely. Getting up from the settee he put his arms around Jon, and slid his hands down his back and into the flimsy scants. Holding both of Jon's buttocks in his hands, he pulled the firm cheeks slightly apart. At the same time Andre titillated Jon's genitals with his own prick, which was beginning to grow inside his trousers.
"Let's have coffee later. I feel like screwing you right now," Andre murmured.
Jon's eyes became more hooded than ever, and his lips parted. Licking them with the tip of his tongue he swayed slightly on his naked feet, the excitement which Andre always generated in him making his limbs temporarily paralyzed. He moved away, however, when Andre's long hard cock, which he had pulled out of his trousers, slid between his thighs.
"Let's make it in bed. It's more comfortable," Jon suggested breathlessly.
"Suits me. We've got the time so why not have a meal instead of a snack?" Andre grinned.
The double bed, which they shared, was unmade as usual; and pulling the clothes back, Jon let them hang down to the floor. While Andre undressed, Jon pulled a white leather box from beneath the bed and opened it. It was an electric massager, complete with a set of gadgets which could be screwed onto the vibrator. The various gadgets were for various parts of the anatomy-depending on which part needed to be massaged-and were all various shapes. Some had nylon bristles to massage the scalp, and one had a layer of foam which was meant to massage cream into the face. Jon chose one which had a soft leather suction pad on the end of the fitment which attached to the vibrator itself. Screwing it into the white stream-lined vibrator, which was designed to hold easily in one hand, Jon waited for Andre to get onto the bed.
Andre, seeing Jon holding the massage-vibrator in his hand, smiled with satisfaction. Jon could do clever things with his massage-vibrator-and they were all things which Andre enjoyed. Lying flat on his back in the center of the bed, Andre folded his hands beneath his head and waited.
Kneeling by Andre's side, Jon plugged the long cord of the massage-vibrator into a wall-socket by the side of the bed. Jon's cock trembled stiffly upwards inside his ice-blue scants as he got to work. Jon was always thus affected by the sight of Andre's nakedness, and although he knew Andre's strong muscular body as well as he knew his own, every time he saw it was like the first time.
Jon switched on the massage-vibrator, and a loud hum filled the small bedroom lit by the solitary soft glow of a beside lamp. They had dined late, and it was already 10pm, but there was no hurry. They had all night. For once Andre did not have to rush off to one of his many appointments with what he smilingly called his "contacts." Jon knew well enough that Andre's "contacts" were other gangsters, employed like Andre in the sometimes lucrative, and sometimes disastrous life of crime.
Lightly Jon moved the vibrating suction pad across Andre's broad chest with its mat of soft black hair. The vibrator made the firm flesh of Andre's chest shiver as slowly Jon moved the suction-pad from left to right and back again. When he reached Andre's nipples, Jon gave each red button a lot of loving treatment. Bending his head downwards, Jon licked both of Andre's nipples, sucking and worrying the small red tits. When he took his head away, they were hard, erect, and shiny with saliva. Firmly Jon pressed the vibrating suction-pad onto one of Andre's red erect nipples, and kept it there. He saw the muscles in Andre's legs ripple as his body stiffened with pleasure, and lifting the vibrator, Jon clamped it down on Andre's other nipple. The first one, now so hard and erect that it looked like a tiny penis, tempted Jon. Still keeping the suction-pad on Andre's left nipple, he again bent his head and greedily sucked the one which had just been treated by the massage machine into his mouth.
Andre stiffened again, stretching his whole body as the ripples of pleasure tickled their way through the erotic zones of his body. Before he had met Jon, he had no idea that the nipples were an erotic zone, but Jon had soon educated him in that respect. Jon, who had trained to be a masseur, and had started his career in that profession before taking up hairdressing, well knew the erotic zones of the male physique. He had never bothered himself with the female physique!
After worrying Andre's nipple between his teeth, Jon moved back to the other nipple, transferring the vibrating suction-pad back to the nipple he had just been sucking. He did this several times until the hairs which surrounded the nipples were wet with saliva, and the buds looked so hard and red that it seemed as if they were about to burst into flower.
By the time Jon had moved further down Andre's torso, Andre was breathing hard; his very long, very thick cock, rising and falling stiffly on his belly. But although Jon was eager to touch the throbbing phallus, with which he loved to be fucked, he refrained from doing so. Instead he continued to pass the massage-vibrator backwards and forwards across Andre's torso, but all the time moving lower.
Eventually Jon reached Andre's navel, but Andre's tool was so long that it was getting in the way. Looping the cord of the vibrator underneath the thick stick, Jon pulled it upright away from Andre's stomach. The big fuck-stick jerked and throbbed as it tried to slap back onto Andre's belly, but firmly Jon held onto the cord, holding the excitingly large, and very virile prick in a vertical position.
Andre's leg muscles rippled again as he stretched his body luxuriously. The vibrating suction-pad, now moving over his belly, was making his entire nervous system tingle with exhilarating pleasure. Taking one of his hands from beneath his head, he reached out for Jon who was crouching by his side. Pushing his hand into Jon's scants from behind, Andre stroked his way between the firm apples of Jon's buttocks. After tickling the rim of Jon's anus, Andre wormed two digits up inside the tight hole and started to frig Jon's ass.
Jon, as excited by the reaction of Andre's body to the massage-vibrator as if it had been applied to his own, moaned when Andre's fingers went up into his ass. Changing his position, he got astride Andre's chest, facing his feet. Andre took his fingers out of Jon's orifice, and pulling the ice-blue scants down to Jon's knees, he once again got to work with his fingers, this time frigging Jon's tight ass with three digits. With his other hand he felt up into Jon's crotch, briefly juggling Jon's bollocks on the palm of his hand before reaching for his stiff cock. Jon's moans became more intense as he was frigged and masturbated at the same time, and his hand which was holding the vibrating machine trembled with his rising excitement.
Letting Andre's pulsating fuck-stick fall back onto his belly with a hard slap, Jon now set to work on the thick shaft with the massage-vibrator. Holding Andre's wet knob in one hand, so as to keep the juddering tool in a straight line, Jon moved the vibrating suction pad up and down the length of Andre's prick until the thick vein which ran along the underside of his phallus was working overtime and the knob constantly jerked in his hand as if trying to escape. But in spite of the slippery wetness of Andre's big knob, Jon kept his palm clasped firmly around it as he continued to move the vibrator up and down the complete length of Andre's dick. And all the time he did this, Jon could feel Andre's fingers frigging his ass, and the man's other hand stroking and massaging his cock.
When Andre's tool was so stiff with excitement that it felt like iron, Jon forced the jerking phallus back into a vertical position. Keeping one hand around the wide base, Jon then brought the vibrating suction pad directly onto the top of Andre's knob and kept it there. He heard Andre gasp, and almost immediately the white suction pad started to slip on a strong spurt of premature spunk which shot out of Andre's cock slit. Jon didn't move the suction pad from Andre's spunk-slippery knob. He kept it where it was, holding the vibrating pad directly over the spunk dribbling cock slit. Andre started to pant loudly, and his hips kept rising and falling from the bed. Only when he cried out did Jon remove the suction pad from his knob. He did so because he knew that if he kept it where it was Andre was going to spunk furiously, and Jon didn't want Andre to do that just yet. Jon wanted the hot lava to spurt inside his ass, not into the air!
Leaving Andre's jerking tool alone for a minute, he lifted Andre's big bollocks in one hand, and placed the vibrating suction-pad onto the highly sensitive patch of skin just behind the testicles. Andre's muscular legs parted and rose into the air, and his panting started to grow in volume again. The suction-pad, slippery with spunk, moved easily in Jon's hand as he slowly moved it up and down, and from side to side, covering the entire area behind Andre's balls and right down to his hairy asshole. Andre kept his legs parted and in the air. Continuing to pant loudly he frigged Jon's ass furiously, and just as furiously masturbated his prick. This time it was Jon who nearly shot his load, and reaching behind him he pulled Andre's hard-working digits out of his asshole, and took Andre's busy hand away from his wildly throbbing prick. Dropping the vibrator onto the bed, Jon got from astride Andre's chest, swiftly pulling his scants off his ankles, Jon picked up a tube of grease from the bedside table and pushed some into his well-frigged asshole. He then got astride Andre once more, only this time he got astride Andre's hips and facing his head.
Holding Andre's big fuck-tool in an upright position once more, Jon rapidly wriggled his ass onto the spunky knob, and with a groan of mixed pleasure and pain sank it into his greasy asshole. It was like sitting on a tree-trunk, but as it was by no means the first time he had received Andre's phallus up into his ass. Jon didn't stop until he was sitting on Andre's belly, his ass full with powerfully pulsating prick.
The massage-vibrator was still humming and vibrating on the bed, and picking it up, Jon switched it off. The box of vibrator heads lay at the foot of the bed, and reaching behind him without losing an inch of Andre's beautiful cock sticking up his ass, Jon changed the head of the vibrator, replacing the suction-pad with a small, hard, pointed head, which was supposed to be used for massaging the legs. But Jon had an idea, and he wasn't going to massage Andre's legs with the small pointed arrowhead. However, he didn't put his idea into practice at once, but replaced the instrument back on the bed.
Reaching for Jon's genitals, Andre fondled his bollocks, and with his other hand moved the foreskin of his prick up and down over his knob. Jon's tool was very hard, and preorgasm juice ran in rivulets off his knob. Andre could feel the stuff running onto his fingers as he masturbated Jon. And as he expected, Jon soon became very worked up. Still fondling Jon's bollocks, and working the foreskin up and down over his juice-running knob, Andre settled down to enjoy himself as Jon's buttocks began to work like the suction-pad on the vibrator. Andre closed his eyes, enjoying the jolting throb of his cock as Jon's ass rose and fell on the long stick.
Jon, keeping his arms by his sides, was soon riding Andre's thick fuck-stick at a fast speed. Crouched astride Andre's hips and resting on his knees, Jon repeatedly lifted his ass from Andre's belly, sliding himself along the length of the man's shaft until he felt the big knob stretching his ring. When this happened, he sank down again on the pulsating phallus until he was again sitting on Andre's muscled belly. Before lifting himself again, he would rotate his ass, making Andre's cock give an extra strong jolting jerk inside his ass. When this exciting spasm had passed, Jon rose once more, not stooping until Andre's big knob was w-edged just inside his well greased ring. And all the time Jon was giving himself the exhilarating thrill of riding Andre's dick, he could feel Andre's hands persistently fondling his bollocks and rubbing the foreskin up and down over the wetness of his knob. Moving faster, his breath coming in gulping pants, Jon wondered how much longer he could withstand the fantastic stimulation he was receiving without releasing his spunk. Twice his cream had risen up from his testicles, and twice he had forced it down again. But it wouldn't be long, he knew, before he started to shoot.
"Oooh! Ooooh! I'm nearly coming," he gasped.
Andre opened his eyes. He could see Jon's long dark hair, damp with perspiration, had fallen across his face. His prick, throbbing and jerking inside Jon's arse, was swelling even more, and Andre stiffened as his spunk started to rise. His prick, throbbing and jerking inside Jon's ass, was swelling even more, and Andre stiffened as his spunk started to rise. His parted legs lifted slightly as he prepared to pump his semen into Jon's asss, and he pressed his head back hard on the pillow. Suddenly he heard the massage-vibrator start up again.
Jon, sitting hard down on Andre's violently erupting prick, started to come himself, spurting his cream from between Andre's masturbating fingers and jetting it onto the man's hairy chest. While they were both still coming, Jon picked up the massage-vibrator and switched it on. Putting both hands behind his back, and holding the vibrator in one of them. Jon lifted Andre's balls with his free hand. He then pushed the hard oblong point of the vibrator, which he had deliberately chosen for the purpose, between Andre's buttocks. The fact that Andre had lifted his legs slightly as he spunked made it easy for Jon to locate Andre's asshole. He then pushed the rapidly vibrating point deep into Andre's ass.
Andre, who was just coming to an end of his orgasm, gave a cry of shocked surprise. Dropping his legs, he dug his heels into the bed and raised his hips. The shock of the vibrator stuck up his ass caused him to release another spurt of spunk, his cock jolting inside Jon's backside uncontrollably. Keeping his hand behind him, Jon firmly kept the vibrator inside Andre's ass. Feeling Andre's prick jolt inside his spunk-filled anus, Jon released another burst of spunk of his own. Andre had stopped wanking him, although his hand was still clasping his spunky cock. Looking down at his prick, Jon saw the last of his climax ooze in a white stream out of his cock-slit. It ran down Andre's fingers and onto the back of his hand.
"For Christ's sake, take that bloody thing out of my ass," Andre suddenly commanded in a hoarse voice.
Jon obediently switched off the instrument, and pulled it from between Andre's legs. In the abrupt silence that followed, Andre and Jon stared at one another while they regained their breath.
"You louzy bastard, why did you do that?" Andre demanded.
Jon didn't answer, and eventually they both started to laugh. Still laughing Jon eased himself upwards off Andre's belly, sliding Andre's very large, and now very spunky cock, out of his ass. It was still stiff, and the big knob slid out of the slot of his ring with a plop. The noise made Andre laugh again, and Jon was tempted to switch on the vibrator again and plunge it back between Andre's buttocks. But he refrained from the temptation. It was best not to push Andre too far. His sense of humor could disappear, and when that happened he could get tough and nasty. Jon knew all about Andre and his nasty moods. After three years there was little about Andre that Jon did not know. He had studied the man with the intensity of a student obsessed with his subject. And Jon was, without doubt, quite obsessed with Andre. For Jon, life without Andre was unthinkable. There was nothing that Jon would not do for his friend, and there was also nothing he would not do to keep him....
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was Friday, the 13th of September, but Claude had not given the day or the date a second thought. It was now some time since the portals of Chez Claude had been opened on the Rue St. Honore, and Claude was very close to his twenty-fourth birthday. For the last six months Claude had been jubilantly watching the graph of his business accounts go steadily upwards towards the success he desired. Three months ago, and without Henri's knowledge, he had successfully negotiated for the apartment above his hairdressing salon. And it was this apartment which he now used exclusively for his "sideline," which was proving to be almost as profitable as the hairdressing business.
Claude's staff had not changed, although perhaps not surprisingly it wasn't only Albert and George who now entertained the customers of Chez Claude in the evenings when the hairdressing side of the salon had closed for the day. Vernon Street, the comfortably plump smiling manicurist of Chez Claude, was also busy in this respect. And so was the young Marc, who was not really so young any more as he was getting near his nineteenth birthday. But to give Claude due credit it was not he who had introduced Marc to this way of supplementing the money he received as a hairdressing assistant. It had been Marc himself who had requested Claude to include him along with Albert and George. Claude had agreed readily enough, although at the time he had been able to repress a feeling of disappointment in the young and attractive Marc. But he soon got over this feeling, although he no longer made love to Marc as he had done previously.
Jon Lion, still working for Claude, was the only one of his assistants who kept himself aloof from what went on in the evenings at the apartment above the hairdressing salon. Although Claude had broached him on the subject, choosing his words carefully, Jon had replied in the negative, choosing his words just as carefully.
Claude had not approached Jon again, although many customers had expressed a desire to know the well-built Jon more intimately. In fact there had been occasions when Claude felt a slight unease about Jon. Not that Jon ever gave any cause for complaint. He was efficient as a hairdresser, he was friendly, and he was helpful. But Claude, who had got to know his other assistants fairly well, was conscious of the fact that he had never got to know Jon Lion. He remained exactly the same as the day he had first arrived at Chez Claude. Efficient, friendly, and impersonal. But as time went on Claude forgot his unease about Jon Lion. He came to accept him for what he was-a good-looking, friendly but completely impersonal young man.
On the evening of Friday, the 13th of September, Claude was not, however, thinking of his assistants. He was ensconced in his cubbyhole, which he used as an office, and which was situated behind a swing-door made of plate-glass mirror in the hairdressing salon itself. When the swing-door was closed, the mirrored surface fitted between two other wall mirrors, which completely disguised the fact that it screened Claude's cubbyhole.
It was about 9:30pm; and Claude was doing his accounts. It was a task which gave him pleasure, because his profits graph was continuing to rise steadily. A smile of pleasure flitted across his face as he busily totted up the figures, then disappeared when he heard a bang above his head. Marc and a customer had been in the apartment above the salon for the past hour and a half, and there had been several bangs, but the last one had been louder than the others. Getting up from his tiny desk, Claude left his cubbyhole and walking over to another plate-glass mirror pressed a hidden button. The mirror slid silently sideways and Claude mounted a narrow flight of thickly carpeted stairs, which had been built to his specifications so that he could reach the apartment above the salon with ease. A plate-glass door at the top of the stairs slid silently open as he approached and closed quietly behind him. Walking along a dimly lit narrow corridor, he stopped before a picture hanging on the wall.
The picture, which was of the head and shoulders of a young boy with remarkably life-like blue eyes, was something which only Claude knew about. Pressing his two index fingers into the corners of the two blue eyes, Claude slid one to the left and one to the right, so that they completely disappeared into slots. Pressing his face close to the picture, Claude looked through the two magnified spy holes which were inset into the wall behind the two eyes of the picture, which was firmly fixed to the wall. It gave him a perfect view of the bedroom of his apartment, which was where his assistants entertained the customers. Apart from the bathroom, which led off the bedroom, the rest of the apartment was locked. Claude did not think that it was necessary to supply more than a bedroom for his assistants to go through their paces.
The first thing that Claude saw was Marc. The youth was naked, and his short thick cock was sticking up from his bush of pubic hair, standing stiffly against his belly. He was wielding a whip, which he was using with such relish that Claude understood the bangs he had heard in the salon below. The man on the receiving end of the whip was a customer who had graduated from having his hair cut at Chez Claude to the establishment's more intimate service. He was rolling about naked on the floor by the side of the double bed, trying to avoid the dominant Marc, and giving a good impression of being terrified. He was a man of indeterminate years with ash-blond hair, a slim physique, and fair skin. At least it had been fair, although now it was badly marked with red weals as a result of the whip.
Claude made no effort to rescue his customer from the brutal whipping he was receiving from Marc. This wasn't the first time that the man had requested the whip, although Claude had a feeling that Marc was being a bit overenthusiastic. The man's ass was crisscrossed with weals, and as he rolled about on the floor, Claude could see more weals on his chest, back and legs. And still Marc was whipping him. Although Claude couldn't actually hear the swish of the leather-thonged whip, it was quite apparent that Marc was using it with force. Every time the thong wrapped around the cringing man on the floor, another weal appeared on his fair skin.
Marc, unaware that he was being watched by Claude, and beyond caring even if he had known, continued to lash out at his victim. When the man tried to get under the bed, Marc caught hold of one of his ankles, and yanked him out into the open again. The man's pale grey eyes looked up at him in dumb appeal, and he could see blood on the man's lips where he had bitten them in his pain. Marc deliberately slashed the whip across the top of the man's chest and neck, narrowly missing his face. The man, who had been silent so far, began to whimper like a baby, and saliva dribbled from between his bleeding lips. He then fell forwards onto his face, lying spread-eagled on a black wool carpet which stood by the side of the bed. Marc could see the man's prick, which was long, thin, and half erect. It was pointing downwards from between the man's open legs.
Panting, Marc knelt by the side of the man, and brutally jammed the black ebony whip handle between his buttocks, forcing the thick length into the man's ass. A blubbering scream came from the man's lips, and as Marc continued to force the whip handle deep into the ass, the man frantically thumped the carpet with his fists. Using all his strength, Marc forced practically the entire length of the ebony whip handle into the man's asshole, then getting astride his victim and facing his feet, Marc kneeled on the small of the man's back. When Marc did this his kneecaps pressed cruelly onto the man's lash-marked skin, and once again he gave a cry of what sounded like genuine despair.
Grasping what little remained of the whip handle which was sticking up from between the man's whipped buttocks, Marc slightly withdrew it and then rammed it back once more into the man's asshole. He did this several times, while the man whimpered and sobbed with mounting hysteria. But it wasn't only hysteria that Marc's victim was experiencing. His prick, sticking out from between his open legs and pointing towards his feet, had stiffened considerably. The more Marc fucked his ass with the whip handle, the more the man's prick throbbed and stiffened. The red knob, which had grown very wet, pulsated against the black carpet. It was in an unnatural position, but the man did not attempt to raise his hips and allow his hard cock to swing upwards against his belly. He remained with his hips firmly pressed into the carpet, as if afraid that if he lifted them, the whip handle with which Marc was fucking his ass, would penetrate him even deeper.
Marc, completely wrapped up in the pain he was inflicting on his victim, and obviously also very excited because his short thick dick was perking stiffly against his belly, went one step further. Pushing the whip handle well into the man's asshole, Marc released it, and grasping his victim's well whipped asscheeks, prized them as far apart as he could. His knees digging hard into the small of the man's lash-marked back, Marc bent his head and gripped the top of the protruding whip handle with his teeth. Holding the man's buttocks well apart, he then proceeded to plunge the whip handle up and down the man's ass, holding the whip handle firmly between his teeth.
The man's asscheeks quivered and tried to close, but they couldn't resist the pressure of Marc's hands which kept them fully splayed. It was the zenith of the man's pain and pleasure, and he abruptly ejaculated onto the black carpet.
Marc, who was watching the man's outstretched prick while with his teeth he moved the whip handle up and down the man's ass, saw the white spunk pumping out of his victim's cock. There was a lot of it, and Marc could clearly see the veins on the man's long thin penis pulsate wildly as the cream jetted out onto the carpet. Still moving the whip handle up and down the man's ass, Marc waited until the spurting cream had died down to a dribble. When this happened, Marc forced the whip handle so far into the man's asshole, that his lips briefly closed around the man's widely stretched ass orifice. Releasing the whip handle from between his teeth, Marc allowed the man's buttocks to clench onto the black ebony handle buried inside his ass. Still kneeling onto the small of the man's back, Marc caught hold of his own cock, gave it a brief rub, and pointing it towards the man's whip-marked asscheeks, spurted a line of spunk-cream onto the quivering spheres of tortured flesh. While he spunked, the whip handle started to rise into the air from between the man's tightly clenched buttocks. As it emerged from the man's ravaged asshole like a disembodied black prick, some of Marc's sperm splattered onto its black shiny surface. But not much. Most of Marc's ejaculation covered the man's buttocks, covering the red weals with globules of white spunk.
Claude pressed against the wall of the corridor, his eyes glued to the spy holes which existed through the eyes of the hanging portrait, felt his own excitement throbbing vigorously inside his trousers. Although he had witnessed some unusual happenings through his spy hole, and had seen Marc whipping the ash-blond man on previous occasions, he had never seen Marc go so far as he had on this particular occasion. The boy seemed to have lost all control, and was behaving like a savage. While Marc was still ejaculating onto his victim's buttocks, Claude reluctantly took his eyes away from the spy holes, and slid the life-like blue eyes of the portrait back into place. Turning, he hurried back down the stairs to the salon. His cock, caught in his underpants, was throbbing with such intensity that it was uncomfortable. As he stepped back into the salon, Claude put a hand into his pocket, pulling his hard cock upright and into a more comfortable position. Closing the plate-glass door of his "office," he sat in one of the hairdressing chairs and waited for Marc and the customer to descend from the upstairs apartment. He was curious to see the customer after all that had happened to him. He was also planning to raise the charges. He had no idea that Marc had developed into such an enthusiastic sadist! And Claude saw no reason why the customer should not pay for such enthusiasm.
"Yes, I like doing it," Marc admitted, smoothing back his long fair hair with a self-satisfied gesture. "Anyway, that's what they want-at least those who like the whip," he added defensively.
Claude looked down at Marc, who was sprawled in one of the black leather divans normally used by waiting customers in the salon. Although he could not admit to Marc that he had witnessed his recent performance, Claude nevertheless had been questioning the youth closely. The slim ash-blond man had just left, after paying Claude's suddenly increased charges without protest. Claude had bowed him out of the salon door into the street, and locked it again before Marc could escape. Not that Marc looked as though he wanted to escape. In fact there was a glint in his blue eyes which reminded Claude of some of the good times they had enjoyed together in the past.
"Do you like being whipped yourself?" Claude asked curiously.
A look of doubt spread across Marc's elfin face, then he smiled his usual cheeky smile. "I haven't been able to find out. Those who come here want to take it in more ways than one, not give it," he grinned.
Suddenly Claude wanted to wipe the smile off the sprawling indolent youth in front of him. He didn't know why he felt the need to do this, unless it was what he had seen Marc do upstairs. Afterwards he put it down to the fact bat he had been sexually aroused by what he had seen, and his hot blood had demanded satisfaction. Whatever it was, he mew at the time that he was going to wipe the self-satisfied and very irritating grin off the face of the young Marc.
Walking over to the youth, Claude caught hold of him at he scruff of the neck and pulled him up onto his feet, shaking him slightly with a powerful arm.
"Well my young friend, there's only one way to find out if you like the whip," he said, his voice tense and threatening.
Marc, being rocked backwards and forwards on his feet by Claude's strong grip at the scruff of his neck, looked up at Claude who suddenly appeared taller than usual, first with blank surprise and then alarm.
"What the hell's got into you?" he demanded, trying without success to make Claude release his grip.
Claude smiled without much humor, although he found the look of alarm on Marc's face satisfying. The urge to frighten and to hurt the young Marc, was very strong. Also Claude found himself thinking about Paul Darrin-someone he hadn't thought about for a long time. He remembered that he and Paul used to play about with the whip, although in those days Claude remembered that the didn't like things to go too far. He had only been sixteen, and been merely experimenting. Not that after he had left Paul there had been much opportunity for further experiment. Henri, although willing enough to try every .position in the book, and never suggested that they experiment with the whip. Henri was strong, but he was also very sensual. Sometimes he was a bit rough, but usually this gave way to the sensual side of his nature.
Releasing his grip on Marc, Claude caught him by the shoulders and whirled him around so that he was facing the glass paneled door which led to the upstairs apartment.
"Nothing has got into me," Claude lied. "I just thought that this would be a good moment for you to find out more about yourself."
Marc stumbled as Claude pushed him towards the glass paneled door, but Claude caught hold of him and kept him moving forwards.
"All right! All right! Take it easy!" Marc protested.
Marc, who had never seen Claude in his present strange mood, didn't know how to react to it. He wasn't sure what he was feeling most-alarm or excitement. Also he had been taken by surprise, because it had been some time since Claude had made any advances in his direction. Marc had regretted this. Although he wasn't sure about Claude's present tough attitude, he was sure about one thing. Claude still attracted him more than anyone else he knew.
Although Marc had eventually come to accept the fact that Claude appeared to have lost interest, this had not stopped him trying to revive it. It had taken Marc some time to work out the cause of the break between himself and Claude. And when Marc had worked it out he felt nothing but surprise. His relationship with Claude had been mainly physical, with no strings attached on either side. So why, Marc had asked himself, should Claude mind about what went on in the apartment above the salon? Marc remembered that when he had approached Claude and asked him about the possibilities of earning some extra money along with Albert and George, Claude had agreed readily enough. And yet from that moment onwards Claude's attitude had changed. It was almost as if he was jealous. And as Marc knew nothing about Claude's personal life, the thought of him being jealous had intrigued him. But as time passed, and Claude showed no outward signs of feeling anything, let alone jealousy, Marc's hopes in that direction had died. Sometimes he had thought of asking Claude outright for the reason of his changed attitude, but every time he had met Claude's dark, slightly mocking eyes, his courage had failed him. He had a feeling that even if there was a reason, Claude would not tell him what it was. More than likely Claude would simply say, and possibly truthfully, that he had lost interest. And Marc decided that an indirect brush off was better than a direct one!
Marc would have been interested to know that he hadn't been so very far from the truth when he had first of all thought that Claude might be jealous, even though Claude's jealousy was not a straight-forward matter. In fact Claude's jealousy might be better described as pique. Although he could see that it wasn't logical to object when the young Marc had expressed a desire to become a part-time gigolo under his auspices, nevertheless he had felt resentment. Although he didn't give a damn what Marc did outside the salon, he illogically objected to sharing Marc with the men who came to the salon in the evenings to satisfy their various desires. However, never being one to dwell unduly on complicated personal emotions, Claude had simply stopped looking at the slim attractive Marc as an object of sexual desire. Stopped, that is, until this evening when he had seen Marc performing with one of the salon's customers. The sight of Marc's nubile nakedness had reawakened in Claude the strong sexual attraction for the youth which he thought he had suppressed.
Once they were in the bedroom of the apartment above the salon; Marc turned to face Claude. Apart from a stain on the black carpet by the side of the bed, everything was tidy enough-something which Marc had done before he had left it. Marc had not expected to be returning to the room so soon-and with Claude.
Walking towards Marc who was standing with his back to the bed, Claude pushed him none too gently. Marc fell backwards onto the bed, Claude on the top of him. Before he had time to protest, Claude was kissing him with a rough, savage intensity. Marc relaxed, accepting Claude's tongue into his mouth. The hard stick of Claude's prick was pressing against his belly, and Marc responded to Claude's urgency with an urgency of his own. It had been so long since he and Claude had made love, that he had almost forgotten the pleasure which Claude's muscular body gave him. Marc began to squirm beneath Claude's weight, pushing upwards, his prick throbbing into a full erection inside his trousers.
Five minutes later, Claude was undressed and standing on the stained black carpet by the side of the bed. Marc, whose clothes had joined Claude's in an untidy heap on the floor, was on his knees at Claude's feet, his hands stroking and fondling Claude's rampant cock. It had been a long time since he had fondled Claude's long thick and very virile prick, and opening his mouth he tried to push the pinkly wet knob between his lips.
Claude, seeing what Marc was about to do, caught hold of his head and prevented the youth's greedy mouth from closing over his knob. Turning on his heels, he moved quickly over to a cupboard in a corner of the room. There, neatly put away by Marc himself, was the whip. It lay tidily curled on a shelf all by itself. The other shelves in the cupboard also contained apparatus for imaginative sex games, and Claude hesitated. Finally he picked up the whip, a length of rope and a wickedly large rubber dildo. The dildo was an exact replica of a very big prick. Made out of rubber, the long thick stem was flesh-colored, and at the end of it protruded a bulbous cockknob complete with slit, and colored a very life-like salmon pink. A large rubber pouch, looking exactly like testicles, hung lewdly from the other end of the dildo. Claude tested the testicle bag to make sure that it was full of artificial sperm and ready for use. Satisfied he picked it up.
Marc's face as Claude approached with the articles he had taken from the cupboard was almost comical. It registered so many expressions in quick succession that it was like watching an actor in front of a mirror rapidly going through his repertoire. Surprise, fear, excitement; the desire to flee and the desire to remain, were all struggling for supremacy in his nimble brain. But nimble brain or not, the mere fact that he was registering so many emotions at once paralyzed Marc. Not knowing how to react, he didn't react at all. The trouble was that although in the past he had always accepted Claude as the dominant partner, he had never seen him in the savage mood he was in now. And neither had Claude ever before brought into use the kinky sex apparatus he was now clearly determined to use. Marc couldn't understand the reason for Claude's unexpected change. He didn't know that Claude had spied on him earlier in the evening, or that what he had seen had made Claude feel very excited and very frustrated.
The look of bewilderment on Marc's face caused a brief flicker of amusement in Claude's dark eyes. But it was only brief, because the thought of what he wanted to do to the youth was paramount in his mind. While Marc was still kneeling on the carpet in a state of indecision, Claude swiftly bound the youth's wrists in front of him with the rope. He then tied the other end of the long length of rope around one of his own wrists. Now he had Marc firmly tethered. Claude then picked up the whip which he had placed on the floor alongside the artificial penis.
Marc had been speaking the truth when he told Claude that although he had used the whip on other people, he had never so far experienced the sting of the lash himself. It was therefore with a sense of acute shock that he felt the first blow across his naked buttocks. It was like a line of fire, and just as if someone had placed a white-hot poker across the quivering flesh of his asscheeks. With a choking cry he tried to throw himself backwards and out of reach of the whip which Claude was again lifting into the air. But at that precise moment, Claude tugged on the rope, and instead of going backwards, Marc found himself pulled face downwards onto the carpet. The whip whistled in the air, and Marc felt another burning line of pain across his buttocks. It was a pain which encompassed his whole body, and which made his brain reel so that there was a blackness in front of his eyes as if he was dead drunk. When two more searing lines of pain crisscrossed his back, he couldn't stand any more. Stumbling to his feet, his long blond hair in wild disarray, he charged for the door, hoping that the impetus of his flight would make Claude release his grip on the rope.
Marc however, could not escape. Claude was strong, and his brutal jerk on the rope which bound Marc's wrists stopped the youth dead in his tracks. He gave the rope another tug, and forced Marc to turn away from the door and face him. Claude's dark eyes were alive with an intense savage excitement, and his big prick was erect, pulsating stiffly against his belly.
"Claude, don't use the whip any more," Marc pleaded, now thoroughly frightened by Claude's intensity.
Claude smiled, although it was a mean smile. "If you don't like it, what's that?" he asked, pointing the whip at Marc's genitals.
Miserably Marc looked down at his cock, which was as stiff as Claude's. It was true what Claude was thinking, and Marc knew that he couldn't deny it. The pain of the lash which had set his body on fire, had also aroused him sexually to the point where he was near an orgasm. It was something that was happening in spite of himself. He knew that if he was struck again with the whip he would probably start to ejaculate. The more his abused flesh burned with the heat of the lash, the harder his cock throbbed and jerked against his belly. If Claude struck him again he wouldn't be able to stop spending himself with helpless abandon. One part of him cringed at the thought of receiving another stroke of the lash, while another part of him wanted it to happen. He was caught between the fear of pain and the sexual pleasure which accompanied it. He couldn't deny the pain, but neither could he deny the pleasure.
Claude, lost in his own absorption of making Marc suffer, was nevertheless aware that the youth, like himself, was on the knife edge of a spunking climax. He wanted to go on whipping Marc, but he knew that if he did that they would both start to come. And Claude didn't want this to happen. He wanted to fuck the youth. He wanted to force his throbbing cock up into Marc's tight asshole. He didn't want to spurt his seed onto his own belly.
Jerking on the rope, Claude forced Marc towards the bed and made him lie down on it on his back with his legs hanging over the side. Marc went down with a moan, his whipped ass and back tingling afresh as they came into contact with the cool silk of the bed cover. Ignoring the youth's moans, Claude walked around to the other side of the bed. Pulling on the rope he made Marc lie with his arms stretched above his head. Claude then tried the other end of the rope which bound Marc's wrists to the underside of the bed.
Marc, stretched out across the bed on his back, his legs still hanging over the side, watched Claude anxiously. He was relieved when he saw that Claude no longer had the whip in his hand, although he became alarmed once more when he bent down and picked up the artificial penis.
"Claude, no...." he babbled, thinking that Claude was going to stuff the huge rubber phallus between his legs and up into his ass.
Claude hesitated. Although he had been about to do exact ly what Marc feared, it occurred to him that the rubber dildo would spoil the tightness of Marc's very nice and very fuckable ass. Deciding on a compromise he lifted Marc's legs into the air, forcing them back until the youth's knees were pressing against his chest. Marc's neat buttocks, crisscrossed with two angry red weals as a result of the whip, had never looked more tempting. Poling the big life-like pink knob of the artificial phallus between Marc's buttocks, and pressing with his arm against the backs of his legs to keep them in position, Claude screwed the rubber knob into Marc's asshole. He heard Marc gasp with pain, and Claude had to lean hard on the backs of his legs to stop the youth straightening himself.
But once Claude had got the knob of the rubber prick into the slot of Marc's orifice, he didn't attempt to force the thick shaft up into the youth's ass. Instead he squeezed gently on the rubber pouch at the other end of the dildo. When he pulled the knob out of its receptacle, Claude was satisfied to see that Marc's quivering ring was smothered with white creamy artificial sperm. Dropping the dildo, Claude got onto his knees on the edge of the bed directly in front of Marc's upturned asscheeks. Bending his cock, Claude positioned his knob onto the cream-covered hole of the youth's ass and penetrated him with a forward lunge of his hips. Pushing on the backs of Marc's legs to keep them well back, Claude wriggled forwards on his knees, screwing a good length of his prick into the beautiful tight sheath of Marc's ass. When he was well inside, Claude caught hold of Marc's legs and slung them over his shoulders. He was just about to start fucking the youth when he had another perverse idea. Picking up the dildo which he had dropped onto the bed, he stuffed the pink knob, which was dribbling with artificial sperm, into Marc's mouth. He pushed it well in, so that the knob jammed into the back of the youth's throat and made him gag.
Only then did Claude start to fuck Marc. Staying in an upright position, with Marc's legs over his shoulders, Claude moved his hips backwards and forwards, roughly pushing his cock up and down Marc's tight ass. Claude would have liked to have gone on doing this for a long time, but he couldn't. His spunk was rising uncontrollably, and automatically he fucked Marc with an ever increasing speed.
Marc, unable to take the dildo out of his mouth because his bound wrists were firmly secured above his head, gripped the rubber phallus between his teeth as Claude's prick raked up and down his asshole with exciting power and virility. Suddenly Marc began to spunk, his teeth biting hard into the artificial prick which filled his mouth. He shot his sperm all over his belly in a luxurious stream, clenching his buttocks hard in the fury of his climax.
Claude, seeing the cream erupt from Marc's jerking cock, and feeling the youth's buttocks clench, started to come himself. Still moving his hips backwards and forwards, so that he continued to fuck Marc's ass, Claude released his spunk in a series of exhilarating bursts. While he was still spunking, Claude leaned forwards. Grabbing the rubber pouch of the dildo which he had pushed into Marc's mouth he squeezed it hard. Sadistically he filled Marc's mouth with artificial sperm while squirting the genuine article up into the youth's ass. He was still doing this when the door of the bedroom opened, and Claude found himself looking into the incredulous eyes of Henri.
Marc had gone, bolting out of the bedroom with his clothes under his arm like a startled rabbit. Claude hoped that the youth would remember to get dressed in the salon downstairs before he shot out into the street. But whether Marc remembered to get dressed or not before he left the salon was not at the moment Claude's main concern. He sat, ill at ease on the edge of the bed and still naked. Henri stood in front of him, and Henri's incredulity had changed to a white-hot anger. Claude had never seen Henri really angry before, and he was frightened. There was sheer murder in Henri's dark eyes. Neither of them had so far spoken a word, and Claude felt that he had to break the awful silence which filled the room now that Marc had left.
"How did you get in?" he asked, swallowing nervously so that his voice sounded pathetically squeaky.
"I got in because although you had carefully locked the door you hadn't shut it properly. I had no difficulty in pushing it open, although I had some difficulty in finding this cozy little apartment above the salon which I didn't know existed," Henri answered in a tense, bitter voice.
Claude felt the blood drain from his face. He suddenly knew, with an awful clarity, that to tell Henri the real reason for the apartment above the salon would only make matters worse. Henri would despise him even more for trying to make yet more money by running a part-time gigolo service for his customers. Henri had never had the same desire as himself to make a million. And even if he did manage to make Henri understand, Claude knew, with deadening finality, that he could never explain what Henri had just witnessed. Henri, with all this tolerance, was too serious to understand casual promiscuity.
Claude didn't move when the first whip-lash caused a burning line of pain across his right shoulder. More blows followed, the lethal leather thong biting across his chest, his legs, and finally across his face. It was the searing pain of his cheek, which received the full brunt of the curling leather thong, which finally made him turn with a choking cry and sprawl face downwards on the bed. He could have struggled with Henri and tried to wrest the whip from his hand. He could have tried to get out of his room. He could have wrapped himself in the bedclothes as a protection. But he did nothing. He sprawled his strong muscular body onto the bed, presenting his nakedness to the fury of the continually lashing whip. When the pain became unbearable, nature came to his rescue, and he lost consciousness.
Henri left the room without a backward glance at Claude's inert body, which was bloodied in places where the leather thong had broken the skin. Breathing heavily, and walking like a man in a dream, he got into his car and fumbled with the starter. It was after midnight, and it was due to the lateness of the hour that he had gone to Claude's salon in the first place. Claude often worked late, but rarely beyond 9pm. When Claude hadn't returned by 11.30, he had decided to do something which he had never done before-go to the salon and pick Claude up in the car.
With the car engine running, Henri sat behind the wheel trying to regain some of his composure. He had been almost senseless with anger, and now that he was feeling a bit calmer he couldn't help worry about the state in which he had left Claude. But when he reflected on what he had seen when he had eventually found his way to the apartment above the salon, Henri steeled himself not to care if Claude had died from the beating or not. Claude, whom he had trusted implicitly, was quite apparently just another empty-headed promiscuous homosexual of the type who can never resist dropping their pants for anyone who might attract them. Henri, who thought he knew all about this type of homosexual, and heartily despised them, found it hard to see Claude in the same light. He had known Claude for over six years, and it was a long time to be wrong about somebody.
Slowly Henri pulled the car away from the curb. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that the whites of his knuckles showed, and he only just managed to stop in time for a red traffic signal. Shakily, he drove to the Latin Quarter, parked the car on a taxi rank, and not caring if the police towed it away or not went into the first bar he could find. An hour later, and after six large cognacs, he felt calmer. He ordered another cognac, knowing that even if his car was still outside when he left the bar he would probably be incapable of driving it. He stopped worrying about it, and allowed his mind to sink into a pleasant state of semi-drunkenness. He would, he thought, worry about the continual trivia of life tomorrow. Tonight he didn't want to think about anything. And least of all did he want to think about Claude.
The bar in which Henri had chosen to drown his sorrows was in the Boulevard St. Michel, quite close to where it joined the Boulevard St. Germain. Henri had not chosen the Latin Quarter, or this particular bar, for any reason. In fact when he had left the Rue St. Honore he hadn't really known where he was driving. He had just arrived in the Latin Quarter. Arrived in a dream, stopped the car on a taxi rank in a dream, and was now drinking in a dream. Henri didn't want to think, and although normally he drank very little alcohol, he was now using it as a means of obtaining complete oblivion. All of which, as Henri was fully aware, had been done by thousands of people before him. But he didn't care about them either. Ordering yet another cognac he began to slip into the beautifully sophorific state of not caring about anything. The voices of the other people in the bar were now a pleasantly confused hum in his ears, and when they moved they were just a little out of focus. Henri leaned back in the comfortably padded leather divan seat which ran around one side of the bar, and lit a cigarette.
Neil Cartier, who had been dragging the streets of the Latin Quarter, and the bars, for the past two hours without success, saw Henri through the plate glass front of the bar. Without hesitation he sailed inside, and sat down next to the handsome man who looked as though he might possibly have had one drink too many. At least Neil hoped, among other things, that the man next to whom he was now sitting had only had one drink too many. More than that and people could, in Neil's opinion quickly become a bore. He never touched alcohol himself, and when the waiter arrived he ordered coffee. Taking a cigarette from his pocket he turned to Henri and asked for a light. It was one of the oldest pick-up ruses in the game of picking people up, but Neil had no qualms about appearing obvious. If he liked somebody, and he certainly liked the powerfully built dark-haired man next to him, whose expressive eyes seemed somewhat sad, then he was anxious to find out if he was wasting his time or not. If he was, then he would finish his coffee and saunter out into the Boulevard St. Michel to continue his dragging operations.
Neil Cartier, a twenty-three-year-old dancer, currently appearing in a spectacle at le Chatelet, an enormous theater on the Boulevard Sebastopol, spent all his spare time looking for sex partners. Being a good-looking youth, with melting brown eyes, brown curling hair which wisped affectively around his forehead, and red sensuous lips, Neil didn't usually have much difficulty in this respect. But as he had been continually promiscuous for a number of years now, he was finding it just a bit more difficult to find the right sort of sex partners. And the right sort of sex partner, in Neil's vocabulary, was someone who really attracted him, rather than someone who just attracted him. Henri really attracted him, and after a few preliminary exchanges had got his knee pressed firmly against Henri's beneath the table.
In more normal circumstances, Henri first of all would not have wasted his time sitting in bars in the Latin Quarter throwing double cognacs down his throat. Secondly, even if he had he would have avoided young men like Neil Cartier. He disliked the flippancy, and the sex-orientated mentality of boys like the one who was now sitting next to him. They bored him with their probing chatter, and their determination to add one more scalp to their belts. He wished them no harm, for after all so long as one avoided them they were harmless enough. It was just that he had never been able to imagine himself wanting to have anything to do with one of their kind.
But this evening had not been a normal evening. And what was more whether he liked it or not he was sitting in a bar in the Latin Quarter drinking large cognacs, and feeling more than a bit tipsy as the result of it. Also he didn't want to listen to his own thoughts, so in a way he welcomed the chatter of Neil Cartier, and didn't try to remove his leg which the youth was pressing against his own beneath the table.
Much encouraged Neil swiveled all his charm in Henri's direction, and as he had quite a lot of it when he tried, even Henri melted slightly. Henri didn't know if it was all the cognac he had consumed, or whether Neil was much nicer than he had first imagined, but whatever it was, he felt himself warming towards the youth. So much so that they had soon exchanged names, and to all outward appearances gave the impression of having known each other for years. When Neil asked Henri to return with him to his apartment, Henri, after downing another cognac, readily agreed. When he stood up he felt lightheaded, but once outside the bar the fresh air cleared his head. Much to his surprise his car was still where he had left it, now parked between two taxis. Neil slid into the passenger seat with a laugh.
"Do you always park in taxi ranks?" he asked, firmly closing the door against a taxi driver who had come over to protest.
Henri pulled out of the rank before the taxi driver could come round to his side of the car, and joined the heavy traffic in the Boulevard St. Michel.
"No, not usually," he replied, frowning because he was being forced to remember why his behavior had been so peculiar that evening.
Neil, seeing the frown on Henri's chisled handsome features, had a rare flash of insight. Usually he didn't think of his pick-ups as individuals with individual problems. He mere ly thought of them in sexual terms-were they going to be any good or weren't they was the question invariably uppermost in his mind. But having made a fairly good assessment of Henri's character, he realized that he was not the type of man to be sitting alone in a bar drowning himself in cognac, and parking his car in taxi ranks. Something, Neil told himself, had happened to Henri earlier in the evening which hadn't been at all pleasant. He very nearly put his thoughts into words, but stopped himself. People with problems could be a bore, and Neil didn't like being bored. He wanted to be amused. Putting a hand onto one of Henri's legs, Neil gradually slid it to the front of Henri's trousers. After a little fumbling he had Henri's trousers-zipper undone, and pushing his hand inside the opening, caught hold of Henri's naked prick through the fly of his underpants. It was quite a handful, and Neil knew that without a doubt he was going to be very amused!
It didn't take Henri long to drive to Neil's apartment, which was tucked away behind the Notre Dame. He drove quickly, and due to the fact that he had been drinking took more risks than he would have done normally. And neither did Neil's activities help. Henri could feel his cock throbbing into a powerful erection as it was stroked by Neil's hand inside the open zip of his trousers, and it didn't help his driving. But they arrived safely, and Henri followed Neil up four flights of narrow stairs and into a small but neat oneroom apartment. To give Neil credit, although he didn't drink alcohol himself, he did keep some handy for visitors he particularly liked. Henri, therefore, found himself with another glass of cognac, which he accepted gratefully. He was now feeling quite happy, and pleasantly excited at the thought of getting into bed with Neil. He had almost managed to stop thinking about Claude, and he wanted things to stay that way-at least for the moment. He hoped the cognac would keep all thoughts of Claude well into the background.
Neil slid out of his brown suede trousers, and green suede shirt with eager haste. Henri, now already undressed, was sitting on the edge of the single divan-bed finishing his cognac. He was exactly as Neil had imagined he would be undressed. Powerfully muscled, with a deep hairy chest, and a beautiful big prick, which was at the moment hanging heavily down between Henri's legs. Taking off his underpants, so that he was quite naked, Neil went and sat beside Henri, his hand going down between Henri's legs, and catching hold of his long thick dick. It stiffened instantly, rising upwards into air, the circumcised foreskin peeling back to expose a very big, and to Neil very tempting knob. Neil closed his palm over the juicy prize, and squelched it noisily.
Finishing his brandy with a gulp, Henri got onto the narrow bed and laid on his back with his legs apart, inviting Neil to continue what he had already started. Neil, now very worked up himself, got on his knees between Henri's muscular legs and feasted his eyes on Henri's long fat prick. Bending forwards he began to lick it, starting at the base and working his way slowly up to the pulsating knob. While he did this, he played with Henri's heavy bollocks. Closing his eyes, Henri gave himself up entirely to Neil's liquid tongue and soft lips which were caressing his cock. The effects of the alcohol he had consumed relaxed him mentally, but stimulated him physically, and when Neil's mouth closed over his knob he stiffened with pleasure. He let Neil cock suck him for quite a while, but when he felt as though he was about to come inside Neil's mouth, he pulled the youth's head away from his violently throbbing lollipop. Pulling Neil up so that they were lying side by side, Henri moved his hand down between Neil's legs.
Neil lay on his back, his head cradled in Henri's arm, and enjoying the caress of Henri's hand which was stroking his balls and very erect prick. Neil was slim, well-built and physically fit-something he had to be as a dancer. He was also at that moment very excited, and squirming onto his side, so that he had his back to Henri, he pushed his small cute asscheeks onto the hard length of Henri's shaft.
"Henri, fuck me. I can't wait," Neil whispered breathlessly.
Henri, who didn't need any urging, released Neil's dick, which he had been masturbating, and catching hold of the hard length of his own fuck-stick, prodded the big knob between Neil's asscheeks. Neil wriggled so that Henri's wet knob was pressing hard against his ring. With a determined effort, Neil then pushed himself backwards, spearing himself on Henri's stiffly throbbing tool. The big knob slid into his ass, and panting for breath, Neil paused. He didn't like using grease because he enjoyed the pleasure, and the pain, of a big prick being forced up his ass. But Henri's weapon was particularly large, and Neil was beginning to wonder if it would have been wiser to use grease after all. But it was too late now. Henri was beginning to screw him, and instead of pushing backwards as before, Neil arched his slim body with a moan of pain. For a moment or two, until he had been completely penetrated, Neil felt as though he was being raped by a barge pole. And even when Henri's exciting but dangerously sized rod was as far up his ass as it could go, Neil still kept his body arched, afraid to move.
Henri, who had found it necessary to push really hard to get his prick into the tight lit of Neil's asshole, stopped for breath once his belly was pressing against Neil's bottom. The fact that Neil had pushed his hips forwards and arched his body hadn't helped, and even now Henri was fairly sure that once Neil relaxed it would be possible to penetrate him even further. Gently stroking his hand down the smooth hairless expanses of Neil's chest, Henri once again caught hold of the youth's cock. It had lost some of its stiffness, and Henri closed his palm around the short squat stick and rapidly wanked it. It soon became stiff and wet in his hand, and at the same time Neil relaxed his arched body. Once the youth was lying in a straight line, Henri moved up close. Pressing his chest against Neil's and continuing to wank him, Henri started to screw Neil's very tight asshole.
To begin with Henri fucked Neil leisurely, but as they both became more aroused Henri found it impossible to keep to the steady rhythm with which he was poling Neil's backside. He started to fuck faster, and the faster he fucked Neil's ass, the faster he masturbated the youth's wildly jerking prick. Neil started to babble incoherently, and his body suddenly went rigid. Screwing his prick as deeply as he could get it between Neil's tightly clenched asscheeks, Henri surged a strong burst of sperm up into the youth's ass. As he spunked, Henri could feel Neil's juices spurting out of his prick.
Neil, who had virtually put Henri to bed after they had finished having sex, got into bed beside him. Henri was already asleep. He lay on his back, breathing deeply and evenly, his handsome face calm and untroubled. For a moment or two Neil lay propped up on one elbow, looking down at the attractive stranger he had picked up in the Latin Quarter. For once Neil felt more than a passing interest in his latest sex partner. With a sigh he turned out the bedside Light.
Henri, half waking up, turned over onto his side to face Neil, and flung an arm across the youth's chest. It was a protective gesture. But Henri, in his extreme tiredness, had become confused. At that moment he was convinced he was sleeping with Claude. Which wasn't surprising. It had been a long time since Henri had slept with anyone else....
CHAPTER NINE
Two weeks after Henri had attacked him with the whip, Claude left his room at the private nursing home in the south of Paris and returned to his hairdressing salon. His wounds were healed, but he would keep some of the scars which had been caused by the whip for the rest of his life. He also returned to an empty apartment in the Boulevard Raspail. Empty that is except for his own belongings. Henri had disappeared, and there was no note, although Claude searched hard enough.
For the first time since he had seen the airplane, on which his parents were traveling, crash in a ball of flame, Claude felt bewildered and lost. He wanted Henri to return, but had no idea how to go about it. Henri could be living anywhere. He could even have left Paris. The only thing that Claude could think of doing was to trail around to all the newspapers for which Henri drew cartoons. There was one newspaper which carried one of Henri's cartoons every day. Claude was sure that they would know the whereabouts of their famous cartoonist, whose satirical political drawings had done quite a lot to increase the newspapers circulation. But Claude dismissed the idea as soon as he had thought of it. They would ask him who he was, and why he wanted Henri's address. If he said he was just a friend, they would ask him to leave a note which they would give to Henri. And what could he say in a note, Claude asked himself. And no matter what he wrote, would Henri take any notice of it?
Although Claude knew that he was entirely to blame for what had happened, he nonethless felt that Henri might have given him a second chance-particularly after the severe whipping which Henri had given him. When Henri had left him that night, he had been unconscious. When he had regained consciousness, he had staggered to the telephone in the salon below and woken up a doctor acquaintance, who was also a customer at his salon. The man had obliged by driving at the salon at once, and when he saw the state that Claude was in told him that he would have to go into the hospital for proper treatment. When Claude had demurred, because of the questions that might be asked about his injuries, the man had suggested a private nursing home of which he was one of the directors. Claude had readily agreed. He could well afford the high charges of what turned out to be a very well-equipped, well-staffed, and luxurious establishment. But of course he had to go immediately, and the doctor had driven him there himself. There was no question of returning to the apartment on the Boulevard Raspail to see if Henri had returned, and perhaps feeling sorry for what he had done.
During the two weeks he had been in the nursing home, Claude was supplied with all comforts, including a telephone. He had made use of it by constantly ringing the apartment he shared with Henri. But he had never got a reply. As for his hairdressing salon, that had carried on without him smoothly enough. He had spoken to Marc on the telephone, and told him that on no account was he to tell anyone what had happened. Marc, who wasn't at all sure what had happened anyway, apart from the fact that a complete stranger had burst in on himself and Claude at a most inconvenient moment, wisely decided to ask no questions. When Claude told him that he was suffering from influenza, and would probably be away from the salon for at least two weeks, he again made no comment. But Marc couldn't help remembering the look of fury on the face of the man who had so unexpectedly entered the bedroom of the apartment above the salon. It was something he would remember for a long time. And neither could he forget the whip, the stinging lash of which he had felt at Claude's hands. Marc, who was no fool, couldn't help but wonder if Claude was telling the truth when he said that he was suffering from influenza.
But because Marc was no fool, he didn't confide in anyone what he had seen, or what he thought might well have happened after he had left the salon. Claude had influenza, and he and the others were just to carry on as usual. The only difference was that the apartment above the salon was to remain-closed until Claude's return. And it was the question of keys which gave Marc further food for thought. When he had arrived at the salon the morning after the debacle, he had found George, Albert, Jon and Vernon waiting outside. Claude was the only one who had keys to the salon, and he had not arrived. Marc had said nothing about what had happened the night before, although he immediately guessed that something serious must have occurred. Claude was always at the salon before his staff arrived, and Marc had never known him to be late. Eventually one of the salon's customers arrived in his car. The man, as Marc knew, was a doctor, and usually had his hair cut by Claude himself. In his hand he carried the keys to the salon. He told them that Claude was not well, and after opening the door gave the keys to Albert, telling him that Claude wished him to be responsible for the salon until he returned. But the fact the man was a doctor had not escaped Marc's attention. It seemed to him to be an odd coincidence.
Marc also noticed that when Claude finally returned to the salon he was not at all his usual urbane self. He was short-tempered not only with his staff, but also with customers. And as if to confirm his suspicions, Marc detected a faint scar on Claude's right cheek. It was very faint, and after a few days virtually disappeared altogether. But Marc was practically sure that the scar had been caused by the leather thong of the whip. He wondered what other scars Claude was hiding beneath his clothes.
However, although Marc had guessed correctly that Claude had other scars on his body as well as the one on his cheek, Claude was not concerned about them. He was more concerned about an internal scar which no one except himself knew existed. It was a scar caused by Henri's disappearance, and it went deeper than he had thought possible. After a lot of thought he had eventually written a carefully worded letter to Henri and addressed it to the newspaper which daily carried one of his cartoons. He had clearly marked the letter personal, but he had not written anything that could be misconstrued if the letter was opened by a careless member of the newspaper's clerical staff. He hoped that when Henri received the letter, he would realize why it was so formally and stiffly worded. After a few days he had received a reply. It was as stiffly worded as his own letter, expressing regret that he had been "unwell," hoping that he had now recovered, and ending up by saying that there was no point in their continuing to write to each other. Henri turned down the suggestion Claude made in his letter that they meet for a drink. He also wrote that he was leaving Paris on a long vacation, and that he had no forwarding address. The letter hurt Claude almost as much as the whipping Henri had given him. In fact it hurt him more. It all seemed so final.
Claude's twenty-fourth birthday came and went. It was an event which he ignored, because without Henri there was no one to help him celebrate the occasion. No one in whom he was sufficiently interested that is. There was only one date which stuck in Claude's mind-and that was Friday, the 13th of September. Although not previously superstitious, he knew that as long as he lived he would be wary of any Friday which was also the thirteenth of the month. It had been very unlucky for him once, and he would not tempt the fates again. He considered it particularly unlucky that he had failed to close the door of the salon properly on the night that Henri had put in an appearance. If only he had been more careful Henri would have had to ring the bell. And if that had happened he could easily have pretended to be working late with his young assistant-working on the accounts or something. Henri would have accepted it the same way as he had accepted so many things.
During this period of very low spirits, Claude did not have his usual interest in the salon and his burning ambition to make a great deal of money. And as money to Claude had always meant a great deal, he went about like a gourmet who had suddenly lost his appetite. He made no effort to continue his profitable gigolo service telling those customers who were interested that alterations were being carried out in the apartment above the salon. His assistants of course knew that this wasn't true. George and Albert were particularly upset that Claude had ceased operations in this respect. They had been making as much per week in the apartment above the salon, as they made in the salon itself. And as they spent all day in the salon, and only an hour at the most in the apartment above it, they were naturally upset at the sudden, and as far as they could see unnecessary, drop in their earning power. They were relieved when Claude eventually told them that he intended to recommence the special service previously offered to the customers of Chez Claude.
Claude made this announcement approximately three months after his twenty-fourth birthday. Although he was still feeling low in spirits, his relentless ambition was slowly reasserting itself. He stopped being short-tempered with his staff and his customers, some of whom had disappeared for good because of his brusque and almost rude manner. He quickly won new customers, both for the salon and the apartment above it. He began to make plans. Although he was only just out of the red, he was making money fast and he knew that he could get enough financial backing to buy another establishment if he wished. At first he thought of opening another hairdressing salon, and then he changed his mind. It occurred to him that it would be much more profitable to open a full-time male brothel. Of course it would have to be an extremely discreet establishment. Claude did not wish to come into conflict with the police. But he was wise enough to see that an establishment of that nature, no matter how discreet, had a certain amount of risk attached to it. He began to look for a suitable person to act as a "front" for his proposed establishment. He would pay the right man well, although such a man must understand that in the event of trouble he would be by himself. Claude intended to make this quite clear to whoever he found for the job.
But finding a suitable person to run a male brothel was not, as Claude discovered, an easy matter. Most of his customers at the salon were affluent men, and although very suitable as prospective customers for his proposed new establishment, none of them were at all suitable for the job of running it. But much to his surprise, Claude found his problem solved for him from a very unexpected quarter-Jon Lion. Claude found it even more surprising in view of the fact that so far he had confided in no one about his bright idea of opening a male brothel, and even if he had thought of confiding in someone, Jon would have been the last person he would have chosen.
Not that Claude disliked Jon, it was just that unlike his other assistants, Jon cleverly managed to be friendly while at the same time keeping his distance. That Jon knew quite well what went on in the apartment above the salon Claude had no doubt whatsoever. But although Jon would listen to the occasional chatter of George, Albert, Marc and Vernon, who were all once more supplementing their incomes at the salon in the evenings, he never made any comment. And neither did he show any signs of wishing to join their ranks. He was the only one of Claude's staff who was something of an enigma. A friendly enough enigma, but a dark horse all the same.
Claude was astonished, therefore, when he arrived one morning at the salon to find Jon already waiting outside. He was astonished because it was only 8am, and Chez Claude did not officially open its doors until 9am, which was when Jon and the others usually arrived. Claude, who always arrived at least an hour earlier than his staff, had never found one of them waiting to get into the salon at such an early hour. If anything they were inclined to be late-particularly if the appointment book showed that they had no customers booked for the first appointment of the day.
"I came early because I wanted to talk to you confidentially," Jon stated, his large dark eyes half closing as they always did when he spoke. The habit made him look secretive and slightly sinister.
Claude opened the door of the salon, and once they were inside locked it behind him-carefully!
Hiding his surprise, Claude led Jon through the glass-paneled door and up the narrow flight of stairs into the apartment above the salon. Going into the well-equipped kitchen, with Jon on his heels, he started to make coffee. While it perculated, he sat down at the kitchen table and waved Jon to a chair on the other side of the table. Offering him a cigarette, Claude took one himself and gave them both a light.
"Well, and what's so confidential at this time of the morning?" Claude asked lightly, half expecting that Jon was going to ask for a few days off or something on those lines. But he was quite wrong.
"Have you ever thought of opening a full-time male brothel?" Jon calmly asked.
The question floored Claude. It was about the last thing he had expected Jon to ask, and he couldn't help but show his complete astonishment. It was just a coincidence of course that Jon should ask him about something which had been on his mind for some weeks. But even so it was a big coincidence, and Claude had the uncomfortable feeling that Jon had been reading his mind.
Jon's full lips, who so often looked sullen when he wasn't smiling now broke into a very wide smile at the look of astonishment on Claude's face.
"I'm sorry, if I've startled you, but that is the question I wanted to ask you, and I see no reason for beating around the bush," Jon said.
Getting up, Claude unplugged the coffee perculator and poured two large cups of steaming black coffee. Throwing in some sugar, he watched Jon do the same.
"The idea has occurred to me," Claude said at last.
"I thought it might. You've obviously got a good head for business," Jon replied candidly. Lighting another cigarette, he continued, "The only reason I ask you is this. If you did think of opening such an establishment, I know someone who could be very useful to you."
"In what way?" Claude asked sharply.
"Why don't you meet him first? After that you can decide yourself just how useful my friend could be," Jon suggested smoothly.
The words "my friend" did not escape Claude's attention. Jon had slightly emphasized them-either deliberately or unconsciously. Either way Claude saw no reason why he shouldn't meet Jon's "friend." Even if nothing came of it, he would at least know something about the enigmatic Jon Lion.
That evening as usual Jon met his "friend," Andre Antois, at Max's restaurant in the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis. Afterwards, Andre drove them straight to the apartment they shared at the other end of the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis. Jon had not mentioned his conversation with Claude at the restaurant. He and Andre had shared a table with two others, and it would have been unwise to talk about anything confidential. Although the clientele of Max's were usually too busy listening to themselves to hear what other people were talking about, one could never be absolutely sure. And if it was one thing Jon had learned since he had met Andre, it was the need for caution at all times. But once they were back at their apartment, Jon told Andre that he had followed his instructions and spoken privately to Claude.
Andre's grey eyes flickered. "And what was his reaction?" he asked eagerly.
"Good. He's willing to meet you and discuss the matter," Jon replied. "But he's a sharp one. You'll have to watch him," he warned.
Andre's eyes resumed their normal innocence.
"Of course! Since when have I been careless enough not to watch the Claudes of this world very carefully," he said.
Jon laughed, although there was the signs of slight strain in his voice. "Don't you ever think of going straight Andre?" he asked.
Andre looked amused. "It's not my nature. No matter what I did I would try to work a fiddle some way or other. Surely you know that by now?"
"Yes, I ought to," Jon replied. "But when you disappear from sight, as you do quite often, I'm never sure if you're busy working another fiddle, or whether they've caught up with you at last."
Andre shrugged. "Sometimes it's necessary to disappear. And the less you know what I'm up to the better. As I've told you before. If ever the police arrive on the doorstep you know nothing. They probably won't believe you, but they can prove nothing. You're a hairdresser, and a respectable working member of the proletariat. All that you know about me is that I'm a man with just enough money to make work unnecessary. You have never suspected that I might be doing anything illegal. Let them prove otherwise if they can."
"Yes, yes, I know! You've told me often enough before," Jon smiled. "And after knowing you for so long I'm even careful about the things I tell myself, never mind the police."
"Good. Now I'm going to have a shower, and then I suggest we go to bed. We have too many late nights," Andre said.
Jon didn't reply. It was true, when Andre was around they did have a lot of late nights. Although going to bed early didn't necessarily mean that they would go to sleep. Smiling to himself, Jon started to get undressed. While Andre whistled cheerfully in the shower, Jon went into the small bedroom and lay naked on top of the bed. Reaching for his genitals, he started to play with himself until he had a hard erection. He was still doing this when Andre bounced into the bedroom, naked and glowing from his shower. He was carrying his clothes under one arm; and dropping them carelessly onto the floor, he moved onto the bed and lay directly on top of Jon, pressing his flaccid prick against the hard stiffness of Jon's. It didn't stay flaccid for long, and raising himself, Andre sat on his haunches astride Jon's legs. With both his hands he held their two erect cocks pressed closely together, masturbating himself and Jon at the same time.
Jon, who quickly became overexcited, begged Andre to slow down. But Andre ignored him and continued to wank both their cocks with a fluid rapidity, looking down at their two juice-running knobs as he did so. He liked to make Jon come quickly sometimes, particularly when Jon was begging him to stop and trying to control himself. It gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction to make Jon come quickly and against his will. So with both hands wrapped firmly around their two vibrating pricks, Andre worked like a demon. He could hear Jon's quick urgent gasps, and when Jon's penis jolted hard against his own, Andre squeezed them both hard together in the palms of his hands. He kept on squeezing while Jon's spunk flooded out of his cock slit, spurting up into the air in a thin stream.
"Oh Jesus!" Jon panted helplessly, releasing another spurt of cream from his wildly throbbing cock.
Andre released Jon's spunky penis, and changing his position got astride Jon's chest, sitting on it heavily, bending his long circumcised prick towards Jon's lips and slid it into the back of the throat. Placing his hands on either side of Jon's head, Andre wriggled forward until his knees were pressing into Jon's armpits. He then started to fuck Jon's mouth, pushing his long thick dick well into Jon's throat in a series of sharp urgent jabs. It was only a matter of seconds before Andre brought himself to the trembling edge of a climax. As he released his rich cream into Jon's mouth he gave a long sigh of pleasure.
Jon, his jaws aching because of the size of Andre's erupting fuck-stick, was forced to swallow a great deal of spunk which filled his mouth. If he hadn't he would most likely have choked to death because there was so much of it.
Not that Jon minded swallowing the sperm which flooded out of Andre's vibrating prick. On the contrary he enjoyed it-even though he might complain afterwards....
Claude met Jon's "friend" late one evening at the salon. As soon as Claude opened the door in response to Andre's light touch on the bell, he remembered something which up to that moment he had completely forgotten. The man standing before him was black-haired, and he wore dark glasses. Parked outside was a black Peugeot. Claude was certain that his visitor was the man Marc had seen pick up Jon further along the Rue St. Honore on two occasions when Jon had finished his work for the day. It had been some time ago, soon after Jon had first joined the staff of Chez Claude, that Marc had witnessed and reported what he had seen. But Claude had a good memory, and the man's dark glasses, and his car, exactly fitted Marc's description.
Claude took Andre through the salon and up to the sitting room of his apartment above. Andre who had shaken hands with Claude, but not as yet said a word, scrutinized Claude carefully. He came to the conclusion that Jon's description of Claude Dumont had been accurate enough apart from one thing. Jon had omitted to tell him that Claude had enough sensuous sexuality to keep a lot of people happy for a long time. Andre wondered just how many people Claude was keeping happy at that moment.
Claude, aware that he was being carefully scrutinized although he couldn't see Andre's eyes behind the dark glasses, broke the silence.
"Would you like a drink?" he asked.
"Yes, beer. I've got a thirst coming on," Andre replied. "And by the way, my name is Andre in case Jon didn't tell you."
"No, he didn't," Claude replied, and turning, left the room and went into the kitchen. Taking two Lagers out of the refrigerator, he picked up two glasses along with a bottle opener and returned to Andre. In an odd sort of way the man reminded him of someone. Claude wished that he would take off his dark glasses.
Andre, however, did not take off his glasses. Seating himself comfortably in a chair, he started to talk business while Claude remained standing in front of him. They talked for about an hour, and at the end of that time Claude was convinced that by a good bit of luck he had found exactly the sort of man to act as a front for his proposed new establishment. The only thing they couldn't agree on was just how much Claude would pay Andre if and when the bright idea became a reality. Claude wanted to pay his cover man a flat rate, but was not prepared to say exactly how much until the establishment was on its feet and running properly. Until then Claude suggested that he pay Andre a retainer, which he could earn by being around with help and advice until the establishment was running efficiently. Andre, on the other hand, was quite willing to accept the retainer until things were moving in the right direction, but then he stuck out for a percentage of the profits. Claude tried to persuade Andre to his way of thinking, but with no luck. Andre remained adamant on this point.
Finally Claude gave in. After all there was no guarantee that the establishment would be a success, and if it wasn't Andre would be running a big risk as the proprietor of a male brothel and getting very little money for his pains. But if it was a success, and Claude hoped that it would be, then the percentage which Andre wanted would give him a nice fat salary. But Claude had no doubt that in the event of the establishment being a success there would be enough in it for him, even after all the bills had been met. At least he hoped so. As usual he would be working on very little capital, and taking a big gamble. But Claude knew that it was necessary to gamble sometimes if he wanted to make money. After all he had started his very swank hairdressing salon in the fashionable Rue St. Honore with practically no money and a whole pile of debts. It had been a gamble which had worked, because he was now out of the red. But he didn't want to have just one poker in the fire. He wanted to have a lot of pokers. That, in Claude's opinion, was the right road to real wealth. And there is no doubt that many successful businessmen would have agreed with him.
It wasn't until after Andre had left that it suddenly struck Claude why he had been reminded of someone else. And the thought made Claude stop in the act of pouring himself another Lager. Of course Andre reminded him of someone.
He was about the same height, with the same coloring, and the same thick set powerful physique as Henri! Andre's features were different of course. He hadn't got the chiseled classical good looks of Henri. But everything else was there-even his quiet way of talking. Again Claude wondered what Andre was like without his confounded dark spectacles.
Claude pushed the Lager he had been about to pour into his glass to one side. Going over to a walnut wall-cabinet he pushed open the sliding door and took out a bottle of whisky and a clean glass. He quite suddenly felt louzy and miserable. Although he had never been drunk in his life, Claude spent an hour drinking enough of the whisky to put him into a sleepy stupor. He then fell into bed. These days he hardly ever returned to the apartment he had shared with Henri on the Boulevard Raspail. And anyway he had already given notice that he was leaving the apartment at the end of the month. After that he would move all his possessions to the apartment above his salon. And by that time he hoped that his other establishment, with Andre at the helm, would be a going concern.
However, when Claude fell into bed he went to sleep immediately without thinking of anything-not even Henri. As that had been his prime object in drinking so much whisky, he didn't regret the thick head he had the next morning. And he saw the funny side to the fact that although he had taken off everything else he had slept in his shoes and socks. By the time his staff arrived at the salon he was his usual urbane self. No one, not even the quick-eyed Marc detected that Claude was in fact suffering from a monumental hangover....
When Henri returned to Paris after spending six weeks on a Greek Island, he looked extremely fit and well. He took an apartment on the Right Bank, and just behind the Champs Elysees. It was small and expensive, but big enough for his needs, and he could well afford the rent. The first night he slept there he did not sleep alone however. Feeling lonelysomething which he often felt these days-he had telephoned Neil Cartier. Neil, delighted to hear that Henri was back in Paris, had tore around to Henri's new address by taxi as soon as the last curtain fell at the Chatelet.
"Henri, you're looking marvelous," Neil exclaimed when Henri opened the door of his new apartment.
Henri closed the door behind the young dancer, and they embraced. It was funny, Henri thought as he kissed Neil, but Claude had never told him that he looked marvelous. And he never remembered telling Claude that he looked marvelous either. It was just something that neither of them had ever thought of saying to each other. It simply hadn't been necessary.
Roughly Henri began to make love to Neil, standing where they were in the small hallway of his new apartment. Breathlessly Neil pulled himself away from Henri's demanding lips and urgent hands.
"Okay, Okay. But you might ask me in first," he laughed good-naturedly.
Henri turned and led Neil into the bedroom.
"You can see the rest of the apartment later," he said, pulling Neil down onto the bed.
Neil went down willingly. He didn't know that Henri had telephoned him simply because he was feeling lonely. Neither did he know that when Henri made love he was thinking of someone else. It was a shame really, because Neil, one of the most promiscuous boys in Paris, had stopped being promiscuous. And all because of Henri....