The second volume of The Memoirs of Josephine Mutzenbacher can be fully appreciated as a socio-historical document only if the reader has acquainted himself with the introductory Volume One, (Brandon House, N. Hollywood, Calif., 1967).
It is doubtful that Volume Two was also ghostwritten by the late Austrian writer, Felix Salten, who had admitted his authorship of the first volume in an indirect manner when once questioned by his fellow writer, Stephen Zweig. But it must be admitted that Salten's style has been faithfully imitated and its literary mode even improved to a certain extent.
The existence of the second volume was discovered in the period following the last war. Many buildings in Vienna had been destroyed by the Allied bombing, and in the process of clearing away the rubble, many cellars and basements yielded all sorts of forgotten things, trash as well as valuable objects and mementos. The typed manuscript of the second part of the Mutzenbacher memoirs was among them and was definitely considered a memento worth preserving.
The historicity of the heroine was established in my introduction to Volume One, also the great popularity of her autobiography among all German speaking readers, especially the Viennese. The reason for this astonishing longevity of the book lies not merely in the typical Austrian nostalgia for the glamorous Gay Nineties of Imperial Vienna, but chiefly in the common man's sympathy with an ingenious, self-made woman, especially a daughter of the people.
I must repeat my complaint, mentioned in the first introduction, concerning the impossibility to express adequately the snap and vigor of the Viennese dialect in any translation, but it must be welcomed that there is no linguistic barrier when it comes to acquainting the non-German reader with the fundamental psychological conflict to which our heroine was almost continually subjected. She was always faced with the choice between giving in to romantic love, on the one hand, and the renunciation of passionate fulfillment, on the other, for the sake of reaching the top of whoredom. Josephine, or Pepi for short, had understandable difficulties in suppressing her one hundred percent femininity whenever it was fully aroused by some ultra-virile males like, for instance, several of her Hungarian lovers.
It has always been a popular superstition to regard a great courtesan as a highly sexed woman. The very opposite is true, as a rule. Two of the most powerful royal mistresses known to history were Madame de Maintenon, who became the morganatic wife of the "sun king," Louis XIV, and the Marquise de Pompadour, who exerted an often unfortunate influence on the politics of Louis XV, thus preparing the ground floor of the French Revolution. Both ladies were suffering from a marked frigid disposition which compelled them to feign the enduring passion and sexual readiness necessary to satisfy the exorbitant erotic demands of their masters.
Josephine Mutzenbacher, in great contrast to her august French predecessors in that ancient profession, was gifted with an exceptionally passionate nature and loved the sex act per se, a fact that can easily prove fatal for a woman who intends to fight her way to the top of the demimonde. That she was nevertheless able to control her strong libido even under the most tempting circumstances, makes her case unique among the known biographies of courtesans of any caliber.
Another uniqueness may also be found in her astonishing immunity to all sorts of neurotic influences, especially if she encountered them in the persons of otherwise pleasant customers like the Hungarian officer, Arpad von Ofaley, an oversexed blade who, nowadays, would pour out his doubts about "not being altruistic enough as a sexual performer," on the couch of a psychotherapist instead of having crying fits in the arms of a sympathetic prostitute.
Short of committing the sin of generalization, we may contend that the type of the "sympathetic prostitute" has a typical Viennese flavor and can hardly be met with in other European capitals, least of all in Paris where most streetwalkers and demimondaines have been tailoring their careers after the model of a Maintenon and a Pompadour, i.e., with a coolly calculating ambition. The Viennese Pepi, on the other hand, has to force herself, time and time again, to remember her "lofty" goal and to suppress her sentimental leanings that are easily aroused by the sight of human misery, both physical and emotional.
Another-we may say-typical Viennese trait is Pepi's permissiveness in indulging her tremendous sexual gusto when she feels scorched by the hungry looks of an attractive male whom she considers "a good lay," no matter whether it is a money-making proposition or not. Such extra-professional enjoyments as she pursues with Arpad's orderly, Jancsi, and, later, with the Italian, Alfredo, who succeeds in getting her pregnant, would be shunned by most ambitious "professionals" like playing with dynamite.
The Austrian writer, Arthur Schnitzler, (1862-1931), immortalized the popular type of "the sweet Viennese girl" in his play, Love Affair; the same kind of girl that was somehow hidden in Pepi's emotional get-up and which might have easily played havoc with her gallant career whenever she permitted herself quite unprofessional detours. Her ability to harden herself, at last, against that romantic streak was quite un-Viennese and can be explained only by her deadly fear of sinking back into the poverty of her childhood, perhaps also by her genuine desire to become a member of civilized and cultured society. In this we may also find the reason for the almost sentimental attachment the Viennese have formed for the Mutzenbacher story: Pepi was the only Viennese prostitute who actually made the big time; sentimentality and all.
The feminine tendency of wanting to surrender completely to the charms of a virile male, to the exclusion of more cautious considerations, has always made it difficult for Viennese prostitutes to go the exceptional way of a Mutzenbacher. The often quoted Madame Benesch was a native of Czechoslovakia and was never known to renounce even the smallest material advantages for the sake of any sentimental, or otherwise humane, consideration.
From a strictly socio-psychological point of view the figure of Steffi, Pepi's worldly-wise colleague and faithful friend, is almost more interesting than the heroine herself, and not only because she actually marries the man she has fallen in love with. Her extreme common sense causes us to ask ourselves why such a girl had to sail into matrimonial life over the detour of prostitution. It is not wrong to assume that her childhood was not subjected to such traumatic experiences as was Pepi's, whose incestuous relationship with her father seemed to have soured her concept of wedded life.
Steffi was also quite fortunate in her acquisition of that humanitarian doctor friend whose existence could be easily doubted as resembling too much a deus ex machina. But many Viennese, who were still young men at the beginning of this century, were quite familiar with the person of a certain Dr. Walter Morgenstern, who, for many years, served as police physician and health officer, whose task it was to examine all duly licensed prostitutes at Police Headquarters, twice a week. To those "in the know," Dr. Morgenstern was identical with the paternal physician in the Mutzenbacher story.
The identity of the "madam with a heart of gold," as Madame Yvonne appears in the memoirs, was equally known; she was the only other native Viennese who "made it," apart from La Mutzenbacher. It was said, she had gone to Paris as the mistress of some rich industrialist and established her Viennese bordello with the money she had brought back from France.
Such "humanitarian demimondaines" as Steffi and Madame Yvonne are outside the scope of experience of the Anglo-American world where prostitutes and madams alike have to be hard as nails to withstand the contemptuous and often cruel treatment at the hands of customers and authorities. The live-and-let-live philosophy as shown by the young police officer in Pepi's second adventure in the Prater, demonstrates again a typical Viennese quality which doesn't let a policeman look at a prostitute with contempt as long as she doesn't create any difficulties for him when plying her trade. Such an entirely human approach is quite unthinkable for a law enforcement officer in the Anglo-American civilization where, in paraphrasing a Gertrude Stein definition, "A whore is a whore is a whore!"
Far from intending to glorify, or romanticize, the life of prostitution, we feel, nevertheless, the great need of merciless honesty when taking stock of our present day mores. We are faced with more and more unsavory stories of wife and husband swapping all over the country, especially among the well-to-do suburban couples who didn't have to wait to be made "afraid of Virginia Wolfe" to indulge their extramarital fun, that would force a Josephine Mutzenbacher to complain about too much competition from "respectable" women. The typical philistine hypocrisy lies in the traditional bourgeois concept of the permissible double standard for members of "good society." The condition has become too widely known to be elaborated upon.
Familiarity with extra-martial sex is being advocated as a "safeguard against neuroses" by our modern husband and wife swappers to whom the lowering of our standards of taste, the deadening of our finer sensibilities are of no moment as long as they are replaced by the same sexual thrills which belonged to the ABC's of Josephine Mutzenbacher's profession. For depravity seems to become a valuable asset when exercised by the jet set, not to speak of more mature "pillars of society." Compared with these, the professional activities of official prostitutes assume an almost decent air of business-like matter-of-factness.
Although the sociologist is aware that married men and women prey on each other, ceaselessly and ravenously, he has not yet drawn a consistent conclusion. The sentimentalist clings tenaciously to the association of youth with innocence; the sociologist knows that even the age limit which the law fixes as the boundary-line of innocence has no corresponding restriction in fact. Nor has the legal relationship of married couples.
The study of memoirs like those of Josephine Mutzenbacher proves the lack of a sense of reality on the part of sociologists and sentimentalists alike. Prostitution presents no menace to the integrity of marital life. As soon as it is clearly seen that the married woman who craves a change of sexual partners and one that chooses sex for her career are sisters under the skin, the dividing line between professional and amateur prostitution becomes blurred.
If our eager social reformers are in earnest when it comes to "purifying" the mores in our nation, they will have to begin with themselves. It must become obvious to them that the smug obscenities of our conventional stag parties and the tasteless locker-room stories that accompany much of the erotic horseplay, contribute just as much to the "sexual explosion" in urban and suburban circles as the badly disguised sexual curiosity of their wives. A great demimondaine could not have become what she was without observing the rules of the social game that are broken by most of our modern socialites. This is the valuable lesson taught by the Mutzenbacher memoirs.
-Hilary E. Holt, Ph.D., Los Angeles, October 1967
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
THE NEW FRIEND
Keeping a diary can become a source of great amusement, especially when one rereads the entries made in one's youth. There is no better teacher in life than experience, and those who learn from their mistakes will gain much satisfaction from having the many foolish things they thought, said, and did, in the past, brought back to their mind.
I am proud to say that I did learn from my mistakes and that is why I was able to make the steep ascent from the netherworld of a common streetwalker to the elevated level of a socially acceptable demimonde. It is commonly assumed that a man can be ennobled by keeping company with a cultured woman, which may be true in some cases, but it is undeniable that a girl of the lower classes can acquire culture and social standing only through the influence of sophisticated male friends. First she must become aware of the existence of culture and then she has to have the strong desire to acquire it.
I was fortunate to notice in my early streetwalker days that rich men are not always cultured and that having a lot of money does not necessarily make one accepted in society. Rich men's wives, or mistresses, were not always considered real ladies, no matter how gorgeously dressed they were or how generously they tipped waiters and porters. On the other hand, there was a certain Madame Benesch, owner of the most elegant bordellos in the Austro-Hungarian monarchy, who often appeared in public in the company of counts and dukes who belonged to her distinguished clientele, or used to be her lovers in former days. Waiters, car washers, hairdressers and ushers always mentioned Madame Benesch's great kindness and good manners, and very rarely the way she handed out tips.
One of my streetwalker "colleagues" used to say:
"So what's so wonderful about that Benesch woman? She's been using her cunt all her life to make a living. We're doing just the same!"
I thought it wise not to answer her, but I kept thinking that having a cunt was not enough. If a cunt is not used wisely one can't become a Madame Benesch, who certainly was the product of a combination of cunt and brain. And if a woman wants to develop her brain, she has to be taught by an intelligent man, preferably a lover. I kept these thoughts to myself, but was determined to act on them.
In the first volume of my memoirs I mentioned how Rudolf, headwaiter and pimp, and his mistress, Zenzi, trained me to become a common prostitute. Not a "legal one," namely licensed by the police and subject to medical examination twice a week, but a private, or clandestine, prostitute who had to avoid being noticed by the cops who would arrest her without fail.
I learned fast and became acquainted with many kinds of sexual desire in a short time. Zenzi explained everything to me and I caught on in a jiffy, because-funny as it may sound-I loved being a whore in those days. It seemed an easy way of making money, although it didn't take me long to find out that it wasn't so easy after all. Some of my new customers were habituated to strange perversions and it cost me a lot of self-control not to let the disgust show in my face. The more such a customer meets with the willing and understanding cooperation of a girl, the more he is willing to part with a lot of money. Or there were those who thought we needn't be treated like human beings merely because we were a bunch of whores, and once they had deposited their semen in us, they paid only grudgingly.
Often, when I'd had a day of hard work with difficult customers, I tried to get hold of a young and handsome man with whom sex was more of a pleasure than work. Such a fellow got me pretty cheap and I would almost have done it for nothing unless it would have given me a bad name among the other girls. Market prices must be kept on an even level. One may raise them, never lower them.
During the first two months after my entry in the "profession," I still lived at my father's place. In contrast to his initial hesitancy about letting me "join the profession," he quickly got used to being kept by me. Zenzi was right when she advised me never to tell how much money I made per day, because my father thought it quite natural to appropriate my earnings, and he became quite grouchy when I didn't give him more than two guilders. He had forgotten the days when even the daily food was hard to come by and he had to work hard to make both ends meet. Now that his daughter was a successful whore, he expected to live in affluence, which, in his case, meant to get drunk day after day. His cronies in the tavern made nasty remarks about how comfortable it was to have such a diligent daughter to take care of her father who had become a man of leisure. As usual, my father got violent when he had drunk too much, and he hit the offender over the head with a beer mug and the result was a general melee from which my father emerged with a bleeding head. When he came home in that miserable condition, he blamed me for everything. All I could do was to get him into bed and let him sleep it off.
Since my father had forced me into an incestuous relationship with him and then, like a pimp, found it quite in order that I should keep him in money with my earnings as a prostitute, I had no reason to be fond of him, and yet I felt pity for him. He was the product of his upbringing and never had enough ambition or imagination to better himself. Then, when my mother died, he lost the little bit of sense of duty that had made him go to work every day. He was still in the prime of manhood and could have found some work if he had kept looking for it. But without a wife to egg him on and since his two sons were earning money as apprentices, he gave in to the temptation of living on his only daughter's "sinful" earnings.
I didn't mind giving my father some money for his daily meals, but I had to protect myself from the scenes when he came home drunk. And being tired from having to satisfy several "customers" during the day, I felt less and less inclined to sleep with him. When I began to say no to my father he tried to beat me, but his drunkenness made him soon collapse on the bed and fall asleep. My decision was soon made: I had to move away from home and learn to be quite independent.
I found a nice little furnished room in the ninth district, not far from the center of the city. There I was alone and undisturbed and could better take care of myself in every respect. Father came to my new place twice but, thank God, I wasn't at home. After a week he sent me a message asking me to come back home, but I declined and promised to send him a little money now and then, which he should use for food and not for getting drunk. I doubt that he followed my advice, because I heard from several people that he continued to sit around in taverns, cadge drinks off anybody who was willing to indulge him, and to curse "his only daughter who refused to take care of him." I was sad about this, and also that people teased him into drunken rages, but I couldn't continue to look out for a father who was still young enough to take care of himself.
I had joined the company of five other young girls who, like myself, were clandestine prostitutes. We were all good-looking and found our customers easily, but apart from earning money we tried to have a lot of childish fun. Often we spent whole evenings sitting around in small coffeehouses or restaurants, chatting and gossiping, telling each other of the strange habits of some of our customers and having a real good time. If one of our group had had a bad day, we gladly helped her out as a matter of course. Since we were young, pretty and always in a good mood, we found customers without difficulty. It got talked around that we were not expensive and could be taken to bed for two guilders, especially by virile young guys who were not difficult to satisfy and who gave us some pleasure too. Two small, clean hotels in the neighborhood made the consummation of our business transactions quite easy.
It was particularly nice during the summer, when some of the small sidewalk cafes put some oleander bushes in wooden boxes between the tables and the outer part of the sidewalk. In this way we had a little privacy and could sit together like at a club-gathering, sipping some wine or beer. Our regular customers knew our various hangouts and jokingly called our group "The Six Saints." Sometimes a young man stuck his hand through the protecting shrubs of our cozy corner and pinched one of us in the behind, or he came to our table and asked with mock seriousness whether he was talking to the pious young ladies called "The Six Saints." We always laughed and the one that the young man had chosen, picked up her purse and followed him, not without telling us: "Excuse me girls, but I've got to get married for an hour, or so!"
We usually gave her a few teasing repartees and called after her not to take any wooden nickels, or something worse which might show after nine months, but none of us was jealous. We knew we were pretty and equally desirable, and followed a careless live-and-let-live policy. Often we began our business promenades quite early in the afternoon, but then we had to be very careful not to be noticed by some cops who were also walking their beats. By dinnertime we usually had made enough money to call it a day, and worked "over-time" only in the case of very special offers, let's say in the neighborhood of five guilders or more. None of us could afford to refuse a large offer. We had to buy nice dresses, good underwear, and a few simple cosmetics like perfumed soap and some good eau de cologne. It paid to take care of our appearance and always look clean and fresh.
We never wore any cumbersome petticoats or underpants so as to be undressed as quickly as possible the moment we entered a hotel room with a customer. A "transaction" usually took no longer than half an hour, especially when the customers were men coming home from work who felt like "really enjoying it" before tasting the often faded charms of their spouses. How unattractive such wives must have been we could guess from the fact that the man preferred a "quickie" with a young girl to a whole night next to his legitimate mate.
We never charged them much for such "quickies," and they tried to show their appreciation by giving us a package of cigarettes or a small bottle of wine. I didn't like to smoke, but a drop of tasty wine was not refused by me, although I never got even slightly high. Getting drunk and sitting night after night in smoke-filled taverns ruins a girl's health far more than fifteen customers per day. A girl may have all the sex in the world and stay fresh and healthy if she has otherwise clean living habits.
One girl of our group was a particularly good sport. Her name was Steffi. She had the rare gift of impersonation and could imitate people far better than a professional actress. She kept us in stitches with her imitations of some cafe or tavern owner who had the habit of winking at us whenever we were short of cash and asked him "to chalk it up." He wanted us to know we could pay our debts also in a currency of his own choice. Her impersonation of "the bitchy landlady" or "the gallant taxicab driver" were little works of art.
Her most amusing impersonations, though, were those of some of her customers and their behavior in bed. If it concerned men with whom we had also gone to bed at some time or other we at once recognized them from Steffi's performance. Her knowledge of human nature was astonishing. She had only to look at a man to know how he would be in bed. Sometimes we tested her and asked her how some man would behave who had just taken one of us to a hotel. She waited until the girl came back and then gave an impromptu performance of how that customer must have carried on in bed, and the girl in question had to admit, almost hysterical with laughter, that, yes, that was exactly how her latest customer had acted.
Steffi was a racy brunette with a terrific personality whose talents and cleverness qualified her for far better things in life than being a prostitute. A later chapter in my memoirs will reveal that I had estimated her correctly, but in those earlier days we were already charmed by her unquenchable vivacity and an attractive combination of aggressiveness and protectiveness. Her wise counsel used to help many of us in difficult situations. Two of our group would have trusted themselves into the hands of unscrupulous, illegal abortionists and, as it was often the case, died from loss of blood or infection. Steffi knew a very rich doctor who was something of a humanitarian, and he arranged for the girls to have their babies at his own private clinic and, afterwards, saw to it that the children were given to reliable adoptive parents.
But Steffi could also be quite exuberant and induce us girls to play all sorts of pranks on men in order to get their attention, or only for the mere hell of it. When we spotted an elderly gent who looked prosperous, we first made sure that there was no cop in the vicinity, and then Steffi, leaving us a few steps behind, would approach the man and say in her politest manner:
"Excuse me, Sir, you look like our famous comedian, Girardi, and I'm sure you'd like to see my five beautiful sisters. We want to become actresses and don't know anybody to give us an entree."
By that time we had caught up with Steffi and presented ourselves to the gentleman like mannequins showing off some new dresses, turning round and, in reality, exhibiting our round breasts and firm fannies. The man couldn't help watching us with an ever increasing interest, while Steffi commanded:
"Now girls, show the kind gentleman what excellent legs you have. Lift your skirts!"
We did as told and stepped closer to the blushing victim who began to grope at us and showed all the symptoms of sexual excitement, especially by his bulging fly. We feigned bashfulness and embarrassed giggling, and Steffi said:
"You must forgive them, Sir, they are all still virgins. But look ... hey girls, lift your skirts a little higher so that the gentleman can see what you've got between your legs ... that's right! Now, you will observe, my dear Sir, how these kids have everything in the right places. Fini here, as you can see, has blonde pubic hair! That's quite rare and should make her quite desirable as a dramatic student, wouldn't you think so?"
By then the hard-breathing man would realize what the deal was and try to come to terms with one of us. But often such a potential customer would also try to haggle and keep the price low. In that case Steffi would say, with no less charm than before:
"Sorry, Sir, but our Mammy is going to worry about us if I don't take the girls home now. You can always find us sitting in the little cafe around the corner in the late afternoons. See you again soon, Sir; it was a real pleasure to make your acquaintance!"
Upon which we all made a deep curtsy like ballet dancers thanking for applause, and then ran off laughing and giggling like a bunch of children.
If the man in question was still young and good-looking, we were not so difficult about coming to terms with him. If he had very little money, one of us would take him into a dark house entrance and do a nice hand job on him. Steffi was a past master at doing quick hand jobs and always to the satisfaction of the customer. Once she gave us an idea:
"You know what, kids? There are quite a few nice boys around who don't have the dough to take us to a hotel room. But why should they suffer and jack off by themselves? Let's get organized and sell them credit tickets-we can write them up ourselves-which have to be paid in advance, let's say, one guilder for five hand-jobs, or one guilder for two quickie stand-up jobs. We can always let a young guy give us a quick screwing in some dark house entrance at night. So what do you say to this? For one guilder a guy is entitled to five hand jobs or two stand-up quickies."
"Wait a minute," I spoke up. "It's easy for a guy to give us one of the five tickets, each time we deliver a hand job. But, suppose he wants those two stand-up quickies? It has to be an even number of tickets. We either charge one guilder for six hand-jobs or the same price for two stand-up quickies, three tickets at one time."
Steffi thought for a minute and then said: "No, that would be too cheap! We'd better do it this way, girls: If a guy buys five tickets in advance, he can get either five hand-jobs, or one stand-up quickie at one time, and two more hand jobs on other occasions. How's that?" We thought this a good solution. If a young and handsome guy gets the real thing, no matter that it would be only a stand-up quickie, he should hand over three tickets. After all, if we decided to provide sexual satisfaction for the impecunious or for young students with little pocket money, we were almost like social workers and humanitarians. We returned to the little cafe that was our regular hangout "after hours" and proceeded to prepare about one hundred "sex-tickets."
Steffi told us she got the idea from the institution called "Restaurants Incorporated," a chain of small eateries that catered to the less moneyed part of the population. Usually, around the first of the month when small clerks and salesgirls got their meager salaries, they bought their "meal-tickets," issued in little books of ten tickets each. The price was one guilder, for a total of ten meals. People with foresight bought three books to cover at least one meal for every day of a month.
It was an ingenious idea to adapt this system for our own trade: meal-tickets were transformed into sex-tickets. When Fini, the one with the blonde pubic hair, became the proud owner of two well-reputed bordellos ten years later she used the same principle to ensure a lot of regular customers for her business. A man could buy a book that contained a variety of "tickets." One kind entitled him to a whole hour with one of the girls, another to spend a whole night with her, and so on. The customer had to hand over the respective ticket to the girl who took him to her room while she delivered all the tickets of a business day, or night, to the madam after hours. Of course a good customer always gave his chosen girl an extra tip which was sometimes a bigger amount than the price for the individual ticket.
Steffi's good business sense brought us a tremendous success. Our "humanitarian" plan, to save young, impecunious males from sex starvation, got talked around and it was from that time on that we acquired the nickname, "The Six Saints." We soon discovered that this credit-sex plan had a drawback. In our enthusiasm, we had sold too many tickets and the outcome was that we were so overrun by customers for hand jobs and stand-up quickies, all paid in advance, that we had hardly any time left for what we called the big-time customers, those who took us to a hotel room and paid us from two to five guilders for an hour.
It was necessary therefore to reduce the number of our "credit customers," which resulted in our acquiring the reputation of being "sold out" most of the time. One evening, Steffi said with the most serious face in the world:
"I've got to cut down on those hand jobs, girls. If I go to bed with twenty guys a day, my cunt doesn't hurt a bit, but after doing ten hand jobs in a couple of hours I've got to put a cold compress around my wrist. Charity is fine, but it should begin at home. I'll never get any place if I spend my youth taking care of the sex-starved poor. Some of the students have already begun to call me Florence Nightingale! That's a far cry from my ideal, which was Cleopatra, or the Queen of Sheba!"
We agreed with Steffi and decided to cultivate, above all, cash-and-carry customers and leave our idealistic instincts for days when we were less in demand, which was usually at the beginning of the week. Mondays and Tuesdays were poor sex days.
How stupid I was not to stick closely to Steffi's repeated warnings not to accompany men we didn't know to their own places or to some deserted area was brought home to me by the following incident.
One Sunday morning-we had made it a rule not to work on Sundays before 8 p.m.-I was walking toward a particularly nice place in the Vienna Woods, being part of a gay crowd of all sorts of people walking in the same direction. Suddenly a tall, athletic guy addressed me with what was to be a funny approach :
"Excuse me, young lady, but you seem to be so independent and sure of yourself, while I am a very timid boy, always afraid in a crowd. Would you mind taking me to some nice quiet spot here in the forest where we can both enjoy nature?"
"Or at least what comes naturally, eh?" I rejoined and looked him straight in the face. He had regular features and wavy blond hair, but his eyes were of a strange, cold blue, which should have given me a warning. Before I could make up my mind, his hand hooked his arm in mine and gently steered me away from the main path and deeper into the forest. After a few minutes we reached a small clearing where he suggested we sit down and rest a bit. The voices of the other Sunday excursionists walking along the main path had become almost inaudible. The twittering and chirping of birds flying from tree to tree sounded very peaceful and a few squirrels running up and down the trunks completed the rustic idyll.
My new acquaintance began to talk:
"I wonder whether you've read about the satyrs in ancient Greece who used to chase the beautiful nymphs in the forest and then take them by force?"
I admitted that I'd seen a picture of nymphs and satyrs in the display window of some art shop in the Inner City.
"Well," he said, becoming somewhat excited, "then you know what I'm talking about. I want to play satyr and nymph with you and I'll pay you handsomely!"
"Well, what do I have to do?"
"We both get undressed, you know, just like the real thing, and you begin to pick some flowers here in the clearing, while I am going to watch you secretly from behind the trees, and...."
"But how can you do it secretly after you tell me all this now...?"
His cold blue eyes darkened:
"Don't be more stupid than necessary! We are going to play a scene like on a stage, see? And we have to discuss in advance how we're going to do it. Can't you understand that?"
"Sure, sure ... go right ahead and tell me what you want to do...!"
Aha, I thought, one of those guys who can enjoy their sex only when it's quite removed from reality. All that "staging" they have to do often takes more energy out of them than ten lays in the natural way.
"All right," he resumed, "you must be quite naked plucking flowers and you bend down so that your ass is turned toward me. This will excite me more. And suddenly I'll come running from behind the tree and push you in the grass and give you the best screwing you've ever had in your life!"
My face must have shown that I wasn't sure whether I'd like to play nymph and satyr in the Vienna Woods with a stranger and almost a quarter mile away from the main path so that nobody could hear me should I be forced to cry for help.
"Don't be afraid," the man reassured me. "Of course, when I attack you, you must defend yourself just as the real nymphs were supposed to do, but after a while you must yield to me and let me fuck you. But when we are wrestling first, you must not yell! You know I'm not going to do anything painful to you. I think you like to be fucked, don't you?"
"Well ... yes...." I admitted hesitantly, "but be sure I'm not left with red and blue spots all over my body. After all, I can't afford to stay away from business for a week or so...."
"Ah, I knew you were a whore...." he said with a strange smile I didn't like at all. "But never mind, you are young and fresh and very pretty. A real nymph, especially if you let down your beautiful hair all around your shoulders...."
He began to get out of his shoes and I started to undress myself. When I continued my denuding process behind the shelter of a tree, the man approved:
"Yes, that's good! Nymphs are naturally shy and modest. You're going to be ideal!"
With that he disappeared behind some trees, apparently because satyrs are not supposed to be seen in the process of making their toilet. I stepped out into the clearing again and bent forward to gather some red clover that blossomed there in profusion. Suddenly I heard my "satyr" running behind me and before I could turn around he had jumped me and roughly thrown me on the grass. He seemed to have forgotten his promise not to hurt me, because he drove his nails into my shoulders and bit into my right breast. I began to yell from pain and he quickly pressed his hand on my mouth with such force that I was afraid he'd push my teeth into my throat. I began to hit his frighteningly distorted face with my fists, but couldn't prevail against his uncanny strength. He lay on me with his whole body, and when he at last pressed his knees between my thighs I hoped that getting his sexual pleasure would diminish his violence.
"Ah ... I got you at last ... beautiful Daphne ... you escaped from Apollo, but you couldn't run away from me ... and now I'm going to fuck you ... ah...."
I felt an enormous penis knocking against my gate and feared that it would hurt me since all this violence had not given me enough time to get into the right mood. My grotto was still dry. Suddenly my satyr removed his sharp teeth from my bleeding breast and put his mouth-thank God-to my clitoris and I was already afraid that he'd also apply his teeth there instead of his tongue. But somehow he did what I expected and soon my natural juices began to lubricate the inside of my cunt. Now he began to screw his mighty prick into my twitching hole and I was glad he took his time about it, because it was like being impaled on a flagpole. I certainly was used to enormous sizes, but this was a genuine satyr prick. It would have reflected credit even on a centaur, half horse half man, because no stallion would have to be ashamed of such a colossal tool.
"Ah ... my little Daphne...." (apparently the name of his favorite nymph) " ... I love your sweet little cunt ... now I'm fucking you ... now I'm fucking you ... say that I'm fucking you ... say it!...."
I realized this was a command and I obediently repeated:
"Yes, my dear satyr, now you're fucking me...."
It somehow didn't dovetail with what I'd read about Greek mythology. There was nothing poetic in this situation.
"Not satyr...!" he suddenly grunted. "Call me Marsyas ... I am Marsyas ... d'you hear...?"
"Yes, Mars ... I mean Marsyas . .
He worked in me with a passion that was just a bit above and beyond the normal and I was afraid to let myself go and enjoy it because he was the type who'd easily spring something unexpected on me. But I somehow began to enjoy that gigantic horse prick, satyr or no satyr, and never mind the Marsyas, or whatever old Greek it was. He had been poking into me for longer than fifteen minutes and I had actually come four times. After all, it was a powerful prick. Not that I have to excuse myself for having gotten into the mood, but if that man had been otherwise regular, he'd have made an ideal fucker all around. By now I thought it was about time for him to come, but had I known what I was wishing for, I'd have gladly done without his orgasm.
It was not what we would call an orgasm, but rather a hurricane and an earthquake combined. The thrusts became so violent that I feared the monster prick would come out through my throat. At the same time, he let out a veritable lion's roar which, I am sure, could be heard a mile away. And then, with his last and most forceful thrust that seemed to split me apart, he buried his teeth deep in my right shoulder while pressing his left hand crushingly on my lips so that I feared to suffocate the next moment Thank heaven I managed to move my body so that he rolled off me and lay on his back in the grass without giving a sign of life. He had fainted. Scared to death I searched for the little flacon with perfume in my purse and held the stopper under his nose. At last, he opened his eyes with a big sigh and inhaled deeply. When he saw me, he blushed and avoided my eyes. Slowly he got up, stretched himself, and without saying anything walked toward the trees to the spot where his clothes were lying. I was unable to get to my feet because my breast and shoulder were still wet with blood, and hurt with every move. I decided to renounce asking my "satyr" for help because it seemed safer to be left alone and then try to manage for myself.
Meanwhile the satyr had put on his clothes and came to where I was still resting. Without looking at me he placed a banknote of 20 guilders beside me and turned around and walked off without a word. This was the greatest sum of money I'd ever received from a customer and, provided the man was really gone, I was glad to have enough leisure to dress as slowly and carefully as my wounds made it necessary. First I fished a little book of what we called English adhesive plaster from my purse and stuck several strips over the cuts on my breast and shoulder, then I slipped carefully into my blouse and skirt. It was quite a problem to put my hair up again, but with the help of a little pocket mirror and a few bobby pins I was able to restore my usual hairdo.
It was already four o'clock in the afternoon, when I got out of the one-horse cab that I'd hired to take me from the foot of the hill that was already part of a suburb, called Neuwaldegg, back to my little place in the ninth district. At home I washed and sterilized my wounds as best as I could and then, after re doing my hair and putting on a new dress, I went to our little cafe to report my adventure to the girls, and in particular, to Steffi. I found the five of them sitting around our usual table on the sidewalk, protected by the oleander bushes.
"Here she is," exclaimed Steffi when I came in sight. "My goodness, old girl, what happened to you? You look slightly peaked."
I sank into a chair they had quickly pulled up from the adjacent table, and after ordering a cup of coffee with lots of whipped cream, Viennese fashion, I told them of my latest performance as a nymph being raped by a satyr. They all laughed in the beginning and there were a few giggles in the middle of my story, but when I had reached the end they all looked serious and thoughtful. Steffi lifted my chin with her hand and said gently:
"Pepi, Pepi, will you at last believe me now when I say you must not have anything to do with a man away from a hotel where you can cry for help if necessary?"
"But I've never earned 20 guilders before," I protested weakly.
"Sure, that's true," said Steffi, "but let's look into this a little more carefully. If you have about ten customers per day, you can make often more than 20 guilders, without having your breast and shoulder bitten to pieces. Or say you have only five customers. Your intake would be about ten guilders, or a little more, and you'll still not be too tired. Today you earned 20 guilders by giving in to a sadist of the unpredictable kind, or whatever he was. That guy must be sick as a coot and you are lucky that, in his blind sex-rage, he didn't bite into your throat."
We all shuddered at Steffi's words.
"All right," she continued, "so you made 20 guilders, and what's the result? Tomorrow-because it's too late now-I'm going to take you to my doctor friend. He must look at your wounds. You can't afford to get them infected. And infection or not, you'll have to be out of circulation for the next few days, anyway, perhaps for the whole week. We'll hear what the doctor has to say. So, when it comes down to facts, you've taken a loss and not a profit. These 20 guilders will have to serve you for the whole week. Had you not been so foolish and been able to work now, you could have made around 50 guilders during the next week."
When Steffi noticed that my eyes had watered up she stroked my cheek and said in her tenderest voice:
"Now, now, Pepi, don't take it so much to heart, but we all must learn from our mistakes, especially in our profession. Whoring around just for pleasure is easy, but being a successful prostitute has to be learned, and I don't want you to learn the hard way. I almost did, and if it hadn't been for that doctor friend of mine, I'd be in the gutter now."
"But what is one supposed to do," Fini, the pretty blonde, spoke up, "if a guy has such out-of-the-way tastes? He also pays more than the regular fucks."
Steffi frowned:
"It's good we are getting to discuss all this instead of just gossiping as usual. Guys who have such tastes and are able to pay more, know that they get best served in a good bordello. There the madam provides him with the girls he needs for his specialty. He also knows that he has to behave there."
"I know," said Fini, "because the madam can afford to call the police!"
"That's-why a you're wrong," answered Steffi, "a good madam will try the police only as a last resort. She has far better means. She knows all sorts of highly-placed people, politicians and what not. She also knows that no influential customer likes to frequent a bordello where the police had to interfere, no matter how justified it may have been. Then, every bordello that's frequented by better class men, has a bouncer, usually an ex-cop, or some retired prizefighter. He can make a nice living that way and also gets all the lays he wants."
"But what is one to do if we've gone with a man to a hotel room and he turns out to be dangerous in one way or another?" I asked.
"I can only tell you what I myself would do," said Steffi. "I seem to have a sort of sixth sense for out-of-the-way cases and say either no, or tell another girl to come with me. If the guy is one of those harmless perverts he won't object to having another girl around. What's more he can pay her, too. And suppose I misjudged a guy and he starts some wild monkey business when we are already in bed, I can always yell...."
"But Steffi," said Rosi, a girl with very big teats, "you don't want to do that, because suppose they call the police and you get arrested for being a clandestine whore...."
"So what...?" said Steffi. "Being arrested is still better than getting strangled or stabbed to death by some sex pervert, isn't it?"
We all agreed on this. I felt particularly ashamed of myself because Rudolf and Zenzi had talked to me about all this and I should have known better than to say yes to that "satyr."
"You know, Steffi," I said after a while, "I guess I went with that guy only because I felt good on this Sunday morning and I wanted to get laid for the mere pleasure of it. He looked quite promising and as it turned out, he had the biggest and strongest tool I've ever had in my cunt...."
Steffi laughed and patted my cheek:
"You ought to know by now, Pepi, that if girls like us want to fuck for pleasure they can do it only with a protector, which means a pimp. And he'll ask for all your earnings and beat hell out of you if you don't give it. Yes, yes, I know ... you've told me all about Zenzi and Rudolf and how she often kept some money for herself. But that is a dangerous game. Some pimps can keep tabs on you, they have spies, other pimps, or other girls, and you never can tell how they find out. But they do find out, in the long run. No, girls, don't ever wish for a 'protector' because no matter how well he fucks you, he screws you much better where the money is concerned. And then you're all screwed up!"
"D'you mean to say," I spoke up, "that a girl like us can't ever enjoy sex without having to pay for it, one way or another?"
"Oh yes you can, Pepi ... but then you must be like me and have a terrific ambition. I'm not going to go on like this for long. It's nice and carefree as long as we're young and healthy, but we can't remain children forever!" We all leaned forward and asked almost at the same time:
"You're going to leave us, Steffi?"
"Not yet, kids, I'd tell you so. But I'm sure going to carry out what I've mapped out for my future."
"And what's that?" I asked.
"To become a real demimonde...."
We looked at each other in surprise.
"You mean to say you'd make a career like that Madame Benesch who calls archdukes by their first names...? Come on, Steffi ... don't kid us so...."
"I'm not kidding! I didn't say I could be such a glamorous demimonde like the Benesch woman, but something along the same line. It doesn't have to be some aristocrat. A millionaire will do!"
Now we laughed and Steffi laughed with us. But I wasn't laughing inside me. I was thinking. If Steffi could map out a plan, so could I. And she was right: We couldn't go on forever, taking our profession as a pretext for behaving like spoiled children, teasing men and making some money by it as if life was one big feast.
Next day, Steffi let her doctor friend look me over and he cauterized the wounds, which hurt like hell but was necessary, he said. He also told me "to be a good girl" for the rest of the week, which meant I could not afford to have a customer. The 20 guilders came in quite handy to pay the weekly rent for my room and my meals. But I sat around with the girls at our table in the cafe as usual, and when one of my regular customers wanted me to come with him, I blushed while the clever Steffi whispered to him that I had my "monthly."
"See?" she looked at me sideways. "She's too embarrassed to tell you. Pepi is a very modest girl."
She said it so seriously that the man in question looked at me again to make quite sure whether he hadn't overlooked some virtue in me that he hadn't noticed before.
But during the hours when almost all five of my girl friends were busy with customers, I sat alone with my coffee or glass of wine and did a lot of thinking. From next week on, when my wounds would have healed and I was fit for business again, I was going to do my best to get acquainted with "people who knew people." Of course, if I ever went to somebody's house, or apartment, I'd not do it without telling Steffi or one of the other girls about it, so that if they wouldn't hear from me they could do something to check up on the situation.
The Monday following my fateful decision making I went to the Prater to have my afternoon coffee there. The Prater is to the Viennese what the Bois de Boulogne is to the Parisian. A wide stretch of land full of tall beautiful trees, almost like a forest, but crisscrossed by small footpaths and larger avenues for the elegant carriages of the upper class. Even in the days of the Empress Maria Theresa, the Prater was the place where the barons and counts enjoyed their horseback riding on the many bridle paths, and the high society ladies were driven around in their splendid open or closed carriages with a flunky in livery standing on a step in back of it.
Around the turn of the century, the Prater was still the place where high and low society met and sought distraction of all kinds. It was Maria Theresa's son, the little appreciated Emperor Joseph II, who had made the Prater accessible to the common people. Many of the highest noblemen in those days came to the Emperor and complained bitterly about having to meet "the scum of the people," where they had formerly been able to enjoy nature in splendid isolation.
"Well, don't you want the scum of our people, as you call them," asked Joseph II, in turn, "to enjoy nature like you? After all, they are human beings too."
"Yes, Your Majesty," replied the annoyed nobles, "but now we have almost no place outside our palaces left where we can be among our equals!"
"That's just too bad," said the Emperor. "May I remind you, gentlemen, that if I felt like you and wanted to be among my equals in this country, I'd have to descend to the catacombs under the Church of the Capuchines where all my ancestors are buried. That would be pretty dull, wouldn't it?"
The nobles bowed deeply and left without another word of complaint. And from that time on, high and low could walk, ride on horseback, or travel in carriages through the spacious wooded grounds of the Prater, which, as our priest at school told us, comes from the Latin and means meadow.
Well, our Prater was a succession of meadows and forests and already by the time I was a little girl people loved to spend afternoons and evenings sitting in one of the three huge garden-cafes which were simply called the First, Second, and Third Cafe in the direction from north to south on the Hauptallee, meaning the Main Avenue, leading right through the forest territory. There were also two huge restaurants with hundreds of tables in the "gardens" surrounding the buildings where people loved to have their dinner on summer evenings.
It was in the Prater that I met the man who was to become my first regular "affair." His name was Alexander Feringer, a very wealthy pork-butcher who not only owned a large sausage factory but also several retail stores in the better districts of Vienna. If there is such a thing as a "typical Viennese," it was Alex, or "Lexl," as I nicknamed him. His height of about six feet was counterbalanced by a considerable paunch that seemed to burst the buttons of his embroidered vest, ornamented with a golden watch-chain. His good-natured face was a "natural red," and so was his nose, betraying a preference for good Austrian beer and wine. His curly hair and Emperor-Wilhelm-II moustache were blond in contrast to his dark, bushy eyebrows.
Like most "good-hearted" Viennese, Alex had a fierce temper that could be easily aroused, but I was able to control him most of the time. The saving grace was his great sense of humor and a wholesome sense of the ridiculous which, by the way, are also typical Viennese qualities.
How did I meet Alex? After my unpleasant adventure with the "satyr," I began to extend my daily walks to places that were also frequented by rich people in search of entertainment and relaxation; like, for instance, the Prater. I made it a rule always to put on my most elegant dress and hat that made me look like a real lady. What was missing to complete the picture was a horse-drawn carriage because few ladies promenaded in the Prater on foot. I could have hired a cab, of course, but the expense would have been too high.
One late afternoon I had been leisurely strolling along on the shady Main Avenue, watching the people in carriages pass by, when I noticed an elegant open carriage driven by a man of about thirty slow down to keep pace with me. The man was far too expensively dressed to be a cabdriver. He smiled at me and addressed me in the manner of the Viennese fiacre cabmen: "Would the gracious lady like to ride home perhaps? My horses can run very fast when they get a beautiful customer like you."
I pretended to take him for a cabdriver and mounted the carriage in a dignified manner, with the almost affectionate assistance of the man. I forced myself to look indifferent and said in a somewhat arrogant tone:
"Take me to the Alserstrasse!"
"As the pretty lady wishes," he said and spread a blanket over my legs. "And whereabouts on the Alserstrasse?"
"Well, drive to the Schottenring where the street begins and then I'll tell you where to stop. Incidentally, how much do you get for a trip like this?"
He played the game as before:
"Oh ... you know ... just what you are used to giving others...."
I couldn't help laughing because it was funny to hear him use the customary phrase of fiacre cabmen in regard to my person. I felt he had sized me up quite correctly and knew what I was usually "giving" others. But I wanted to go on playacting for a while to see what strategy he was going to choose to come to the point. He came to it right away, because he suddenly reached under the blanket and pinched my thigh. I slapped his cheek so forcefully that one of the horses pricked up its ears. My driver looked quite astonished and addressing the horse, said:
"Not even you can hit that hard, Jack!"
I laughed and he joined in and said:
"You should have taken it as a compliment to your charms. But you are right, we have to get better acquainted first."
"First? What d'you mean by 'first'? What d'you want to do afterwards?"
That stumped him for a second, but when he saw I could hardly control a giggle, he winked at me and said:
"Afterwards we're going to refresh ourselves so we can do it again?"
This time I gave him a playful slap that was more like a caress. He caught hold of my hand and kissed it.
"I'm Alex Feringer, at your service! And what is the name of my beautiful new acquaintance?"
"Josephine," I said a little pompously and added, "my friends call me Pepi of course!"
"May I consider myself a friend of yours?" I wanted to make him more horny than he was and smiled roguishly:
"Friendship is the result of friendly actions!"
He gave me a broad grin:
"I can assure you there will be nothing but friendly actions between us! Lots of them! Day after day!"
"Oh, so you like to do friendly actions in the daytime mostly?"
"Any time! Any time, Pepi! And let's get out of the Prater now and go to my place so that we can start being friendly as soon as possible."
I noticed a big bulge in the front of his pants when he climbed on his seat again. It was a nice feeling to ride in that elegant carriage, sitting next to a well-nourished, wealthy man who seemed to count the minutes until he could jump into bed with me. This was the great occasion, I told myself, and I was determined to make the best of it. The best, in this case, would be to become the mistress of that rich pork-butcher. He was going to be the first rung of the social ladder which I intended to climb until I was on the same level with demimondes like the famous Madame Benesch. Alex was by no means part of what was called society, but he had loads of money as he gave me to understand and money was what I had to "collect" in order to go beyond being a pork-butcher's mistress.
On our ride to his home, he told me quite a bit about himself. He was 52 and a widower. The loss of his wife seemed more a relief to him than a misfortune.
"She died four years ago," he said' "but I didn't mourn for her, I can tell you quite honestly. May she rest in peace, poor soul, but since she's gone my own existence has become peaceful. She was quite pretty when I married her, but she was poor, and coming suddenly into money turned her head. She began to eat
... or, I should rather say, she stuffed herself until she was puffed up like a balloon. The guys who had to carry her coffin thought there was a weight lifter in there, she was that heavy; 320 pounds and all solid fat. And, boy, her temper! During the last five years of my marriage she kept nagging me from morning till night. Sure, I had stopped sleeping with her! Those 320 pounds were not very alluring, I assure you. So I had to get my pleasures away from home. But to sleep around with whores all the time doesn't do any good. I wanted a nice girl who could be a friend, somebody like you...."
His allusion to whores not being much good made me wonder what he was taking me for. I thought it best not to enlighten him and when he suddenly asked what I was doing, I said that I was "between friends," that my last friend, who was also my first, had suddenly died before he could leave me something in his will, but that I was not hard up yet. This seemed to please him. Having had only one friend proved I was not a whore, just a "fast girl" who liked to get around but who also didn't say "yes" to every Tom, Dick and Harry. What a good idea I had, I thought, to have slapped his face when he got fresh a while before. No common streetwalker would have resented a friendly pinch on the thigh. My reaction obviously showed him that I wanted to be treated like a lady and also that I knew how a lady would behave in similar circumstances. When he told me now that he needed a girl friend like me, I decided to play it safe.
"That's mighty nice of you to tell me that, Mr. Feringer...." (I used his last name without the slightest sarcasm) " ... but you don't know me, nor do I know you. I let you offer me this ride and exchanged a little banter with you because I liked your looks and your kindness. You also understand a joke, which is something I like in a man. My late boyfriend had a wonderful sense of humor and was always in a good mood. A girl likes to hear her man laugh...."
While talking this way I was watching Alex from the corner of my eye and noticed the extreme satisfaction in his face. He promptly interrupted me:
"See? I knew you were my kind of girl. You like a lot of fun. So do I! You have a lot of good sense, Pepi! Yes, and don't call me Mr. Feringer unless you want me to call you Madame...."
"Oh no...." I laughed. "I'm still too young to be called Madame. By the way I am miss Mutzenbacher to everybody except close friends...."
Alex looked at me sideways.
"... But I may call you Pepi? What say...?"
"Why sure, Alex," I said and lightly touched his knee. This seemed to electrify him. He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his thigh.
"You're a really sweet girl, Pepi. I'm lucky I found you. But d'you know that you make me suffer, too?"
With that he moved my hand to the swelling below his fly. I did some quick thinking. What would a real lady do now? I didn't withdraw my hand, nor did I press down on his covered hard-on. I just smiled and said:
"You're a healthy, strong man, Alex. It's a natural reaction and it could happen with any female that's sitting next to you."
"I swear by all that's holy that it's you who are doing this to me. You are a beautiful girl, Pepi, and you're driving me crazy. You're just what I've been dreaming about all the years since I became a widower...."
I looked at him. His face had become a shade redder and his breath came hard and fast. He kept pressing my hand against his dick and I was glad that the horses appeared to know their way home because my new friend was so aroused that he almost let go of the reins, which were hanging slack. I had to play my cards right. I tried to get my hand free and said:
"I like you, Alex, you're a good guy, I can see that. But I wish you'd let me off on the Schottenring when we get there. We can meet some other time...."
Alex let me break contact with his fly, but he didn't let go of my hand.
"Why, Pepi...?" he sounded almost tearful. "Is there someone waiting for you...?"
"No ... there's no one, but...."
"Give me no 'buts,' girl. You can't do this to me. You're not just an adventure. Why can't you have dinner with me? I'll take you home afterwards."
"I'm not dressed to go out in the evening...."
"Nonsense! You're quite elegant and you know it! It's summer ... you don't want to put on your furs ... we're going to sit in the garden of Hofstadter's ... you look almost too elegant for that...."
Hofstadter's was an old-fashioned but excellent restaurant in the Josefstadt, the district next to mine. Steffi told me she sometimes went there with her rich doctor friend who took her out to dinner twice a month when he wanted to sleep with her. I knew that Steffi would be quite discreet if she should notice me. She would not ruin anything like, perhaps, some of the other girls who'd think I was there just with a momentary customer. But none of them would want to spoil anything for me as soon as they knew what I was about to do.
"All right, Alex," I said, "but you're not driving in the right direction."
"That's why I let my horses do the steering. They know I always go home before dinner to have a cool beer. Yes, and here we are...!" The horses had stopped in front of a modern apartment building on the Franz Josef's Quay which was on the borderline between the Inner City and the second district, close to the Danube Canal. The canal was built to deflect water from the real Danube that flows outside the city and used to overflow in former times, especially in early spring. Apart from being a protection against inundations, the canal was used by big river steamers to unload passengers and cargoes in the middle of the city.
Alex's house was next to the fashionable Hotel Metropole. In those days this was considered a nice section of town. My host lent me a hot hand to help me down from the carriage and threw the reins to the liveried porter who was sitting at the gate.
"Watch my boys," he meant the horses, "Johann, I'll need them in a short while. We're driving to have dinner at Hofstadter's...."
"You know I always watch them," said Johann, letting out a slight whistle when he saw me.
The staircase was carpeted, the sign of an elegant building in those days. Alex lived on the first floor. As a matter-of-fact, there was only one apartment on each of the four floors. They were made up of at least six rooms, besides kitchen and a regular bathroom where the bath water could be heated up in a small gas stove; a real luxury in the Vienna of the nineties.
"When my wife died," said Alex while opening the entrance door for me, "I told our maid I needed her only in the daytime and I was going to pay her rent for a little room where she could sleep. Because I want to be alone here at nights. Don't need anybody sniffing around here and watching me. People gossip anyhow, so why give them more stuff to gossip about, eh? Martha is a sensible girl. She was afraid I might let her go but now she likes the arrangement. Nobody is nagging her either and she does her work very nicely. This is a large place to keep clean as you can see."
While making all this polite conversation, Alex had steered me toward the bedroom where, with a suddenness that really caught me by surprise, he pushed me onto the large marital bed, and with an alacrity that was amazing in such an obese fellow, had pushed up my dress, pulled off my lacy underpants, and mounted me with a wildness that reminded me of my "satyr" of unpleasant memory.
His dick was something extraordinary both as to length and thickness. I could feel it without having seen its dimensions first. He quickly pushed in and out like the piston of a steam engine and came within half a minute, panting like a dog on a hot day. Far from pulling out, he left his still rigid cock in me and soon started his second ride. This time he took a good five minutes, which gave me a chance to enjoy the game at last. When he noticed that I came, once, twice and then a third time, he doubled and tripled his tempo so that shortly before he finished he made me come a fourth time.
It was much later that he explained to me why he had taken me on without any preamble and tried to get me to have as many orgasms as possible.
"I knew you might be mad at me for wanting to fuck you right away. So the best way to appease a woman is to make her come a few times. As soon as she is overwhelmed with satisfaction, she's as tame as a dove."
When he let go of me, it was not because his giant prick had given up. No, that marvel was standing at attention as if nothing had happened at all. But now Lexl sat down by me and covered me with fiery kisses, calling me his life's sweetest sweetheart and all sorts of crazy endearments while taking my hand and leading it to his hot prick as if I needed something solid to hold on to.
"Don't worry, honey, I know your dress has been all mussed up and your panties are torn, but I'll find something for you here from the days when my late missus was less chunky...."
He dug around in several large mahogany chests and at last came up with an old-fashioned, but still very beautiful, blue velvet dress which, with the help of a few safety pins, fitted me not too badly. It went quite nicely with my blue hat which, thank God, had not been crushed when Alex threw me on the bed.
Before we left, Alex led me to a little-used bidet in the bathroom where I could clean my professional parts which had been flooded with secretions so profusely that I had to wash them thoroughly with some perfumed soap and plenty of warm water to get all that messy stickiness off me. It's so much easier for a man: he merely has to wipe his prick with a towel, or a handkerchief, to remove the tracks of a love-bout, while we of the weaker sex have to wash, rinse, douche arid almost take a regular sitzbath to be ready for another lay.
I was glad that Alex's not so dearly beloved deceased had been using a bidet, which in those days was an oval basin placed on a stand. On my later travels abroad I discovered that in England, also in the Scandinavian countries, a bidet was virtually unknown. Those Nordic women, not to speak of the British Islands, pretended to be sexless creatures so that one often began to wonder where their children came from.
I remember I once witnessed a very comic scene in a large pharmacy in Paris where a few bidets were on display, all neatly lined up next to one of the walls. A typical Englishwoman, clad in "sportive" and very unbecoming tweed clothes and big rounded boots, eyed the bidets curiously through her lorgnette and then turned to the saleswoman:
"I suppose, my dear, this is something to wash the babies in, isn't it?"
"Oh non, Madame," explained the French girl helpfully, "this is, on the contrary, to wash them out!"
The English lady didn't actually understand what it was all about, but with the uncanny sixth sense of the Puritan for "dirty sexual" matters, she suspected that it was definitely something that had to do with "immoral French customs."
Clad in that blue velvet dress I was, at last, taken to dinner, but not before I had consented to do a quick hand job on the ever-ready tool of my pork-butcher. Lexl was in the rosiest mood and ordered a royal meal at Hofstadter's. And to celebrate the occasion he decided we had to wash it down with imported champagne. We both got a little high but Alex didn't have to worry about playing coachman when it was time to drive me home because the restaurateur's son, Hofstadter junior, offered to do "the natural thing a host does for one of his best guests." He managed the horses while I fell asleep in Lexl's arms after telling young Hofstadter where I lived. A smack on my cheek, or rather the tickling moustache of Alex, woke me up when we arrived at my address. He insisted on taking me upstairs, but since I never allowed men to come to my furnished room and didn't want the concierge who had to unlock the house entrance, to suspect what my actual profession was, I had to beg Alex to let me enter the house unaccompanied. We agreed that I was to move to his place in the afternoon of the following day when he would come to get me and my suitcases.
When I reached my room I felt the adventure of that day in all my bones. It made me realize that I hadn't dreamed all this and that I, Josephine Mutzenbacher, upstart streetwalker, had become a whore of consequence and acquired my first lover. The blue velvet dress of my new friend's wife, now nicely folded over the back of my straight chair, was another reminder of the reality of the turning point in my young life. I put on my nightshirt and fell into bed. I must have fallen asleep almost instantly.
I slept until noon and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee and a roll with butter offered by my old landlady. When I told her I was moving into the house of my "fiance," she was as happy as if I'd been her own daughter.
"My, that's wonderful, Miss Mutzenbacher...." she kept saying over and over again. "I trust his mother will take good care of you there...."
The good old soul couldn't imagine a girl living in the place of her fiance unchaperoned.
I didn't enlighten her but was grateful for the second cup of coffee and another roll. Around 2 p.m., I was neatly dressed and accepted the landlady's son's offer to carry my two suitcases downstairs. She herself kissed me goodbye and, what was more important, did not charge me the rent for the rest of the week because I usually paid her on Mondays and this was Monday.
Alex was already waiting in front of the entrance and the landlady's son made big eyes when he saw the elegant carriage with the beautiful horses in front. He helped me stow the suitcases in back of the carriage and Alex, with a grand gesture, gave the boy a guilder. The kid was overjoyed and thanked both of us profusely. He was a very handsome boy of sixteen and I was often tempted to initiate him into the joys of manhood whenever he followed me with his clear blue eyes every time I went down the stairs. But I had made it a rule not to do anything rash at the place I lived and that's why the boy's mother had always taken me for a respectable salesgirl of sorts.
While driving toward his place Alex told me he had explained my new position to Martha, the day maid, who would treat me like a new mistress.
"And what's more," he added, "tomorrow we'll go to the finest ladies' tailor in town and to other stores and get you an outfit worthy of a lady friend of Alex Feringer! I'm going to show you off the way it should be done. You have a wonderful figure and a very pretty face. You'll look stunning in the things I'm going to buy for you. But, between you and me, as far as I'm concerned, you could always be naked, because that's how I like you best. I wish I could set your sweet little cunt in a frame of diamonds...."
"What's keeping you from doing it...?" I asked.
"Pure selfishness...."
"Selfishness...?"
"Sure, honey! ... just think...! You don't want me to hurt my best friend when I stick him into you, eh? No, we'll leave all to be soft warm flesh down there...."
"You've got a good point there, Alex...."
"I ain't got no point ... Whaddaya mean, a point? You call that big little brother of mine a point...?"
And he grabbed my hand and pressed it against his stiff "big little brother" to prove it was not a mere "point." Which I knew anyway. But Alex loved to play on words and I'd already discovered that he liked people to laugh at his not always original jokes. When we arrived in front of his house I surprised him by saying:
"Lexl, my honey lamb, would you mind taking my suitcases upstairs, or rather have the concierge do it...."
He grabbed my wrist:
"What's the big idea...? You are not leaving now...?"
"Only for a short while, my friend. A lady, you know, needs all kinds of stuff that a man can't buy for her. I've got to go to a pharmacy, and so on and so on. I also have to get something I left with a girl friend who's at home about this time. So don't worry, Alex, I'll be at your place long before you come home to take me out to dinner. Okay...?"
He pouted but then realized that I may want to buy some intimate toilet articles which shouldn't be done in the company of a man.
"In God's name, run along! You have enough money on you...?"
"Yes, I do! You be a good boy now! See you soon!"
"And you'd better be a good girl and don't let me wait too long! My big little brother wants you as much as I do...!"
I waved and disappeared around the corner. I knew Alex had hoped to go straight to bed with me and knock off two or three hot numbers as soon as we arrived, but I didn't want him to get used to my being available all day and all night. That might soon take the edge off his enthusiasm. Besides, I wanted to have a talk with Steffi, whose advice was invaluable to me. Although I didn't think I was without intelligence, I knew that Steffi was less impulsive than I. She was only two or three years my senior, but when it came to making important decisions, she had the mature mind of a forty-year-old experienced woman of the world. I guess she was born that way, because her background was like mine and she didn't have any schooling except seven years of grade school.
I found all five of the girls on the terrace of our little cafe and after exchanging a hearty "hello" all around I said:
"Sorry, kids, I can't stay now, and what's more I've got to kidnap Steffi for an hour or so ... no, I'm not in any sort of mess, just the opposite ... no, I can't tell you now ... you'll hear about it soon ... come on, Steffi, please j"
The pretty brunette had already given me a meaningful look when she saw me come to the table. She knew my different moods and must have read something in my face. Now she threw a coin on the table and said:
"Pay for my coffee, girls, in case I'm not back before you leave. Pepi needs Aunt Steffi's counseling and I hope she isn't pregnant. Well, see you soon...!"
With that she picked up her purse and hooked her arm in mine. The girls called a few bantering remarks after us:
"Those two are lovers ... I've always known it ... sure, they're a couple of dikes from way back...."
Time was short and I told Steffi we'd best sit down in another cafe close by. We found one after walking two short blocks.
"Well, Pepi, what's the situation...?"
I reported my experience with Alex and how that rich, eternally horny pork-butcher had gone about proposing to install me as his mistress. I didn't leave out any detail. Steffi didn't interrupt me once, but the longer I talked the more she frowned as if she were trying to solve a difficult mathematical problem. I was a little disappointed because I had hoped she'd compliment me on my new acquisition. When I'd finished, she still didn't speak, but looked at her fingernails. I became impatient:
"Whazzamatter, Steffi...? You look as if I'd broken a leg, or something...."
She suddenly laughed and patted my arm. "You child! ... No, I'm very glad for you, but there are a few things I don't like and I'm going to explain this to you in a minute. But first, let's concentrate on the fact that this is indeed your first 'permanent boyfriend.' We want to make quite sure that this permanence lasts at least a few months, if not longer. See what I mean...?"
"But, Steffi, that guy is always as horny as hell ... If I hadn't told him I had to get something intimate from the pharmacy and also see a girl friend, he'd be lying on me right now and, perhaps, have finished his third lay...."
"That's fine...." said Steffi, showing her usual smile again. "But the first thing you have to learn about an oversexed guy is that he too likes change! Sure, he likes to fuck several times a day, not to speak of the night, but-not always with the same girl! Believe me, Pepi, I have met guys like that Alex of yours. Above all, listen to this. The guy was married and his wife lived with him in the same apartment in which he wants to install you now. And that's a big mistake...!"
"But ... why, Steffi...?"
She took a sip from her coffee and leaned back in her chair.
"Have you ever talked a little longer to Effi...?"
"Effi...? Oh, you mean that little old tailor woman who does our repairs...?"
"The same! What do you think of her...?"
"To be frank, I haven't thought much about her. All she and I ever talked about was the price of a good dress and, once or twice, she told me where I can get a good bargain...."
"Would you be surprised if I told you that Effi was one of the most beautiful whores in Vienna...?"
"What! ... That respectable looking old thing that you wouldn't be ashamed to have for your grandmother...?"
"Yes...! And she always looked respectable, I've been told, even when she was a stunning young blonde, about thirty years ago...."
"And what has she got to do with me and Alex...?"
"Quite a bit! Because if she hadn't made the big mistake you are about to make, she'd be a rich demimondaine in retirement today ... I know, because she told me her story...."Come on, Steffi, tell me...."
"I was going to do that, anyhow ... how much time have you left...?"
"Oh, I told Alex I would be home in time to be taken out for dinner...."
"Now listen, Pepi ... old Effi was a clandestine street girl just like us. She had been doing all right, chiefly because her looks attracted males to her like honey attracts the bees. One of her regular customers was a rich, old count who fell perhaps in love with her, because he gave her lots of rich presents, elegant dresses, jewels, furs and stuff like that. One day he told her he wanted to have her all for himself. He had been a widower for fifteen years and if Effi was willing to take lessons in French and the social graces, he said to her, he would make her his official mistress. She would live in his large house and run things just like his late wife, the countess, used to do...."
"Was Effi that beautiful...?"
"Yes, very much so. Four different old guys who knew her then confirmed it. But there was also something else ... the count was not what we call a simple customer ... he had his quirks ... wanted to be beaten with, mind you, ropes made of pure silk ... that's how he got a hard-on ... but once he had a hard on it stayed hard for several hours...."
"But you said he was an old guy...."
"Well, about fifty ... just like your Alex...."
"Alex doesn't look it and ... he doesn't have to be beaten to get a hard-on ... I believe he was born with it and propositioned the midwife when she gave him his first bath...." Steffi laughed.
"Okay, okay, so your Alex is a wild one. Anyway, that count was a wild one too, once he got his tool in shape. But then Effi had to perform like a circus horse. That guy went through a regular ritual. First he fucked her in the cunt and was decent enough not to come at once so that Effi got something out of it too. But then, after resting up for about fifteen minutes, he screwed her in the ass and instead of vaseline, he used pure butter. Don't ask me why ... or rather, yes, I know why ... because immediately afterwards he started reaming Effi's arse with a passion as if she had a cream puff between her buttocks...."
"Brrrr! I hope he didn't kiss her after that
"I don't know ... Steffi was laughing, "let's hope he didn't. But Effi had to suck his cock next, and that might have been equally unappetizing if the count hadn't washed his rod with champagne first. Oh yes, he had room service at his disposal ... he never took Effi to a small hotel, but always to the Imperial where he kept a suite merely for fucking purposes. When he at last suggested Effi become his mistress he could have installed her at the Imperial, but no, he made her live with him in his town house, liveried servants and all that glamour...."
"And what was so bad about that...?"
"At first everything seemed to be fine. The count engaged a couple of teachers who had to make a perfect lady out of Effi. Nice cultured speech ... French ... how to dress properly and elegantly without being conspicuous ... how to enter a salon and how to behave when meeting important people, and so on. Effi was a good pupil and you can notice her good manners even today...."
"Yes, now that you mention it, I know why she's like a respectable little grandmother ... always soft-spoken and very polite...."
"Sure, that stayed with her. But when she had been in the count's house for about three months, she noticed a change in the man. He had made her sleep in the old master bedroom where his wife had shared the bed with him fifteen years before. Every night she had to get him in shape by beating him with that silk rope and he went through his ritual for the next two .or three hours before they both went back to sleep. But one morning when she was still sleeping, she was startled awake by the banging of the bedroom door. The count was gone. She rang for her maid and asked her whether she'd seen the count leave. 'Yes,' the girl said, 'and he said something funny. He said I should bring the countess her breakfast in half an hour!' Effi told the maid that didn't make sense because the countess had died fifteen years before. 'Yes,' the maid said, 'that's why it was funny. I've been here for twenty years and I remember the count always was gruff in the morning when the countess was living with him. He always told me to take in her breakfast in the same tone of voice. It sort of frightened me today.' Effi thanked her and was very thoughtful when she drank her morning coffee...."
"Why do you think the count behaved that way?"
"I don't have to think ... I know! When he was alone with Effi after dinner she tried to question him about his sudden leaving in the morning, but he evaded all answers and tried to kid her into coming to bed with him. This evening she kept beating him with that silly silk rope for an hour but his tool wouldn't stand up. At last he told her to get dressed and gave orders to the coachman to have the carriage ready. At ten at night they drove to the Hotel Imperial and went to the count's suite. There everything went well. All the beating, fucking, sucking and reaming was duly performed and they stayed the whole night...."
"What had happened...? Just because it was not the count's double bed where he used to sleep with his wife...?"
"Exactly! But ... Effi didn't catch on at first. Even the count himself had not expected that anybody taking the place of his late wife in the marital bed would have such an effect on him...."
"It made him impotent...?"
"Not only that ... it woke up the old hatred he had had for the countess who, as he told Effi, was as cold as a fish. She was the one who made it necessary for him to be beaten to make his cock stand up in the first place, even when he wanted to fuck a nice young whore...."
"You mean ... the countess had no sex life at all...?"
"Apparently not ... one of those frigid, virtuous bitches who go to confession every week...."
"But that's not normal...."
"You're right! But those undersexed or outright frigid cunts make a virtue out of their sickness. The count could have had the marriage annulled but he couldn't afford any scandalous publicity ... anyway, what I wanted you to know is that it is never a good idea to let a widower install you in his marital bedroom, especially not when the wife was a shrew. Alex told you that his was as bad as they come, didn't he...?"
"Yes...! Well, perhaps he too might wake up one morning and mistake me for that old harridan, just out of sheer habit...."
"My doctor friend told me that has something to do with psychology, but he said it would bore me if he tried to go into details....
I think I know what he means ... our mind somehow plays us tricks I guess...." Suddenly something clicked in my own mind.
"Thanks a lot, Steffi old girl! I believe I don't have to know psychology to understand the whole thing now. It simply amounts to this: If you come back to a place where you were happy, say where you enjoyed being laid and had a good time all around, you kind of feel like doing it again. It stimulates you. But when you are at a place where you didn't enjoy being at all you can't do a thing. It paralyzes you sort of. Isn't that it...?"
Steffi pinched my cheek.
"I knew you weren't stupid, Pepi. I think you understand the situation now...."
"But what am I to do with Alex...? I can't ask him to rent a hotel suite for me...."
"No, not a hotel suite! But you must explain to that pork-butcher of yours that a guy who wants to belong to good society sets up his mistress in a little apartment of her own and comes to visit her. He must also engage a maid for you. That servant at his own place knew his wife and no matter what he tells her, you'll always be a whore to her. It's no good. Besides, you will not end your days being a pork-butcher's mistress! Stay with him and save as much money and jewels as you get. Let him buy you the most elegant dresses and furs so that you're prepared for everything when a guy who's higher up in society should fall for you. And I know there will be several...."
"D'you really think so, Steffi...?"
"Sure, I think so...! But you must always think with your brains and not with your cunt, kid! Your cunt is your carriage and the horses, your brain is the driver! That is if you want to go places...."
I couldn't help kissing Steffi right there at the cafe. Let people think we were a couple of lesbians, I didn't care.
"I hope you'll always be around, Steffi. I know I'm no fool, but I don't have your kind of brain. If I had an older sister she couldn't help me more than you do...."
"That's quite all right, Pepi. I like you and I was sorry for you when you told me of that situation in your so-called home. A father may be as horny as hell, but he should think twice before fucking his daughter. I'd have hated to be in your place, believe me. But you don't feel sorry for yourself and I like that! You got what it takes ... and not only there and there she playfully touched my bosom and my behind.
"Yes, and not to forget what we both have here...." and I touched her between the legs.
A few men sitting at other tables were watching us and, at any other time, we might have opened up some business negotiations, but time was too short and Steffi wanted to come with me to the pharmacy and see that I bought everything that was not only necessary, but which might also have been something she-the girl friend I was visiting-had kept in storage for me. We settled on a nice and rather expensive douche set, a lot of cotton for my "monthly" and a dozen contraceptive sponges.
"Try to be clever about explaining things to the pork-butcher," said Steffi.
"Any ideas of your own...?" I ventured.
"What about being a little coy when he throws you again onto that marital bed, uh?"
"I guess I know what you mean ... I'll let you know how everything came out ... incidentally, shouldn't I introduce you to Alex as my best girl friend...?"
"There you go again! Never introduce other females to a guy you haven't completely hooked yourself. But you can find out whether he likes to do it with two women at the same time ... you never can tell ... but don't hurry it...!"
I delivered Steffi at "our" table at the old little cafe where the others were waiting and wanted to hear the news.
"Steffi will tell you everything ... I've got to go...." I quickly shook hands and was on my way to Alex's place.
When I arrived there I was not a little astonished to find Alex himself open the door for me when I rang the doorbell. Without saying a word, he kissed me full on the mouth and then dragged me to the bedroom.
"For God's sake, Alex, let me put my parcels away . .
He took them from my hand and threw them on an armchair.
"Honey, I can't help it, I just want you. I couldn't wait until evening . .
"But Alex, the maid will hear us . .
"No such thing...! I sent Martha home a while ago ... Come on, Pepi, let's get undressed . .
This getting out of our clothes became a complicated business, because he insisted on being my chambermaid and undid my shoelaces and took off my stockings, not without running his lips over my legs beyond my knees and not stopping when he came to the inside of my thighs.
"Hold it, Alex ... let me get off that skirt and everything...."
"Wait a minute...." he panted, "I like you that way, half undressed...."
And he pulled his stiff tool from his fly and rubbed it lightly against my skin so that it tickled me and I tried to wriggle away from him.
"Ah, honey...." he gurgled, "I can't wait any longer, I'm going to fuck you right now the way you are . .
And he pushed me back on the bed and with a speed that belied his chunky figure, he pushed his throbbing dick into me. In his excitement he had pushed my skirt over my face and I couldn't help yelling:
"Hey, lover boy ... I am suffocating...!" Without interrupting his quick and wild thrusts in my cunt, his hands freed my face from the hem of my skirt and he pressed his mouth to mine, burying his thick tongue in it almost down to my throat. He had a way of moving his tongue in the same rhythm as his prick so that I soon felt like being fucked below and above and I lost myself in the attractive sensation.
"Ah ... honey ... your sweet little cunt drives me nuts...." Alex had removed his lips from mine and redoubled his speed between my thighs. He soon came, squealing like a pig that is about to be slaughtered and sank down on me with his whole weight, which wasn't little. I had discharged twice and only wished I could get out of my clothes in order to enjoy the whole thing better. But I reckoned without considering my lover's temperament. He had already begun to push in and out of me as if he hadn't just finished a wild number and deposited a few liquid ounces in my quivering hole. I decided that I wanted to enjoy all this in a more comfortable way and with all my strength I threw fat Alex off me and quickly jumped up.
"What the hell...." he began to shout.
"Just take your clothes off, old boy, like I'm doing myself...." I hissed at him while getting rid of everything I had on my body.
I wanted to help him to get out of his pants and shoes, but I was afraid he'd stop doing it if he got hold of me too soon. His face was flushed and his breath was as noisy as if he were climbing a steep hill; he finished undressing and pounced on me with a wildness that frightened me a little. That guy behaved as if he hadn't had a woman for several months. The next moment he was riding me in a wild gallop. All his emotions seemed to be concentrated in that furious prick of his.
"Yes, honey ... yes ... you were right ... it's much better to do it naked ... ah ... I haven't fucked like this for years ... yes ... push against me ... that's good ... you're the best lay I ever had ... and you're beautiful ... yes ... pinch my prick with your cunt ... you sure know how to do it ... ah ... you're coming now ... I can feel it ... I'll make you come twenty times ... I can do it too...."
His crazy voluptuousness really overwhelmed me and I lost all control of myself and clawed him on his shoulders and arms and threw my body in all directions like a worm being impaled by a needle. I had come about four times and Alex was still riding me and stammering all sorts of incoherent words, but suddenly I began to pay attention when he muttered:
"I don't ever want to stop ... fucking you is too good to be finished ... I'll take a pretty apartment for you ... I want to fuck you all the time, not only at nights ... that damned Martha is in the way here ... ah ... I feel you coming again ... soon I'll come myself ... yes ... honey ... I'll fuck you all day and all night ... Alex has enough money to buy you a castle ... you just wait ... you'll have the nicest place with a large bedroom and a large bed ... ah ... ah ... I'm coming ... I'm coming ... now ... now ... ahhhhh...."
A flood sprayed into me and mingled with my own juices so that it felt like a river flowing within me. Alex's head fell on my shoulder and I felt his teeth sink into my skin without hurting me. We both were spent and lay there for half an hour without moving a limb. If my oversexed pork-butcher was going to go on like this I would certainly earn all I could get out of him.
But I was overjoyed at his intention to install me in an apartment of my own without having to ask him for it. Steffi would be glad to hear that. What the hell, I thought, if I'm going to be a regular mistress with a nice place of my own, he might as well fuck me every hour of the day. I didn't care. I felt Alex's hand stroking my breast.
"Ah, honey...." he murmured, "you are good for my soul...."
"I love your soul too, Alex. It's the stiffest soul a man can have...."
He laughed and put my hand on his "soul" which, so help me God, was actually standing up again. I began to be concerned. That little, fat Alex was a stud par excellence.
"Gee, Alex ... you are incredible ... but I want to take a bath ... a nice, warm bath ... and you could stand one too ... what about it...?"
"Okay, Pepi ... let's take a bath...!"
"Whaddaya mean ... 'let's'...? You got two bath tubs...?"
Alex laughed.
."No ... but one large sunken tub in a separate bathroom you haven't seen yet. When my wife became too fat for the ordinary one, we had to build her that large one. It's almost like a small swimming pool ... you walk down a few steps ... there are only a few people in Vienna who have one like that ... it cost a fortune...."
He got up and asked me to follow him. We had to walk up a short stairway until we reached a door which he threw open.
"See...? We had to build the whole room higher than all the others to get enough depth for the sunken tub. See, there's a special gas heater that gives you a lot of hot water. A customer from America told me about it and I had my plumber and electrician come to listen to him because I wanted them to do it right. The few other guys in town who have the same thing have to use old-fashioned coal stoves to heat up the water. It takes them an hour or so. I can fill this tub in half an hour ... watch...."
He took me inside. It was not actually a room, but rather a wooden gallery around an enormous tub that looked really like a little pool made of metal. In one corner was a modern gas heater which I'd never seen before.
"They had to order that from America ... the plumber and the electrician...!" explained Alex with pride.
He turned on two faucets and a mighty jet of water came out of tubes that were installed at the bottom of the tub.
"I'm turning on the cold water first. After it's half filled, I let in the hot. That's so the room doesn't get too full of steam ... see...?" We sat down on the wooden steps that led into the tub and I wanted to watch how it filled gradually, but Alex considered every minute he didn't touch me wasted. I had to ask him to give me a little pause if he wanted me to cooperate later.
I might as well have reasoned with a wall. He pushed me backward so that I lay on the top of the steps while he rubbed his insatiable prick between my thighs and was decent enough to come in under one minute. It was definitely not comfortable to lie on that wooden gallery. He looked at the spilled semen on my skin.
"Don't worry, honey ... we'll soon be as clean as angels ... look ... the basin is already half full ... come let's get in...."
He went down the steps, but as soon as he touched the water he yelled:
"Damn, that's still cold ... I must turn on the hot water now...."
He went to the heater and did so. After five minutes he stuck his toe into the water.
"Fine ... it's getting lukewarm ... come on, honey ... don't be afraid...."
I went down the steps and cautiously stepped into the tub. Yes, it was pretty agreeable, the water getting warmer all the time. I sat down. The water was coming up to my teats. Alex already had his hands all over my body.
"Hey, Alex...." I reminded him, "don't become too involved here. You've got to turn the water off in a little while. We don't want to drown here...."
He playfully straddled my shoulders so that his semi-stiff prick touched my neck.
"Don't you worry your pretty head off, Pepi ... now tell me, don't you like this luxurious bath of mine...?"
"Yes, it's wonderful ... but are you sure it's safe...?"
"Safe? You think my fat wife would have used it if it wasn't safe...?"
"Sure, but your wife used it for bathing...." He laughed.
"We're going to do that too. But just bathing without having a little distraction would be no fun ... oh boy ... I'd better turn the faucets off now...."
He climbed out and shut the water off. It reached to my chin when I was sitting down. Alex came back in and brought some perfumed soap with which he rubbed me all over.
"Now, I'll work up a nice lather on your skin...."
He did, but his fingers seemed unable to get away from the spot between my legs.
"You'd better let me do that myself, Alex. I want a lather of soap for a change, but if you work on my pussy any longer there'll be another lather and we're taking a bath to wash it off, aren't we...?"
He didn't release me and soaped my clitoris with a cunning agility.
"Ah ... Alex ... I'm going to fall down and drown if you go on ... ah ... you rascal ... watch out...."
"Sure, I'm watching out ... we'll have to support you so you don't fall down...."
With that he turned me round and stuck his dick into me from behind, holding me firmly by my teats.
"Now you won't fall, honey ... you're safer than any other place ... like it that way...?" The soap acted like a lubricant and made this kind of screwing quite agreeable. At the same time there were a lot of sloshing and smacking noises when our motions worked up a lot of foam.
"Look honey...." yelled Alex, "we're making soap bubbles...."
As a matter-of-fact, several tiny bubbles were floating from between my legs due to the compressed air affecting the lather there.
Alex moved quite slowly now and seemed to enjoy himself immensely.
"Ah ... honey ... this is the life ... do you know the difference between a woman in church and a woman like you right now...?"
"Don't be silly ... what is this, a joke...? " "No joke ... it's damned serious...."
"Whaddaya mean...?"
"Just this, in case you don't know ... a woman in church has her soul full of hope, and you...."
I caught on.
"I see...." I said laughingly, "you're right, I have my hole full of soap...."
Alex was so pleased at his pun that he immediately speeded up his thrusts. We must have looked like two frogs copulating in a pond. He stroked my nipples with his wet fingers which gave the caress a heightened effect. I began to work my behind against his thighs and soon we both spilled our juices with a lot of moaning and sighing.
"Ah, my God ... this is paradise ... Alex exclaimed and sat down in the water, taking me on his lap. I think I had come at least ten times that afternoon, while Alex had his fourth orgasm. He was the only fat man I'd known all my life who had that kind of inexhaustible potency. I soon got up and soaped myself again.
"Alex, this is wonderful, I admit it ... but, between you and me ... I'm getting hungry ... you make me weak ... with all your passion...."
He pressed me against him. Thank God, his dick was limp now.
"You're right. We have to go out and have ourselves an excellent dinner ... and damn it ... we have to see a tailor to order all sorts of dresses for you ... also a shoemaker and a milliner ... it's a shame, really, to have to cover up your body, but Alex Feringer knows what he owes to his girl friend. She must be the best-dressed woman in town ... we'll see to that. But now ... I'll give you a good rubdown...!"
He stepped out of the tub and opened a closet in the wall and brought out a few large and thick Turkish towels. I thought it better to dry myself than let Alex find a good reason to become excited again. When we came back to his bedroom I noticed that my dress had become quite wrinkled again and I complained about it to Alex.
"See what comes from never waiting until we're undressed? How can I go out in this mussed up thing, now?"
"Don't worry, Pepi. Tonight we'll go to a special place that's lit up only by candles. Nobody will notice anything. And tomorrow Martha will iron your dress before we go shopping for really beautiful clothes. How's that...?"
"Fine, lover boy! But now give me a little time to clean up and get dressed, okay...?"
He gave me a final pinch on my buttocks and I could, at last, go back to the bedroom to make myself look decent again. Alex had sense enough to let me be by myself until I was dressed and ready to go out.
When I met him in the living room he was all spruced up and showed no trace of tiredness, though he should at his age. On the contrary, just when we went down the stairs, he quickly pressed my hand against his fly to show me that his dick was again standing at attention.
"You're worse than two twenty-year-old guys...." I said, "what you need is a harem with twenty girls...."
Alex laughed at my flattering remark.
"You ain't so wrong, beautiful ... perhaps you can help me to get a harem together after a while. But as long as you are strong and appetizing like you are now, you'll have to do the work of twenty...."
I wasn't quite sure whether he was joking or not. That little chubby pork-butcher turned out to be a sexual phenomenon. I made up my mind to have another talk with Steffi about him.
CHAPTER TWO
THE HEURIGER WINE SHOP
One of the oldest Viennese traditions is to go to a Heuriger. The German adjective heurig means "of this year." A Heuriger in this case, means this year's vintage, new wine, and also the place where it can be enjoyed.
Every autumn when the new wine of the neighborhood is ready for sale the Viennese drive to Neustadt, Heiligenstadt, Grinzing, or Sievering-suburbs full of vineyards behind village-like houses-to drink the wine right where it is grown. There are many old taverns, owned by the winegrowers and vintners, which were frequented by Beethoven and Schubert in the old days. I've been to several where I was told that Schubert composed here this or that song, accompanying himself on a lute.
When the weather is still mild one can sit in the large gardens, full of wooden tables and primitive benches. If it gets colder there is plenty of room in the taverns showing the same primitive sitting facilities. All that is sold here is the wine itself. Food is brought in large baskets or parcels by the customers who usually roast a few chickens the previous day and perhaps bake a couple of large cakes to be eaten at the Heuriger. Bread can be obtained at the tavern and some of them also sell Swiss cheese and sausage in thick slices.
It was during a visit to a Heuriger, that Alex began to acquire a "harem" as he called it. What he meant was more or less a kind of group sex. He and two or three friends of his amused themselves with me and some other girls, especially Steffi, who had joined me in those exploits for some time.
Alex kept his word and rented a charming apartment just for me. The living room was decorated in blue, the bedroom in pink and white, a roomy kitchen and a small bathroom and a bedroom for my maid. Lini, that was her name, was a 17-year-old precocious wench from the suburbs and turned out to be a reliable factotum. Reliable in the narrowest sense only: she didn't gossip about me. Otherwise she stole like a raven, mostly food. I didn't say anything because I remembered my own childhood and knew that kids in the suburbs never got enough to eat. Lini knew that I was on to her and when she saw that I didn't begrudge her swiping leftover roasts or half-finished cakes and often some freshly baked pies that had not yet come to the table, she became loyalty itself. The only thing about her I didn't quite like in the beginning were dark rings around her eyes which showed that she had been "doing it" for some time. I soon found out that Lini had a regular lover.
When I came home one evening around midnight I heard a strange sound coming from the kitchen and I knew at once that there was some screwing going on in Lini's room. I tiptoed through the kitchen and, through the half-open door of the maid's room I saw a young muscular fellow with the suntanned body of a street laborer lying on top of Lini who was clutching her pillow and moaning like nobody's business. Both were nude and so engrossed in their pleasure that they wouldn't have heard me even if I had not walked quite softly.
The boy was really handsome in a rough sort of way and his dick was a beauty of rare length and thickness. Lini, who was rather small and fine-boned, must have been used to that enormous tool for some time in order to enjoy it without the slightest pain. And enjoy it she did, because she forgot all caution and moaned and stammered quite loud to the evident satisfaction of her athletic fucker.
"... don't come yet, Ferdl ... don't come now ... go on fucking me ... yes, like that ... ah ... you're getting better every time...." Her Ferdl worked on her in a steady rhythm. He was much bigger than Lini and almost smothered her face with his chest. To my astonishment I saw that she was sucking his nipples, something that usually a man does to the woman. He seemed to enjoy it as much as she did. She also stroked his buttocks and the upper part of his thighs which she could reach when she stretched her arms. That seemed to give him some special pleasure, because he muttered:
"Yes ... yes ... that's good ... stroke my ass again ... I'm going to come soon...."
Lini must have been coming several times to judge from her wild twistings and moaning. Now she almost yelled:
"... Faster ... Ferdl ... my Ferdl....
I love you ... you're my Ferdl ... faster ... I'm coming again ... squirt your juice into me ... everything ... all you got ... squirt now...."
Ferdl's behind moved up and down so quickly that it almost blurred a clear view of it. The two twisted like wrestlers who don't want to let go of each other. Lini's hands clawed every part of the boy's body she could touch. I almost began to envy her. I hadn't had such a young strong stud between my legs for quite some time. Alex was exceptionally potent but he was no beauty. That Ferdl, on the other hand, looked like God's gift to women. He was reaching his climax.
"... now ... now ... he moaned, "I'm coming ... ah ... this is good ... ah ... ah...."
He made the finishing thrust so strong that Lini must have felt like she was being impaled on that bed. Both were quiet for a while. At last I heard Lini's voice saying:
"Oh God, I hope my lady doesn't find out about us...!"
The boy laughed and rolled off her.
"So what...? What does she do with that fat pork-butcher all the time...? You are a working girl, but she lives on fucking ... doesn't she...?"
I didn't like that talk at all. They could fuck as much as they liked, but Lini must not have anybody in my place who spoke of me as a whore. Lini knew, of course, that Alex was my lover, but for her I was, as she correctly said, "the lady." I decided to take care of that.
The next morning, when Lini brought my breakfast to my bedroom, I told her quite frankly that I heard everything last night and slapped her face.
"I know you're not made of wood and need a man like any healthy girl, but you should have asked me first whether you can do it in my place here. But I have no use for a lover of yours who talks of me as that boy did last night. From now on do your screwing away from home! You can have time off whenever I don't need you and you know that! If I discover you again with any man in my apartment, out you go! Have I made myself clear...?"
Lini cried a little and apologized. She tried to make up by giving me greatly improved service. I, in my turn, let her go out on several evenings when she said her Ferdl was waiting for her outside. Looking back, I remember how close I came to seducing that athletic Ferdl whose performance I had admired, if not what he said about me. But some healthy instinct told me that I'd better control my horniness in that instance if I wanted to be respected by Lini. When I told Steffi about it, she not only approved but advised me always to keep a distance from anybody who would be in my employ.
"I know," Steffi said, "that many a rich woman, even a countess or baroness, commands her flunky into bed with her, especially if he is well put together. And the next thing you know it's all over town: 'The beautiful Countess X lets herself be fucked by her coachman, or by her butler, or stable boy ...!' If she were not a countess, people would cut her right and left. And you can be sure that her servants laugh behind her back and after a while that woman begins to notice that she doesn't get the respect in her household that she ought to get. She can't afford to fire all the servants and engage a new crew all the time. We whores can't afford to behave like horny aristocratic women. That's why most whores and demimondaines have much better manners than those aristocratic bitches . .
"Are you serious, Steffi...?"
"You're damned right I'm serious. Wait until you can watch Madame Benesch at the races or when she's at some elegant restaurant with her lover of the moment. You'd believe she's a cross between a mother superior and an archduchess. Graceful dignity itself...!"
"I know you're right, Steffi! But what would you do if you saw a guy with a wonderful body like that boy with my Lini and wished he'd stick his gorgeous prick into you...? I nearly went out of my mind when I saw how he did it to the girl...."
"Well, right now I can take to bed any guy I want to have. I'm not anybody's mistress. If I had a steady friend like your pork-butcher, I'd have to watch myself. That Ferdl got you all heated up because it's quite some time since you had a good-looking guy like him. He isn't the only one. Open your eyes when you walk in the street and wherever you go. There are lots of handsome fellows around. Watch the students around the university! Yesterday I had myself a most appetizing guy-a student. Twenty years old, a young giant, with a prick like a corncob full of corn...."
"How did you get him...?"
"Easy! I stood at the foot of the stairs that go up to the large gates of the university. It was around noon. I knew most of them would come out to go some place to eat their lunch. Some of them haven't got much money and bring their lunch in a bag. A sandwich or two, maybe, and an apple and a couple of cookies. They usually walk over to the park in front of the city hall and settle down on a bench. Well, I first went to a delicatessen store and had a few nice sandwiches made up, added two large pieces of mince pie, and carried the whole thing in a brown bag with me when I took up my stand in front of the university...."
"You remind me of somebody who buys cheese to put in a mousetrap...!"
Steffi laughed.
"Yes, it's almost like that. Anyway, a few minutes after twelve, the students began to come out. I saw one big blond guy, built like a wrestler, who carried some books under his arm. When he saw me, he smiled and I walked up to him and said:
"'Do you know Fritz Muller...? '
"He was surprised and then said:
"'No, I'm sorry! I know a Muller, but his name is Hans...! Why d'you ask...? '
"'Oh,' I said and made an unhappy face, 'because his mother gave me this lunch he forgot at home. She said he'd come out around eleven to go and buy some books. And here I've been waiting for him for almost one hour and a half, but there's no Fritz ... '
"'He must be a stupid guy to let a beautiful girl like you wait ... ' the fellow said. 'My name also happens to be Fritz. Fritz Winter! Why don't you keep me company while I eat my lunch on some bench in the city hall park...? ' " 'But you don't have a bag with you ... ' I said without replying to his invitation.
"He blushed.
"'No, I always go to the delicatessen and buy a sandwich ... '
"'Not today! You are going to eat what I've got in this bag here! Fritz Muller seems to have played hooky today. Let him buy his own lunch ... '
"The guy looked at me as if I were a sandwich he planned to eat.
'"Aren't you his girl...? '
"'I should say not! I'm living in the same building as his mother and we know each other as neighbors. That's all ... '
"We'd started walking toward the park and soon I was feeding him from my bag. I ate one of the three sandwiches which I'd planned to do anyhow, but I made him eat both portions of the pie. He must have been hungry, because he made the food disappear in ten minutes.
"'So your name is Fritz too...? Mine is Steffi ... '
"'I wish I had a girl like you, Steffi ... ' " 'I don't know what happened to me, but I actually blushed. I guess it was because he seemed so innocent and handsome. I looked at his fly that had begun to bulge. He followed my eyes and his face became red like a beet. I knew I had to act fast. I put my hand on his knee and said:
"'You're such a nice guy that I'm sure you already have a girl of your own ... eh?'
"He blushed even more and stammered:
"'I wish I did ... Steffi ... I don't know what you see in me...? '
"'You look intelligent and strong. Usually, those intellectual guys are pale, boneless shrimps who wouldn't know how to swim or row a boat, but you are different ... '
"He smiled now and his face was still red. " 'I guess you're right. I like to apply my body, not only my brain . .
"'Do you also like to apply your body when you're with a girl...? '
"I squeezed his muscular thigh and looked straight in his eyes. He could only stammer:
"'I ... I ... I wish you'd be my girl, Steffi . .
"He grabbed my hand and I quickly kissed his cheek.
"'Come with me, Fritz ... we've got to talk this over ... '
"I knew he hesitated to get up from the bench, because his dick stood at full attention under the cloth of his trousers, but I kept looking at his face and pulled him up. You know that they always reserve a room for me at The Golden Bear, where I take special customers who want to do it at once, like that fat bank manager who always has to have his little screw before he goes home to have dinner with his wife. I decided to take Fritz there and give us both a good time...."
"But you told him you lived in the same building as the mother of that nonexistent Fritz Muller...."
"You mean the nonexistent mother of the nonexistent Fritz Muller! Sure, but I explained to him that I can always use the hotel room of a good girl friend of mine who lives out of town and was rich enough to keep up that room for her visits. But he hardly paid attention to my explanations ... he was horny like a stallion in spring. What's more ... he was also a virgin. I had to coax him to get out of his clothes and then he insisted on undressing me ... I tell you Pepi, he looked like a young Greek god ... I had to control myself not to fall all over him at once ... after all, he still believed I was an ordinary girl who took a liking to him. When I pulled him down on the bed he was so excited that he began rubbing his dick on my belly and before I could take care of the situation his juice ran all over me ... he was embarrassed and took a towel from the washstand and wiped me dry and then cleaned himself. But his dick was still as stiff as before ... I made him lie down next to me and told him to take it easy for a while. He kept hugging and kissing me, calling me his love, his goddess, and what not ... he was really sweet...."
"How d'you know you were his first woman...?"
"Pepi ... I'm surprised at you...! A handsome young guy who acts shy and embarrassed like that one ... rubbing his dick on your body without even looking for your hole...."
"I guess you're right ... now what happened next...?"
"Now he told me that he had never done anything with a girl except kissing and a little groping ... I let him explore the whole works between my thighs and I had to take his hand and encourage him to touch everything ... he was very gentle and suddenly he pressed his lips on the lips I have down there ... a really affectionate kiss ... no licking of his tongue ... he just didn't know anything about these things...."
"Did you teach him...?"
"Not this time ... I'm going to meet him again. I wanted-to feel his marvelous prick in my cunt and had to guide it there myself, telling him to move very slowly for a while and not to speed up during the next ten minutes....
I explained to him that he'd be giving me great pleasure that way.
"Did he do it that way...?"
"I'll say he did ... he's an excellent student. He kept playing with my teats and kissing them and when I told him to suck my nipples he showed great talent...."
"You're making me jealous...."
Steffi laughed.
"You've every right to be. That boy is a rare find. He kept moving in me as slowly as I'd told him to and his tongue worked on my nipples with a fury that made me come twice within a few minutes ... when Fritz felt all that moisture in my cunt he couldn't hold back any more but doubled and tripled his speed and made me come two more times before he unloaded a veritable flood into me ... then he buried his face in my shoulder and gasped like a fish out of water...."
"I've never heard a fish gasp...."
"Come on, smartie, y'know what I mean ... d'you want me to go on...?"
"Sure, Steffi ... I'm sorry I interrupted you ... did you do some more numbers with him...?"
"Yes ... four more ... that kid had his nuts full of semen ... if I'd had the time we could have gone on the whole afternoon ... but I had an appointment with that fat bank manager around six ... that left me only a couple of hours to eat something and get myself in shape...."
"What did you tell Fritz to get rid of him...?"
"I didn't have to tell him anything ... it was he who apologized for having stayed so long ... he begged me to permit him to come and see me often...."
"But not at The Golden Bear...?"
"Of course not....! I told him I was living with an aunt who's very strict and that's why I can't give him my address, no matter how I trusted him. I said I'd wait for him at the entrance to the university every Monday and Thursday at noon ... that's the days when my girl friend's hotel room was sure to be at my disposal...."
"What did he say to that...?"
"He was quite disappointed ... he'd thought he was going to bed with me every day now ... but I said I was studying shorthand and typewriting and couldn't afford to miss-my course ... I was free only on those two days ... well, he sighed and kissed me every minute before he left ... I'd told him to leave first so that I could put the room in order, because I didn't want the hotel maid to gossip to my girl friend who paid for the room...."
"And he believed you, of course...."
"Why not...? The sweet guy is in love with me ... I've got to be mighty careful not to get pregnant from him ... I didn't want to disturb his romantic enthusiasm by getting out of bed and giving myself a douche right in front of him, but next time I'll tell him the facts of life ... he'll have to get used to being careful about those things...."
"Y'know, Steffi, I really envy you a guy like that Fritz ... young, handsome, virile, full of the juice ... that's what a woman needs, every day...."
"Hold your horses, kid...!" Steffi said sharply. "Don't forget Fritz is no customer!
In this business you can't afford to have your cake and eat it! You'll have plenty of opportunities to get fucked by young, virile guys like Fritz ... and you'd better watch out that they are just as innocent as he is. As a rule, the handsome guys turn out to be pimps and take all your money ... but, you said something about your Alex wanting to arrange a big party at some Heuriger, didn't you...?"
"Oh yes ... I almost forgot all about it ... your story about Fritz pushed it out of my mind...."
"Pepi, young and upcoming whores like us have no business to forget business...! Now what is it all about...?"
"Well, Alex has three good friends who are just as horny as he is all of the time. And when I told him of you being a good friend of mine, he asked me whether you are pretty and fuck-able, because he wants to invite you to come with us to The Pretty Resi...."
"You mean to that nice Heuriger in Grin-zing...?"
"The same! Alex's friends are rich guys like himself, and they're full of fun, not too young and not too old...."
"You mean ... they're between fifty and sixty, eh...?"
"Yes...." I said, laughing. "But you're not going to regret it. They're a generous bunch...!"
"What's their names...?"
"There's Toni Lecliner...."
"You mean the jeweler in the Josefstadt...?"
"Yes, that's him. Then there's Karl Birnecker...."
"I never heard of him ... who's he...?"
"Karl has inherited enough money from his father to buy half of Vienna...."
"Now you're exaggerating . .
"I'm not! He owns four blocks of apartment houses in the Josefstadt . .
Steffi whistled.
"Gee, I believe I've heard of the guy ... isn't he the one who pours champagne in the cunt of a girl and sips it all up...?"
"You know more than I do ... but he sure can afford it ... although I don't know whether I'd like to have any champagne poured into my cunt . .
"Yeah ... the alcohol must burn like hell in there. The only liquid I ever want to get into my cunt is good old-fashioned semen ... that's soothing ... now who's the third guy...?"
"Another Karl ... Karl Wambacher ... he's known as 'the pussy-eater from Hietzing.' Have you ever heard of him...?"
Steffi burst out laughing.
"Why he's eaten my pussy a whole night long...."
"Where did you meet him...?"
"That was at a party to which my doctor friend invited me ... he'd warned me of Karl Wambacher...."
"Warned you...? Why...?"
"Oh, he said Karl is afraid to become impotent by fucking too much and that's why he's gotten used to using his tongue mostly instead of his prick. Of course the doctor said that this is just an excuse ... Karl just likes to eat pussy most of the time...."
"I don't see why he needs an excuse...?"
"Now think a minute, Pepi...! Every girl in her right mind loves to have her pussy eaten, but not as the main treat. That hole of ours was not made for a man's tongue but for something else...!"
"Well, I've seen the guy only once when he went with us-I mean Alex and myself-to the restaurant, one evening. The way he ate there showed me he likes to eat other things too. He's so fat that his belly must be quite a handicap if he wants to fuck a girl the regular way. Maybe that's why he's using his tongue mostly ... it's simpler ... for him at least...."
"So those three guys and Alex want us to go to The Pretty Resi with them ... and when...?"
"Alex proposed next Saturday night...."
"That suits me fine ... I've got no special customer for that day ... and what's more, we are going to have a lot of fun ... tell you what ... let's both dress in blue ... like sisters ... I know the men would like that ... I'll come to your place, let's say around seven ... is that all right...?"
"Yes, that's great ... and why don't you wear one of my blue dresses...? We're the same size ... I've got two that look almost alike...."
"It's a deal, Pepi! See you Saturday at seven in your apartment. And until then don't let anybody give you any ideas, in case my story of Fritz has tickled your appetite too much, uh...?"
I laughed. "No need to be alarmed, Steffi. My cunt is kept too busy right now...."
We kissed and I went slowly back to my apartment thinking over all the things Steffi had said. I knew she was right to warn me of my appetite for a handsome young guy like her Fritz, but since I loved fucking for fucking's sake and not only to make money with it, I craved a lover with a perfect body, the way Steffi had described Fritz to me. I knew that some day I was going to have only such bed-partners as I wanted, for money, or without it. But I knew very well that I was never going to become the victim of a pimp. The very idea revolted me.
When I arrived at my apartment Lini said that Mr. Feringer had been waiting for me for half an hour. I noticed that her hair and her clothes were somewhat disordered and the redness of her left cheek seemed to indicate that a mustachioed mouth had kissed her. Alex couldn't be left alone with a female under fifty for a minute. I decided to give him a little lesson.
When I entered the living room Alex got up from the sofa where he'd been reclining and wanted to give me his usual bear hug. I slipped right under his arms so that he embraced the empty air.
"What's the idea...? Don't you want to kiss your Lexl...?" he asked with a pout.
"No, Mr. Feringer. I'm tired and want to get out of these clothes and into a dressing gown . .
With that I disappeared into the bedroom. I took plenty of time to change and chose a very seductive pink silk kimono. I also sprayed myself with the heavy Parisian perfume that seemed to increase Alex's horniness whenever he smelled it, although his horniness didn't need any kind of stimulation for that matter.
After letting him wait for fifteen minutes, I joined him in the living room. He immediately wanted to fall all over me, but I kept evading him.
"Would you mind very much letting me get my breath back, Alex...? Especially since you did not get bored while you were waiting for me...!"
He stopped and looked embarrassed. "What d'you mean, honey...?"
"I mean that a gentleman like you should make up his mind whether his mistress means anything to him, or whether he prefers her maid?"
He blushed and looked silly.
"I didn't ... I haven't...." he stammered and then stopped.
"If you want to say that you didn't have enough time to fuck Lini, I believe you. After all, the girl would think twice to do that in her lady's place, not to speak of the fact that she's got a guy half your age. I don't think she'd like to exchange him for you...."
"But ... listen ... Pepi ... I didn't...."
"No, you listen to me for a change! I'm not your wife who's making a scene! I'm the girl you said you loved above everything. And I've come home to find my maid with her cheek red from your moustache and her clothes rumpled as if she had to go through a wrestling match with you. If you want to sleep with other women, go right ahead, but don't fool around with my maid! How can that girl respect me if you do that...?"
I knew I was taking a calculated risk giving Alex hell for his indiscretion. On the other hand, I knew he would see my point if I didn't make it out to be jealousy, but an error of taste on his part. Alex wanted to be taken for a gentleman without having been brought up like one. Giving him a little hell for behaving like a common street laborer who lifts the skirt of any female he can get hold of must have its effect. And it had.
"I'm sorry, honey ... you're right! It was a mistake ... but it's really your own fault...."
"Now it's suddenly my fault...?"
"Sure! I can't be without you ... I've been sitting here waiting for you and ... well ... Lini is a pretty piece ... but I was thinking of you all the time....see...? Look at this...!"
He unbuttoned his fly and his long, thick, fleshy club jumped out, its rosy head turgid and ready for action. I was still excited by Steffi's report of her adventure with the young student and my hand automatically strayed toward the velvety glans of that exposed prick that began to twitch in my hand.
"Come on, you bastard...! You no-good rascal...!" I addressed the stiff penis and pulled it, with its owner, toward the bedroom.
"But first get out of your clothes...!" I commanded Alex who'd have liked to mount me the way he was.
He sighed and heaved when he had to bend down to undo his shoelaces, but I didn't help him this time. Let him sweat, I thought. I stripped naked and lay down on the large French double bed. At last, Alex was in his Adam's costume and climbed on the bed. When I saw his big paunch and his familiar squat body, the body of a fat man of fifty-five, I couldn't help thinking of Steffi's description of her young virile Fritz and his athletic figure. When Alex mounted me, I closed my eyes and imagined it was Fritz sticking his dick into me and my passionate reaction was misread by Alex for my feelings for himself. He worked on my breasts with both hands and I must say, he did, as always, a good job. The piston-like thrusts of his ever-youthful prick gave me much pleasure and I thought I mustn't become careless and moan the name of Fritz instead of Alex. But my horny lover was quite oblivious of what was going on in my mind and moaned out a monologue of his own:
"... you're the only one I want to fuck ... only you with your sweet, tight cunt ... I've never had a girl with a tight hole like yours ... ah ... yes ... pinch my prick with your cunt ... pinch it ... you've got muscles like steel down there ... ah ... now you're coming ... I feel it ... I'll show you how much I love you ... I'll fuck you until you come twenty times ... ah ... now you're coming again ... that's good ... yes ... press my back like this ... ah ... that's wonderful ... now ... now ... I'm coming ... I'm coming ... ah ... ah . .
His thrusts were violent and soon he squirted a flood of semen into me while I called out something, I don't know what. But after we both had calmed down, Alex asked:
"Since when have you become so elegant in your expressions...?"
He had to repeat his question to bring me back from my daydreaming.
"Elegant...? What exactly d'you mean, Alex
"You always call fucking, fucking. But just now when we both came, you called out, 'Frig me! Frig! Frig!' . .
I knew at once what had happened. It was fortunate Alex didn't understand I called "Fritz" and not "frig." That boy I'd never seen, had got hold of my imagination more than I guessed. I had to be careful not to betray myself any more in this stupid fashion. I pretended to be exhausted from Alex's ministrations and mumbled:
"Really, Alex ... I never know what comes out of my mouth when you drive me crazy with pleasure ... you can really make a girl happy with your dick...."
Alex beamed.
"Ah, I knew I'd put you in a good mood again. You don't really believe that I'd ever let you go, eh, honey? Who needs Lini, or any other wench ...?"
"You say that now. But when we go to The Pretty Resi, on Saturday, you'll fuck every female in the place, if I know you...."
Alex laughed his usual hearty laugh. Like most Viennese of his class, he was not profound, but his sense of humor was easily aroused.
"Yes, but only if I'm soused so that I'll believe every woman looks like you ... by the way, what did Steffi say...? She's coming with us, isn't she...?"
"Sure! She and I are going to be dressed in blue, we'll look like sisters...."
"Ha-ha! The boys will like that. Toni and the two Karls once fucked the Rocky Sisters, all three of them. You remember the dance team at the Ronacher Theater...? It cost them a small fortune, but they had a good time. They made the girls dress just the way they appear on stage. You know, those short pleated skirts ... but they had to leave off their panties ... The boys wanted to go the line of least resistance ... I wish they'd invited me that night! They nearly fucked the girls and themselves to death. There was nothing they didn't do. Of course they had a large buffet with lots of seafood and meats, and buckets full of champagne...."
"Champagne...?" Something stirred in my memory. "Did they perhaps fill the girls' cunts full of champagne...?"
Alex looked surprised.
"Gee, how did you know...? Yes, that's exactly what they did...."
"And I bet it was Karl Birnecker who started it all...?"
"Ho-ho! ... you know that too...?"
"Yes, Steffi heard all about it. She told me when I mentioned that the two Karls, Wambacher and Birnecker, are coming with us to the Heuriger. I hope Birnecker doesn't do the same thing with the new line we are going to have at The Pretty Resi...."
Alex laughed.
"Who knows...? But you needn't worry. I'll never permit anybody to dilute your delicious juices down there with any wine...."
And to prove his words, he put his head down there between my legs and began to suck my clitoris with great enthusiasm. I quickly closed my eyes and made a great effort not to think of anybody else. I didn't want to betray my thoughts any more. Steffi was right. An upcoming young whore had to think of business first and last. Only when she's become independent with a bank account of her own can she afford to pick the males she dreams of.
Saturday Steffi came at five so that we could try on all sorts of clothes. We decided to remain with the elegant blue dresses I'd thought of in the first place. Steffi looked lovely in that blue velvet, while mine was a combination of velvet and silk. We also chose blue straw hats with blue velvet ribbons. When Alex and the three men came around to take us out, they whistled in their admiration of our appearance.
"Girls, you look like princesses...!" exclaimed Toni Lecliner.
"Yes, they do...!" chimed in Karl Wambacher.
"What's so good about princesses as long as they're dressed ...?" asked Karl Birnecker, the one who loved his pussy-eating with a champagne chaser.
Steffi faced the men with her most dignified expression.
"Gentlemen, it wouldn't be a bad idea if you introduced yourself. After all, I've never met you before!"
She didn't sound affected or arrogant at all. Steffi had real class and the men couldn't help being impressed by it. One after the other came up to her, told his name and politely kissed her hand she offered him.
Alex was the only one who was fighting an impulse to make everybody laugh by kissing her on the lips, or worse, reaching under her dress. But Steffi had a way of looking unapproachable when she chose to do so, and even the irrepressible Alex had to behave this time. He told everybody to go downstairs and wait for him in the car while he helped me lock the apartment. We had given Lini the night off which she was going to spend with her attractive Ferdl at some cheap hotel, she had told me.
I had an idea that Alex didn't merely want to help me lock the apartment and my suspicion was confirmed when he pressed his aroused dick into my hand.
"Be a sport, honey," he begged. "Do a nice hand job for me before we go downstairs...."
"But Alex," I protested, "my dress may become spotty ... is it really so urgent...?" He didn't answer but began to move his prick in my palm so that I had to pay attention and take over, particularly to watch out that I didn't get his semen on my dress. He came almost at once and the little flood dropped on the runner in front of the door.
"Now I feel better...." he declared and stowed his tool away. "Come on, honey, let's have the keys to the door!"
He locked the two safety locks and handed the keys back to me. When we at last came downstairs, the whole party was hailing us from the carriage into which they had squeezed themselves.
"Thank God, you're here at last," called Karl Birnecker. "That lock must have been difficult to open ... I mean ... to lock ... eh...?"
Of course, everybody knew that Alex and I had not been solely concerned with safety measures and locking the apartment door.
"Well, how are we going to find room for all of us here...?" said Alex, eyeing the inside of the carriage. There was just about enough room left for him, or for myself, but not for the two of us.
The men quickly hailed a passing fiacre and we left Alex's carriage under the care of his concierge. But even in the larger fiacre, we couldn't be quite comfortable and the experienced coachman suggested that the two ladies would have to sit on the laps of the gentlemen. His proposal was, of course, accepted with great enthusiasm. I somehow was able to manage that Steffi could sit on Alex's knees, while I-not without premeditation-sat on Toni Lecliner's lap. He was the jeweler and the most youthful looking of the four men. I didn't have to fear Alex showing any jealousy, and all the less so as I knew he loved to feel the racy, brunette Steffi on his thighs.
We had driven for about fifteen minutes when I felt Toni's hand wandering up below my dress, at the back of my legs and thighs. He could do it with impunity, because the coachman had spread a checkered blanket over our laps. Toni proceeded slowly and discreetly, apparently enjoying every inch of the way. When I looked sideways I noticed Alex's hand had disappeared under the blanket and I knew he was paying a similar attention to Steffi.
But I, apparently, was not the only one who had sharp eyes. Because the two Karls, Wambacher and Birnecker, suddenly remarked: "We can't permit that only Alex and Toni should endure such a load on their laps. It would be fair to rotate the ladies ... Each one of us should contribute to the ladies' comfort!" Steffi gave me a meaningful look and then said:
"Alex here has some well padded thighs. But let's see how the thighs of the other fellows feel. Don't you think so, Pepi...?"
I quickly agreed with her and without waiting for any further suggestions, I got up from Toni's knees and sat down on those of Karl Birnecker, while Steffi with equal alertness, chose Wambacher's lap as her next port of call, so to speak. This, of course, did not mean that the restless hands of those gentlemen didn't go immediately into action like those of their predecessors in lap-holding. Karl Wambacher, known as "the pussy-eater from Heitzing," must have done a good job, because Steffi, who usually had good control of her facial muscles, began to show a suspiciously relaxed expression around her eyes. I, for my part, had to admit that Karl Birnecker, knew more than sipping champagne from pussies. His fingers between my thighs became increasingly affectionate.
After a leisurely trot of a little over one hour, the horses deposited our fiacre in front of The Pretty Resi. It seemed we were expected, because as soon as our carriage halted, the owner, the full-bosomed Resi herself, and her combo, consisting of an accordionist, a fiddler and a guitarist came out of the ivy-covered gate and gave us a musical welcome as if we were a party of aristocrats and their ladies.
Of course Alex and the other men were well known in places like that and everybody was looking forward to the big tips and, as I discovered later, to a lot of fun that had nothing to do with money at all.
Resi must have been in her late thirties and if she hadn't been overweight could still have been called a great beauty, which she undoubtedly was ten years before. She shook hands with the men and when she greeted Alex, he discreetly knocked the back of his hand against her white apron in front of her belly, or a little below that. They seemed to know each other pretty intimately.
Steffi whispered to me that she had heard of many orgies that were going on in a "back room" of the tavern building and she was curious to see what was in store for us this evening. For the time being, Resi and a couple of waitresses led our party through the large garden full of wooden tables and chairs, occupied by many gay parties, to a small garden house in the back. Resi and the waitresses placed three tables next to each other and lined up six chairs on either side. I was wondering why we needed three tables for our little party, but it became soon apparent that Resi and the musicians would keep us company from time to time.
The coachman carried a huge basket covered with some wax cloth. It had been resting next to him on his seat during our drive. Now he uncovered it and the waitresses helped him to take out food that would have nourished an army on the march. Five fried chickens, one roast duck, lots of sausages and salami-all from Alex's stores. The waitresses heaped lots of sliced bread on plates in front of us and Resi told us that she had baked three huge cakes for us, to be eaten when we finished all the chickens and the barbecued stuff.
Now came the real attraction of the place, the Heuriger, the new wine which, as Resi told us, was especially good this fall. Six huge pitchers were placed on the tables in front of us and Resi herself began to pour the wine into our glasses. It was of a greenish-golden color which reflected the candles in the hurricane lamps. There were two lamps for each table and their flickering light provided a cozy, romantic atmosphere. As soon as our escorts began to eat, their attention was completely devoted to the food which disappeared like magic. Steffi and I showed the same healthy appetite as the men, but we were careful about the wine, no matter how consistently the men urged us to drink. New wine can be very deceptive. It may taste as mild as water and one goes on drinking glass after glass. Then if one wants to stand up one is astonished to feel a complete lack of balance. One falls back on one's seat. Steffi who had had some experience with the Heuriger had warned me, but even so I felt an ever increasing cheerfulness come over me and was quite surprised to find out that that loud giggle I heard was coming from my mouth.
Resi had followed our invitation and filled a glass for herself and toasted each one of us separately. The men wanted her to empty each glassful, but Resi knew better than that.
"Look, boys, I've got to take care of all the other customers, too. I've got all the tables filled as you can see. But I'll be back later, when we can afford a little fun, okay...?"
Alex pinched her on the roomy buttocks and she gave him a playful slap on his fly. If I hadn't had some wine in me, I'd perhaps have been surprised at that kind of intimacy. Toni Lecliner gave it the last touch when he hugged Resi and pressed his hands on her big breasts. She giggled and called him a bad boy. After she'd left us, the musicians came and sat down with us and played all the popular songs that have been sung by the Viennese for two hundred years, or more. Steffi who had a beautiful contralto sang for us and the men toasted her repeatedly.
"She should be at the opera ... exclaimed Toni enthusiastically. "What a voice...! If all of her organs function like that ... boy-oh-boy...!"
Steffi had heard what he said and kissed his cheek:
"Thanks, Toni, I can assure you that all my organs work well ... want to try...?"
"Why don't you first find out how mine work...?" Toni said and led her hand to his fly under which his dick was swelling dangerously. He hadn't reckoned with Steffi's unpredictable moods. She quickly opened his fly and took that rigid tool in her palm, pressing it gently. Toni seemed to swoon while Steffi began to do a slow hand job on him. The edge of the table made the whole thing difficult to detect, but when Toni suddenly came, all his semen squirted against the pants of Karl Wambacher who sat across from him. But Karl was quite unaware of the sticky matter on the right leg of his pants and when he might have discovered that spot later on, it would not have surprised him because a lot of things began to happen under the table. Alex was pretty high and wanted me to do some "love-making" as he called it. He pressed my hand on his fly as if I needed to be convinced of his eternal horniness.
"But, for heaven's sake, Alex," I asked, "how can we do anything here in the open...?" Alex wasn't even considering this difficulty for a second. Drunk as he was he managed to give me a clear answer.
"Just crawl under the table and do a nice blow-job like a good girl. I'll tell whoever is interested, you dropped your handkerchief and are looking for it...."
"But ... suppose the men want to be chivalrous and help me look...."
"Don't you fret, honey, they know that 'looking-for-the-handkerchief' business only too well. We aren't here for the first time...."
I disappeared under the table and since Alex was sitting opposite me, I couldn't make any mistake about whose dick I was going to take care of. As soon as my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I saw that Alex had already prepared everything. His dick, freed from its prison was already twitching in front of my face. I quickly enclosed it with my lips. I began my work with the accustomed thoroughness when it suddenly occurred to me that the joystick in my mouth was about twice as thick as Alex's tool which wasn't exactly small either. Should I stop now and investigate? Did I perhaps move sideways when I slipped under the table and touch the wrong man? I had no time to make a decision because the cock in my mouth unloaded a flood of liquid which, in my momentary confusion, I swallowed automatically. Steffi used to tell me that an efficient whore can tell by the taste and smell of the semen which of her customers she was servicing even without seeing him. If that was true and not merely one of Steffi's tall tales, I was far from being an efficient whore, because everybody's semen tasted the same to me, provided I didn't spit it out before I could examine the taste. It was again Steffi who had taught me never to spit out semen because it offends a man.
"Are you serious...? Why should it offend him...?" I asked her.
"Because a man considers his semen the essence of his virility ... that's what my doctor friend told me, some time ago. Semen means life! You don't let a man piss into your mouth ... but semen is something different! You must be a good girl and swallow it as if it were some vintage wine to please the man...!"
Steffi has a way of talking about things that is always impressive. It took me quite some time to get used to swallowing the stuff whenever I had to do a blow-job. But it was true that Alex was pleased every time he noticed I didn't spit out the load he had emptied in my mouth.
Meanwhile my eyes had got accustomed to the dim half-light under the table and I saw that the man whose prick I had caressed wore light gray trousers. Alex had his black pants on this evening, and, yes, there they were, to the right of the gray pants. I also saw that the wearer of the black pants had put his hand under the table and was snapping his fingers to attract my attention. I wished he had done that right away so that I wouldn't have missed him. Quickly I opened the fly of the black pants and, yes, there was the familiar dick of Alex, not too small and not too big, though bigger than the average. I quickly put it in my mouth and began to suck on it like on a piece of sweet candy. He was overdue, because I had hardly worked on it for five seconds when it flooded my mouth. I felt it was time to emerge from "looking-for-the-handkerchief" and chase all that precious semen, with a few swallows of that good new wine.
"Well, Pepi,...." Toni Lecliner smirked at me, "did you find your hankie...?"
"Oh sure," I said, waving it in front of him....
I noticed Toni's gray suit. He was the one whom I'd mistaken for Alex under the table. Alex seemed to know that something unforeseen had happened because he grunted: "You had time enough to find several hankies, not just one...!"
"Well, as a matter-of-fact," I said angrily, "I found two of them, but I let the second one lie there. It's of no use to me...!"
Alex was too drunk to get the meaning of my words, but Steffi, who had been "unemployed" up to that moment, suddenly said: "Jeez, Pepi, never throw a found hankie away. You can always wash it and it's brand-new ... I'll dive under the table and get it...." With that she disappeared. I knew she was searching for the mythical handkerchief in the pants of the two Karls, Wambacher and Birnecker. The former was sitting next to me and I saw him squirm with pleasure. Steffi was already at work. Wambacher started to let out a groan and I knew he had discharged. Now it was Birnecker's turn, apparently, but he sat on Wambacher's other side and I couldn't watch him.
Steffi reappeared pretty soon and we all gasped when she held two handkerchiefs in her hand. Where did she get the second one? She saw the astonishment on our faces and laughed. "Pepi was perhaps right not to pick up this one. It's a man's hankie ... but ... it was quite useful...."
We all roared with laughter. It was obvious that either Karl Wambacher or Karl Birnecker had given Steffi the handkerchief under the table so that she could catch the semen in it in case she didn't feel like swallowing it. They didn't know Steffi was an "efficient" whore who knew her manners. Alex wanted her to show him the larger hankie, but she bunched it tight and said:
"No, you don't want to hurt the unborn babies in there, do you...?"
Again there was a loud guffaw from all of us. Steffi took a nice bow like an actress after delivering a good line and then beckoned to me.
"The gentlemen will excuse us for a while. Pepi and I have to repair the damages to our hairdos in the powder room. That hankie-diving messed us up somewhat ... see you soon ... J" She hooked her arm into mine and We marched through the large garden toward the house, where we found Resi giving orders to the group of waitresses carrying pitchers full of wine to the customers in the garden. Resi had taken off her white apron and looked quite elegant in the maroon silk dress she had changed into.
"Come with me, girls," she called to us, "I'll show you where you can freshen up a bit...." She took us to an elegantly furnished room which seemed to serve her and preferred customers as a kind of powder room and lounge where large mirrors permitted one to look at oneself from head to foot. There were also several washbasins made of porcelain and large pitchers full of water. A small oil stove on a low table was apparently used to heat up some water for a sponge bath. I also noticed a porcelain bidet in one of the corners.
Resi locked the door after we had entered and said:
"I want you to feel at home here! If you want to wash up a little and redo your hair ... you'll find brushes and combs right there on the toilet table. There's also some face powder for you...."
Resi helped Steffi and myself to get out of our dresses so that we could freely use some warm water and the perfumed soap. Crawling under the table made it necessary to clean up. Resi sat down on the large sofa on one side of the room and kept talking.
"I saw immediately when you came with Alex, Toni and the two Karls that you were no run-of-the-mill girls. I like that! These guys of yours are very rich and they have been good customers for years. Have you met them only recently...?"
Steffi shot me a warning glance that meant I should keep my mouth shut and that she was going to do the talking.
"I thought you knew that Pepi here was Alex's girl friend ... didn't you...?"
Resi seemed perplexed not to get a straight answer to her question. Steffi had turned the tables on her instead.
"No...." Resi's voice had lost its assurance. "Alex and the other boys haven't been here since last spring. They come here only four or five times a year. Our season starts in September and by April the next year the new wine isn't 'new' any more, though it still tastes good.
But ... I guess you girls are a new attraction of the boys, eh...?"
Steffi had finished her sponging and turned to Resi:
"Would you mind helping me into that dress again ... thanks ... oh, you asked about our meeting the boys ... I told you already that Pepi is Alex's girl and I'm Pepi's best friend ... so that's it...!"
Resi had started to help me also in putting on my dress.
"But a beautiful girl like you," she said to Steffi, "must have a steady boyfriend, I'm sure...."
Steffi smiled.
"I'm too young to get married ... if that's what you mean...."
We all laughed, but Resi was determined to get an answer without any equivocation.
"Listen girls, I'll put my cards on the table. I suppose, you know that The Pretty Resi is more than a regular Heuriger. This room here has seen many famous people, off and on. I've other rooms like this. You'll perhaps see them tonight. I know the boys like to wind up their evenings with a little fun on the couches. The Archduke Otto always comes here with his friends. After the scandal at the Hotel Sacher, the emperor forbade him to go there again...."
"What scandal...?" I asked.
"Don't you know...? It happened last spring. An elegant crowd was in the dining room. Unfortunately, also the British ambassador and his wife, you know, Lord and Lady Dutton. Suddenly, His Imperial Highness appeared stark-naked. Well, he had something on: his gloves and his sword belt. You can imagine the reaction. I must say this for the Duttons, they went on eating as if nothing particular was going on. Those English can always keep up a stiff upper lip...."
"You mean to say the archduke was actually naked...?" My surprise was genuine. But Steffi spoke up now.
"Yes, I heard about it, too. The police and everybody tried to hush it up. But you know how it is in our city. Things get around ... I thought you'd heard about it...."
Resi had listened to Steffi and then added: "Otto got an awful bawling out from the old emperor, you can imagine! And the Hotel Sacher is now out of bounds for him. That's why The Pretty Resi has become his headquarters so to speak. Here on this sofa where I'm sitting now, His Imperial Highness has fucked dozens of girls ... that is, if you want to call his kind of sex that way. He can hardly get a hard-on any more unless a girl keeps blowing him for an hour or so...."
I began to understand. Resi was not merely the owner and hostess of a Heuriger, but also a regular madam who catered to rich people and aristocrats. But what was she trying to say to us? I remembered Steffi's signal and was wondering how she would meet the situation.
Steffi was sitting in front of a large mirror and put up her hair again. She spoke through the bobby pins sticking out of her mouth.
"Resi, you are a woman of great experience ... aren't you...?"
Our hostess looked flattered.
"Not every young girl would pay me that compliment," looking Steffi over with approving eyes. "You're not only very pretty, but also intelligent. You'll go far ... why don't you girls keep in touch with me ... we may be useful to each other ... don't you think so...?" She looked at me, but I was waiting for Steffi to answer.
"You're very kind, Resi," Steffi got up from the toilet table and stretched herself languidly. "Yes, I suppose you meet many important people that girls like us would like to know. But...." and Steffi gave her a meaningful look, " ... let's keep this clear, Resi, neither Pepi nor I are going to become employees in your ... let's say ... establishment. Okay...?"
Resi didn't look overenthusiastic, but she was clever enough to keep up a nice front.
"Yes, it's okay ... although ... I don't quite know what's so bad about my ... what d'you call it ... my establishment that a nice girl would avoid it as if it were a prison or something...."
Steffi went over to her and hugged her, kissing her on the cheek. She practically purred: "Now, now, Resi ... I didn't mean to denigrate your business at all. I merely wanted to make it quite clear that both Pepi and I want to remain ... let's say ... free-lancers...! You know what I mean, don't you...?"
Resi couldn't resist Steffi's magnetism. She kissed her back and said:
"Okay girls, it was a nice try, though! You realize, of course, that I don't make such offers very often. Steffi says I've got experience. She's right! And my experience tells me you two've got class! One doesn't find this every day, or even every month! Anyway, don't forget if you ever need anything-and, you know, girls often need things very badly there's always Resi you can contact. And now, let's find your party. I suppose they're all drunk and ready enough to start some fun in one of the bigger rooms...."
We followed Resi into the garden and found our "boys" gaily singing to the music of the combo. The musicians were also slightly swaying from the Heuriger they had imbibed freely from our pitchers. When we appeared with Resi between us, a loud hello went up from the group.
"Ah...." cried Alex, "look at the Three Graces...!"
"Graces, hell!" corrected Toni. "Ever seen the Three Graces dressed up? They ought to be nude...!"
"Yes, yes...." they all yelled. "We want our nude Graces."
"Hush...!" hissed Resi. "Behave yourselves, boys, there are still some customers at the other tables. If you'll be quiet now, I'll take you all inside and you can have your Graces there any way you want ... Marie ... Helene...." she called to the waitresses, "pick up the pitchers here and bring them inside ... you know where...!"
Steffi had the two Karls on each side of her, while I was supporting Alex and Toni who had their heavy arms around my waist. Alex, to make quite sure he had a firm hold on me, gripped my right buttock in a tight squeeze. I was sure I was going to be red and blue in that spot. Resi walked in the rear, seeing that we made it safely and without being too conspicuous, to the house. There she took the lead and marched us along a narrow hallway to a door that was upholstered on the inside.
"Boy, that looks like a padded cell in a loony bin ... cracked Steffi.
Resi overheard the remark and said:
"Don't be afraid, girls...! We get mad with pleasure perhaps, but that's all the madness we can afford. And we don't want any noise to get outside. Toni...." she pointed to Lecliner, "told me once he always wants to yell when he comes and he can't do that even in his own place. People in the street would hear him and think somebody was being killed, eh Toni...?"
Toni squeezed Resi's teats.
"You're damned right, old girl. When I squirt my juice into a pretty female like you ... I want to yell like a bull in heat...."
"Bulls don't yell...." said Steffi. "Lions do ... and even they don't yell ... they roar...!" We had all settled down on the four large sofas in the room. The walls were covered with thick, colorful rugs which also dampen all sounds. Three low-hanging lamps with dark-red shades diffused a mild light that made everything seem unreal as in a tale from the Arabian Nights. Thick rugs on the floor that invited one to walk on them barefoot and lots of cushions all over the place made the whole room look like one gigantic couch.
The quasi-oriental atmosphere was soon changed by the three musicians who settled down in a corner and played one Viennese folksong after another. Resi showed us two narrow doors in the walls.
"You almost can't see them ... they seem part of the wallpaper ... behind each is a dressing room ... one on this side for the ladies ... the other, for the men ... come with me ... we're going to let our boys see the Three Graces the way they're pictured in the classic paintings ... what's more, it's far too warm here to keep our clothes on ... look at the musicians ... they're already stripping down to their shorts ... Hey, boys...!" she yelled at them, "put your clothes in the dressing room over there ... You know the rules...! And you, Alex, Wambacher, Birnecker ... yes, you too, Toni ... don't undress here ... get in there, and then come back ... we don't want any mess here...!"
"That Resi is like a regular stage director for sex orgies...." whispered Steffi to me.
"Yes," I said, "but a good one...."
"That remains to be seen...." said Steffi. "My ideas of an orgy are a little different from this phony outfit. A few rugs, couches, pillows, subdued lights ... anybody can arrange that...."
We kept our voices low so that Resi didn't hear us. She had gone ahead to the ladies' dressing room and rummaged in a few drawers there.
"Have you ever been at an orgy...?" I asked.
"No, to tell you the truth...." Steffi admitted. "But ... you don't have to be a horse to understand a horse show. I've read and also heard a lot about orgies ... some demimondaines ... veterans, you know ... told me fantastic things about the orgies at the Roman villa of Count Montecucculi. That was about twenty years ago ... lots of bathrooms on one side of the hallway and lots of rooms like this one on the other. But it's the people who count ... what kind of orgy can you have with middle-aged men with big bellies that are often in their way when they want to stick it into you ... Hush, now! Let's go in. Resi keeps beckoning us...!"
We followed Resi who had taken all sorts of gauze-like material from a chest.
"Here, girls ... we're going to drape ourselves in these colored veils, like real harem beauties. Complete nakedness is never so attractive as a body that is half covered, or even a little less...."
Resi was wise to use several of those veils to hide her belly which made her look like a pregnant woman in her seventh month. Steffi and I used a couple of green and red veils, sparingly. We had nothing to hide, but-as Resi correctly said-it can't do any harm to make ourselves more desirable by only insinuating our nudity. I've found this to be true all through my erotic career. A man is disappointed if we don't leave something on our body that he can tear off. It gives him a feeling of "taking" us. Only young students, with their romanticized ideas of classic goddesses, want to find a woman all naked. But the older a man gets, the more he likes to "unveil" us.
"Now we are the Three Graces...." said Resi. "Come, let's join our friends. They must be ready by now...."
We went back to the "orgy room" and there were Alex, Karl Wambacher, Karl Birnecker and Toni Lecliner, all in their silk shorts. I looked them over, their hairy bodies and their fat bellies and padded hips, and I knew Steffi was right. You can have a real orgy only with young, handsome people. Anything else is disgusting. As soon as we appeared the musicians played The March of the Gladiators. It turned out to be a circus all right. The men pressed glasses with wine on us and Steffi just had time enough to whisper to me not to get drunk. Thank heaven there were a few potted palms in the four corners and we could secretly empty our glasses into those. I don't know whether it helped the palms to grow faster.
Alex, used to "taking over," ordered now: "The Three Graces will now stand in front of this couch here ... Now bend down ... yes, forward and support yourself with your hands ... Pepi, you disappoint me ... stick your ass up in the air ... that's right ... and you, boys," he turned to the combo...."you play the Radetzky March ... but keep the beat ... like an army band...!"
If I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have believed it. Since there was one female less than our four men needed, Resi had called one of the younger waitresses who also undressed, but without any veils, and made her line up next to us. Bent forward on the couch we were offering our behinds to the men. Alex commanded :
"Present arms...!"
The four men, each holding his stiff prick, took their position behind us. Alex yelled again: "One ... two ... three ... FIRE!!"
The men stuck their pricks into our holes from behind and when the music began to strike up the fiery Radetzky March, the pricks moved in and out of us according to the rhythm. It was the first-and thank God, the last-time I was fucked to the strains of a military march.
Karl Wambacher was so drunk, he still hadn't come when the Radetzky March was finished. The musicians had to start all over again, but to no avail. It was poor Resi who had to remain in that position and wait until Karl's belly stopped smacking on her fat ass. If his prick were not unusually long, it would never have reached Resi's hole. The Radetzky March had been repeated already four times and Karl Wambacher, sweating like a wrestler, kept pushing into the equally sweating Resi.
Suddenly, Resi called to the musicians:
"Stop that march, boys! Play the Blue Danube...!"
As soon as the combo had played the first ten bars of the famous waltz, Wambacher began to grunt like a boar and collapsed on Steffi's back. Resi explained to Steffi and myself later that she suddenly remembered that Wambacher had told her once that he had fucked his first girl in the Prater when the band in a cafe close by played the Blue Danube. She thought it might do the trick. And it did.
What followed remains only hazy in my memory. Both Steffi and I drank more than we had intended to, but we had to dull our senses if we wanted to go through with that parody of an orgy. Alex was so drunk that he pissed into the guitar, which made the poor musician quite unhappy, but he got a brand-new bill of a hundred guilders and could buy himself several guitars if he wanted to.
The coachman who, in the meantime, had been given a treat in the kitchen, was not sober anymore when he took the whole party back to town. I don't remember how Steffi and I got back into our clothes and I have only a vague notion that Alex and the coachman carried me and Steffi up to my apartment where they dumped us on my large bed.
When we woke up the next morning, it was already 10 o'clock. Steffi and I took a warm bath and went back to bed and to sleep. We decided to sleep as long as we felt like it. I had left a note for Lini to tell any caller-including Mr. Feringer-that I wasn't at home.
CHAPTER THREE
"HUPFERL"-"PUTZI"-THE STUDENT
Steffi and I snored until two in the afternoon. Lini had a nice lunch prepared for us and we ate it very leisurely. When Lini brought our coffee, I began to discuss our adventure of last night and learned from Steffi many things that I couldn't remember. I was a little dismayed to hear that not only Alex, but all the other men had fucked us, one after another.
"The musicians, too...?" I asked.
"Sorry...." Steffi smiled at me, "the musicians too. All three of them. Don't you remember how you did a hand-job on Toni while the violinist screwed you...?"
"Not a thing...! Why did I do a hand-job on Toni...?"
"He just put his dick in your hand ... I guess you started to massage it quite mechanically. It seems to be a conditioned reflex with us...."
"Oh, my God...!" I said, "Alex is going to give me hell for all this. He's as jealous as can be, you know...!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Pepi! Alex encouraged them all to fuck every female in sight. There were you, me, Resi and that blonde waitress. I think there was not one man who didn't fuck each one of the women. And not only once, but three and four times...!"
I became thoughtful.
"Tell me, Steffi, how can a girl be the mistress of one man if he lets her be screwed by other men...? It somehow doesn't make sense, does it...? "
"You're damned right, it doesn't make sense. But on the other hand, don't confuse your relationship with Alex with what a regular mistress is supposed to be...."
"You mean ... I am NOT his mistress...?"
"Oh, sure! At least Alex thinks you are ... but who is Alex...? What does he know of real society...? He's a rich butcher, that's all. He's no education and doesn't chum with any better-class people...."
I became depressed.
"But ... Steffi, you encouraged me to be the girl friend of Alex...."
"Sure I did, Pepi! But what did I tell you ...?"
"I guess you said it was the first rung on the social ladder...."
"Yes, but I also said you shouldn't confuse Alex with a gentleman! He's rich, I said, and what you need above all to make a career as a high-class whore, are a lot of elegant dresses, some jewelry and furs, also a nice apartment of your own, a maid ... and you've got all that now. So what's the gripe...?"
"I'm not griping. I'm merely wondering whether high-class whores are supposed to do what we had to do last night. If I were a low-class whore, it couldn't have been worse...." Steffi looked at me silently. After a while she came over to me and kissed me very tenderly.
"Pepi-child, you're a real good girl! You have to learn to be patient. Above all, don't throw away what you've got until you have something better. You remember how that shrewd Resi wanted to recruit us for her establishment?"
"Yes, she made it sound like we could become the mistresses of some archduke in a few days...."
"That's why I gave her to understand that I was on to her. Resi is like every madam who knows her onions. They need good merchandise to stay in business. And young chicks like us are first-class merchandise. She mentioned that archduke only to make us think we could get places faster under her guidance. And what has she got . , .? A very good business, selling wine and sexual entertainment under the guise of a Heuriger. I heard she also owns a bordello here in town. So what? It wouldn't do us any good!"
"Tell me, Steffi, what exactly have you planned for your future...?"
"I can tell you what I've planned for my immediate future. Now, I've got to leave you and go to my own place. And I'm looking forward to Monday when I'll be with my handsome student again...."
"O yes...! That Fritz of yours...."
"Correct! Sleeping with him twice a week makes it easier for me to deal with all the other customers who are more or less disgusting...."
"Steffi, what's come over you...? You never had such a negative attitude toward the men who took you to a hotel...?"
Steffi sighed and gave me an almost compassionate look.
"I still don't have a negative attitude toward making money day after day. But wait until you enjoy the young body of a virile, handsome guy like my Fritz ... What do you know of that? You told me your story ... you've been fucked by middle-aged men, or adolescent boys, by fat priests, bald-headed truck-drivers, waiters ... oh yes, you had a nice boy when you posed for that photographer ... what was his name...?"
"You mean Mr. Capuzzi...?"
"Yes, Capuzzi! His male model, it seems, was the only young, virile guy you liked doing it with. So-what do you know of being screwed by a young Greek god like that Fritz...?"
"Are you trying to make me feel disgusted with my fat pork-butcher...?"
"Don't be silly, Pepi. But you get what I mean, don't you? That boy Fritz has a face like a Greek warrior. A straight nose, a wide, full mouth, blond, wavy hair ... and his body ... six feet tall, broad shoulders and narrow hips ... his thighs are like marble pillars, firm muscled ... when he hugs me with them I'm already moist between my legs ... and his dick is big and satisfactory in every way ... add to all that a gentle nature, kindness, friendliness, the enthusiasm of an unspoiled youth...."
"Please, Steffi, stop! For heaven's sake, not only am I already as horny as hell from your description, but I'll have to let Alex fuck me in a couple of hours. I'm surprised he hasn't been here yet. And you must admit that he can't stand any comparison with that male beauty you keep talking about ... and yet I've got to behave as if he were an Adonis...."
Steffi had been dressing while I was talking and was ready to go.
"You're right ... I shouldn't get these fits over young male beauties so often. It might spoil my own appetite for the men I have to take on for the sake of the daily bread. Don't worry about what I said, kid. Anybody who thinks a whore's business is easy should try it first. We have to go on making a lot of money and trying to get our foot into so-called society so that we are real big-time whores. Handsome guys like Fritz are a bonus that we hardly deserve. That's the way I look at it. Be a good girl now and don't be mad at your Aunt Steffi...!"
She hugged me and the next moment was out of the room. I heard her shut the door of the apartment. There was no doubt that a great change had come over Steffi since she had met that Fritz of hers. Today I realize that it was her first real love. And she was the one who always preached to me that a whore who wants to get ahead must avoid falling in love like the pest. Poor Steffi, she was very human after all! But I knew that she'd never neglect her career.
I was still thinking about Steffi when the bell rang. I recognized Alex's voice talking to Lini.
"You let me have some coffee too!" he said to her before he opened the door and joined me.
"Ha! You Heurigergoer! You were quite a success, last night, Pepi, damn your pretty teats and ass...!"
He kissed me and groped my breasts and behind. I could see that his good mood was not quite genuine. He played with my teats for a while and then had to stop because Lini appeared with a fresh pot of coffee. He poured for us both and then resumed:
"Well, young lady, how did you like being fucked by everybody yesterday...?"
"But Alex ... it was you yourself who encouraged your friends ... why accuse me...? You filled me full of wine and then you want me to behave like a great lady...."
"Okay, okay, Pepi! Don't get a hemorrhage! It was all in good fun. And we had a good time. But let me tell you one thing: If I ever catch you with Toni, or the Wambacher guy, or Karl Birnecker ... I'll knock their heads off, yours too!"
"Alex, you know I'd never do such a thing...."
"Oho! You did, last night...."
I pretended to cry and pressed my handkerchief over my eyes. Alex pulled me toward him and pressed me in his arms.
"Now, now ... my little girl with the sweet little cunt ... you're not going to take me seriously, are you? I'm only kidding you...."
He kissed me all over my face, or rather he licked my skin like a dog and concentrated on my ears so that I felt myself getting horny. I knew he was, because I was sitting on his lap and could feel his dick swelling up under me. I knew that sex was all-important to him and that to keep him in a good mood I had to be ready for his stiff tool every moment of the day or night.
"Be a little nice to my friend in my pants...." he said promptly and pulled my dressing gown way over my buttocks. I soon felt his bare prick pushing against my thighs. I turned around and straddled him, face to face, burying his tool in my hole.
"That's it...." he gasped, his breath becoming loud. "That's my girl...."
I moved up and down on his lap, keeping his prick firmly in my hole. He pressed his mouth to my nipples and soon I felt real pleasure and came before he did. His ejaculation was unusually violent and I knew there would be spots all over his pants. I should have made him take them off, first. He had sunk back in his chair and rested his head in my hands which were still around his neck. When he got up, I said:
"Get your pants off, you pig, I've got to use some spot remover when all that mess has dried up...."
Alex displayed his experience:
"No need to be fussy about it. Just give me a clean rag and some cold water and I'll show you how it comes off. Never use hot water ...!" He was right. The cold water cleaned the spot almost completely and we hung the pants near the window to let them dry. Being out of his pants gave Alex a good excuse to strip completely and drag me with him to the bedroom.
"I'm going on a short business trip and won't see you for a week or so. We've got to have us a good time now. I'm going to miss you . .
"Oh, where are you going...?"
"To Budapest to see a customer of mine. The Hungarians have excellent sausages themselves, but this restaurateur has fallen in love with my products and he always gives me large orders. But I've got to visit him at least twice a year and go out with him. He loves to eat well and drink good wine. And Budapest is really a place where you can do both...."
I laughed.
"Yes, and Budapest is also a place where you can find beautiful girls, hm...?"
"You're not jealous, Pepi, or are you...? I'll tell you what I'll do so you don't get any foolish ideas while I'm gone. I'll buy you two charming little dogs that I saw this morning in the pet store next to where I live. They're midget poodles! You'll love them."
I'd heard that a real mistress has to have a lapdog, as a kind of status symbol and I liked the idea of owning two midget poodles. But Alex didn't want to talk about the dogs now and tickled my clitoris with his right hand, while his left was busy with my nipples. He always moistened the tip of his fingers with a little spittle and then gently stroked my nipples which became stiff and hard. It's strange how that stimulation reaches down to the vagina even when the clitoris is not being handled. Alex did both and in a few minutes had me ready for a good ride. I caught myself thinking how it would feel to have a young Greek god like that Fritz lying on top of me and feeling his vigorous thrusts in my hole. I closed my eyes and when Alex began to fuck me, it wasn't Alex anymore. I quickly remembered my mistake of the first occasion when my mind substituted that handsome student for Alex and how I had murmured "Fritz" when I came. I must not repeat that mistake. Alex would not always believe I said "frig" when I actually said "Fritz!"
"Ah, honey, you're really good today...." Alex murmured. He didn't realize I wasn't really embracing him, but a handsome youth. His motions became faster. I was afraid I might lose control over myself and give my secret away. I quickly put the corner of the pillow between my teeth so that I couldn't say anything. Alex believed I was so overcome by his passion that I had to bite into the pillow to keep myself from yelling.
"You're wonderful, Pepi ... you love to be fucked by me, don't you ... nobody has ever fucked you like me ... and I love fucking you ... you're the best I've ever had ... I was a fool last night ... what do other cunts mean to me ... none of those women has your tight little hole ... ah ... I can feel you coming ... you love your Alex fucking you ... I know it ... Alex knows how to do it ... Alex has a clever prick ... now you're coming again ... ah ... I can feel it coming on in me too ... now ... now ... ah ... ah...."
His sluice gates opened and released a rich stream of semen. I bit into that pillow with all my strength because I still imagined it was a guy like Fritz squirting his juice into me. And suddenly I knew: It was no use! I had to get myself a virile young guy while Alex was in Budapest. After all, I was a healthy young girl and needed a healthy young man to fuck me. At that moment I made up my mind I was going to have it, come what may.
Alex stayed with me until dinner time and we knocked off a couple of numbers with the same enthusiasm. Alex was enthusiastic because he liked to fuck. And I was because I was glad to have made up my mind and was already anticipating the pleasure of falling into bed with a handsome guy.
Next morning the two midget poodles arrived. The owner of the pet shop delivered them in person. They were tiny, snow-white creatures with their hair falling over their eyes. I christened the male "Putzi" and the female "Hupferl," which made Alex laugh when he came a while later to kiss me good-bye, or rather to fuck me good-bye. Alex could never resist a quickie.
I was very happy with the two dogs. I remembered how I liked to play with Mrs. Reinthaler's dachshund, Waldi, when I was a little girl. I've always liked animals, especially dogs and horses. They are more loyal, and often more intelligent, than people.
Alex had also bought two long leashes for the dogs in case I wanted to take them with me on my walks. Usually it was Lini who had to take them down twice a day to let them do their business at lanterns and fire hydrants. But in the afternoons I took the dogs with me to the city park where many a nice man started to talk to me, using the dogs as a pretext.
Five days after Alex had left, I decided to take the two poodles and walk past the university to the little park by the town hall, where the students often sit on the benches to study, or eat their lunch. I'd put on a very pretty dress and a new hat and looked like any lady in town.
I had already walked by the university-where I didn't notice any attractive student, by the way-and was approaching the park when I saw a young woman and a young man walking arm in arm ahead of me. I knew at once it was Steffi and the young man must be that Fritz of hers. I walked faster and when I came up to them I saw it was Steffi, who seemed to be delighted to see me. She didn't know the dogs and bent down to stroke them. In her surprise she forgot to introduce me to the really handsome fellow who kept staring at me as if I were some sort of apparition. I could see the admiration in his eyes and knew at once I had to be very careful. Steffi was far too clever a girl to be fooled by somebody like me.
"Oh, excuse me, I forgot...." Steffi said now. "This is Fritz Winter, a law student, and this here is my good friend Pepi Mutzenbacher. Jeez, Pepi, the dogs are darlings. Look, Fritz, aren't they nice...?"
It was good that the boy had stopped staring at me and stooped down to pet the poodles. They both licked his hands and he looked up and said to Steffi and me:
"I usually like only big dogs, but these are really cute!"
"Well, cute ladies have cute dogs...." Steffi said to my utter surprise. Was she trying to praise me before her boyfriend? She saw how Fritz blushed when he looked at me and, again to my surprise, Steffi said to me:
"You've got to excuse Fritz. He's still very shy with ladies, but I know you can put him at his ease...."
What the heck, I thought. What was Steffi trying to do? She was supposed to be possessive and jealous about this really handsome boy. It seemed I had misjudged her. She winked at me slyly and said to Fritz:
"If you were not a spoilsport I'd tell Pepi to invite us up to her place for coffee. She has a maid who bakes the most delicious cakes...." Fritz blushed again and said:
"That would be fine, I'm sure. But ... but I don't want to be a nuisance ... are you sure it's all right, Mrs. Mutzenbacher? Maybe your husband wouldn't like a strange man to accompany your friend to your place...?"
Steffi laughed loud and amused:
"Don't you worry your handsome head off, Fritz. Mrs. Mutzenbacher is a widow ... yes, I know ... she's still very young, but she's a widow ... and I'm sure she'd feel better if you called her Pepi ... am I right, Pepi...?"
I was too nonplussed to say more than a mechanical "Yes, of course!" Steffi was not only not jealous, but she pushed Fritz toward me. Should she be so selfless as to present me with the boy she was so fond of? I had to pull myself together to meet this new situation. I offered Fritz my hand to be kissed, which he did with great feeling, and then I said: "Steffi is right. I love to have nice company at my afternoon coffee. And my maid will also be glad to have her pastry appreciated by some visitors. You are both coming with me right now."
Steffi looked at me as if to assure me I had understood her. She had something special up her sleeve, that devil. Fritz begged me to let him take the leash with the dogs who followed him without any struggle. It took us about ten minutes to reach my apartment. I told Lini to prepare some fresh coffee for all of us and serve whatever goodies she had baked this morning.
Fritz asked whether he might take off his coat and hang it over the back of his chair. I said:
"Give it to me. I'll put it on a hanger in my wardrobe...."
He blushed and stammered:
"That's not necessary. Don't go to all that trouble please, Mrs. Mutzenbacher...."
"You mean, Pepi," I corrected him.
"I mean ... Pepi...." His face was purple. He looked nice in his shirt sleeves. I encouraged him to roll up the sleeves and feel more at ease. He looked at me like he was hypnotized. Steffi took over and rolled up the shirt sleeves for him as if he were a little boy. He looked quite helpless and was visibly embarrassed when Steffi pointed to his muscular arms and said:
"Look, Pepi, that guy is a real athlete! He has arms like one of those statues in front of the Parliament building, hasn't he...?"
"Oh ... that's because I belong to our rowing crew. You know, we train all spring on the old Danube for the races in July."
Talking about the boat races seemed to relax Fritz. I asked him about the kind of racing boats he liked and about his crew. After a few minutes he chattered away like an old acquaintance.
Lini came in with the tray and set the table. She was really an artist when it came to cooking meals and especially baking pastries and cakes. The coffee smelled delicious and Fritz's shyness had given way to what I thought was his natural cheerfulness. He had a most delightful laugh which let one see a pair of cute dimples next to his mouth. He had a nice suntan that contrasted favorably with his sky-blue eyes. I still had difficulty believing that Steffi wanted to share that rare specimen with me. But her talk didn't leave me any doubts.
Fritz had put away three large pieces of cake by now and I poured his fourth cup of coffee. Steffi, who had talked about how unlucky some women are to become widows when they were still young, suddenly said to no one in particular:
"Yes, it's hard for a woman to do without a man, and particularly if she was used to that regular stuff!"
Fritz blushed a little but he laughed at "that regular stuff" like at a good joke. I used this as a cue.
"You're right, Steffi! A young woman like me is hard up without a man. After all, there is nothing more beautiful than to be embraced by a nice man you love. I'm missing it very much...."
Fritz was chewing his fourth piece of coffee-cake and looked at me. Our eyes met. I decided to become more outspoken.
"Tell me, Fritz, would you be glad to come home every evening to a pretty wife and kiss her...?"
He swallowed his cake and said:
"Yes, I guess that would be nice ... but I would never marry a girl I didn't love...!" Steffi spoke up:
"Do you have to love a girl to go to bed with her...?"
Fritz spilled the coffee he was about to drink.
Steffi always went straight to the point and I couldn't blame her. She was always successful with her directness.
"Never mind," I said to Fritz who tried to pat the coffee spots with a paper napkin. "It will come out in the wash ... but I'd like to hear you answer Steffi's question!"
We had the poor boy in a squeeze now and he couldn't wriggle out of it. If he said he didn't have to love the girl he was having sex with, it could mean he didn't love Steffi. On the other hand, he had already found out that having sex was very pleasant and I was sure Steffi had made it quite clear to him that she didn't want to be married.
"Fritz...." Steffi caressed his cheek, "you know very well what pleasure a woman gets out of being laid by a strong man ... like you, for instance. And you also know what a great pleasure you get out of squirting your semen into her...! Don't make such big eyes, Fritz ... Pepi here knows what a man does with a woman. I believe she would like to have it done to her right now ... she hasn't had it for quite some time ... don't you feel like doing a good deed...?"
Steffi didn't leave the boy any time to be shocked. She sat down on his lap and took off his tie and loosened his collar.
"There ... that will help you not to choke up every time you hear about sex ... You're a sweet kid...!"
She planted a kiss on his mouth and said to me:
"Let's get more comfortable all around, shall we? You can lend me one of your dressing gowns and you'll want to get into one yourself.
What have you got for this big boy here? I'd suggest we don't give him anything because he looks best in the nude ... don't keep blushing, Fritz, I'm sitting right on your dick and can feel how stiff it is ... don't be ashamed to be a good-looking man who can give it to a girl..
She got up and pulled Fritz's tool out of his fly. It was a beauty! About six inches of muscle and velvety flesh, crowned with an enormous glans. That prick was the most promising affair I'd seen in a long time. And combined with that athletic body and handsome face...! I was already trembling with excitement. Steffi was a real pal! I knew I'd never forget what she was doing for me.
I went to the bedroom and asked the two to come with me. I found a thin, flimsy negligee of blue tulle for Steffi who was already waiting in her silk panties. I turned to Fritz who seemed to be quite excited:
"Why don't you help me undress...?" I invited him. "You've got to learn to be of help to ladies...!"
His hands trembled when he unbuttoned my blouse and pulled it off my shoulders.
"Go ahead, you fool ... kiss her...!" Steffi pushed him toward me. "I'm not jealous! Pepi is as close to me as a sister! What is mine is hers ... you're going to make love to both of us ... you're strong enough, big boy! Now get out of your shirt and pants ... be a good sport...!"
Steffi had pushed him on the bed and knelt down to undo his shoelaces. His fingers were so unsteady that he could never have done it himself. She pulled his shoes off and then said:
"Lift your fanny so I can get these pants off you!"
Soon Fritz was down to his shorts and I admired his muscular physique. The bulge in his shorts was something that had to be taken care of. I got my hand inside and heard Fritz suppress a low moan when he felt my hand close around his splendid tool.
"Drop your shorts...." I whispered in his ear, touching it with my lips. He stepped out of his shorts and stood before us in his magnificent nakedness. What a man! Steffi was right: A Greek god, right out of a picture book.
"Let's lie down...." Steffi suggested. We lay on the wide bed with Fritz between us. I kept holding his prick, while Steffi caressed his testicles. He had become bold enough to put his hands on our pubic hair and gradually strayed lower until he had found our slits that were already moist. Steffi whispered something in his ear and he turned to me and carefully mounted me. Steffi guided his glans to my vulva and he entered very slowly as if I were still a virgin. When he was completely in me I couldn't help sighing with pleasure. I hugged him with my legs and pressed his abdomen tightly to mine so that he couldn't move for a while.
Steffi had come over to my other side so that I could handle her clitoris. We couldn't expect too much from the boy who was not experienced enough to take care of two women at the same time. But now he began to move. Ah, what a delight! I marveled again at Steffi's generosity in sharing that treasure with me. My fingers did their best in her hole and beat a veritable tattoo that made her sigh. Meanwhile, Fritz's thrusts had become more and more powerful. His hands pressed my shoulders. He didn't know enough to caress my breasts, but I was glad to have him as he was. He pressed his lips to mine and I opened my mouth inviting his tongue to touch mine. His tongue-play was quite satisfactory and my ardor made him move his tongue faster so that it felt like a wrestling match between his and mine. At the same time his hips moved with great speed and I suddenly came and threw my body in all directions. It was quite some time that I'd felt such pleasure coming from a young fellow like Fritz.
I took care not to remove my hand from Steffi's clitoris. She too had come, and I used my now lubricated fingers to penetrate into her grotto. Fritz worked like a steam hammer with ever increasing rhythm and the savage strength of a wild animal. He gave me a new sort of bliss. I knew I'd never forget that kind of sensation, the sensation of being possessed by a genuine male in all his youthful splendor.
Without any warning, my rider began to emit a deep groan that rose in pitch. I felt his semen spurt into me. No words were coming out of his mouth, merely an increasing groan like the suppressed roar of a jungle beast. His ejaculation was copious and took almost five seconds.
My eyes were closed and I couldn't think for a while. I felt Fritz's muscular body rest on mine and loved every ounce of its weight. His face was hidden on my shoulder and I felt his lips pressing my skin with continual little kisses. I was surprised to find myself as happy as I'd ever been before. Here was the male, the man, plus a real human being.
Steffi seemed to be resting quietly on my side. I didn't feel any movement on the bed. We must have been lying there for fifteen minutes when I opened my eyes. The blond, curly hair of Fritz was tickling my nose and I turned to the right and saw Steffi looking at the ceiling. When she noticed I had moved, she turned around and gave me a smile. It was not her usual let's-have-some-fun smile, but something very gentle and whimsical I had never noticed on her. She looked as contented as if Fritz had been lying on her instead of on me. She told me later she knew I'd realized that sex was not what we were doing to make a living but what I had experienced with Fritz. She had been sleeping with him already several times and knew what it was like.
Suddenly there was a sound that made us all jump up: the doorbell. I'd omitted to tell Lini not to admit any visitors, but it would not have been any use if I had done so. The visitor was Alex Feringer returning much sooner than he had planned. He came storming into the bedroom and looked at us standing around in the nude. He saw the messed-up bed and lifted his walking stick as if he were going to hit Fritz who instinctively grabbed it from Alex's hand and broke it in two over his thigh.
"What the hell are you trying to do?" he yelled at Alex. "And who are you to barge in here like that...?"
Alex, noticing Fritz's athletic build, retreated toward the door and said:
"What I'm doing here...? I am asking you the same question, young man...? It's me who's paying the rent for this place, and that little bitch who's all red in her face now is my mistress. Or, let's say-she was! And now ... get into your clothes and get the hell out of here...!"
The veins on his temples were almost bursting and his naturally pink face was scarlet with fury.
"Just calm down, Alex...." said Steffi who'd slipped on the blue negligee and gave me mine, helping me to put it on. I could hardly move and felt myself tremble. Steffi patted my back and then turned to Fritz:
"Why don't you dress behind that Chinese screen in the corner. You'll find a chair there...."
Fritz mechanically picked up his clothes, socks and shoes and walked behind the screen. Steffi turned to Alex again:
"Fritz is a friend of mine and I brought him to Pepi so we all could have some coffee together...."
Alex snorted:
"Ha! Since when do you bitches have coffee between your legs ... coffee! ... what the hell d'you take me for? A fool...?"
Fritz must have dressed in a great hurry because he stepped from behind the screen and said to Steffi:
"I want to take you home...."
She stepped up to him and put a hand on his arm:
"Thanks a lot, Fritz! But you'd better go alone now. I've got to take care of something before I leave. I'll wait for you at the university tomorrow ... so long...."
Fritz gave me a sad look and left. Alex sat down on the unmade bed and said without looking at me:
"This is the last straw! I knew right from the beginning, you were a cheap whore, no matter what you said. But I'd hoped you'd be at least grateful for being taken in by me ... now, this is the end! You pack your rags and get out of here within an hour! You don't have to give me back any presents ... but out you go! And you ought to be glad I don't slap you silly...!" Steffi had put on her dress in the meantime and now she stepped in front of Alex and let him have it:
"You listen to me, now, Alex Feringer, pork-butcher and would-be gentleman! Who was it who took Pepi and myself to the Heuriger the other night and had his friends fuck us, each one of them, and the three musicians too? And who was it who said it was all in good fun!? And now you behave as if you were some big shot who's surprised his wife with a lover...? An old fucker like you ought to be damned glad he can have a young, pretty girl like Pepi as a friend! Mistress...? You are kidding! You wouldn't know what a mistress is and how to treat her, you phony! Because that's what you are, an old phony with money who puts on airs! Yes, Pepi is going to get out of here and it's all for the good! Because she doesn't have to put up with a fat, vulgar old he-goat like you! She can get a young, handsome guy with enough money to keep her in furniture...."
She turned to me:
"I'm going to help you pack, Pepi. Get the suitcases ready. The sooner you get away from this stinking old idiot the better for all of us...!"
She whirled around to face Alex:
"And you can stay right here to see that we don't take any of your crap with us so you can't say we stole some of your china or the curtains or what not! Come on, Pepi . .
Alex went into the living room without saying a word. Some of what Steffi had told him seemed to sink in. I had started to cry, but Steffi wiped my nose and eyes and told me not to be silly and not to forget anything that "the old he-goat" said I could take with me, dresses, lingerie, stockings, shoes, jewelry and so on.
"Hurry up, silly," she whispered to me, "you'll soon find out how lucky you are! If this hadn't happened now, you'd be dependent on that idiot until he got tired of you and then threw you out. Believe me, it's much better this way. At least he realizes his money isn't everything!"
I sent Lini down to the grocery store a block away to ask two of the strong produce boys to come and carry my suitcases downstairs and to hail a carriage and tell the driver to wait for us. Lini knew what was going on and she had tears in her eyes.
"Don't worry, Lini," I told her. You keep in touch with me and as soon as I need a maid again I'll let you know ... hurry now...!"
The grocery boys came and lugged the heavy suitcases downstairs and the coachman who was already waiting helped to stow them in the back of the carriage.
I took a last look around to see whether there was something left that I forgot to pack. I discovered a little manicure set in a leather case. I'd bought it before I met Alex. I carried it in my hand, took up my purse and followed Steffi to the staircase.
Alex stood at the living room window with his back to us.
"Good-bye, Alex...." I said in a small voice. He didn't turn around and didn't say anything.
"Come on, silly...." Steffi said so that Alex could hear her. "You don't have to show him you have better manners than he has ... he wouldn't appreciate it...!"
With that she banged the door. We were made comfortable in the carriage by the elderly coachman who spread a blanket over our laps. I handed the grocery boys a large tip and they thanked me profusely.
"Anytime you need some strong guys ... call us, lady!" they called after the moving carriage. Steffi looked at me, grinning:
"D'you hear that? They know a pretty girl needs some strong guys ... And now wipe those silly tears from your eyes! A chapter of your life is finished and a new one is going to begin! And I know it's going to be more interesting! I told you Alex was merely the first rung of a tall ladder ... pretty soon you'll be 'Madame Mutzenbacher' to the world and 'Pepi' to your friends...!"
The coachman turned around and asked where he was supposed to take us. Steffi gave him her address.
"You're going to stay with me for a while until you can stand on your own feet again. And your next lover will have so much money that you'll be able to start that big bank account you've been dreaming about. How much cash have you got...?"
I counted the bills in my purse.
"Seventy-four guilders...."
"It isn't much, but it will help! And now put on that old smile, okay...?"
I couldn't help smiling at Steffi's guts and good humor and she quickly kissed my cheek. The carriage rolled along as the horses ran in a nice trot and I leaned back and began to look around. The leaves on the trees had turned a nice yellow and a reddish brown. It was autumn all right and the expectation of the beginning season was in the air. I thought of Fritz and hoped I could see him soon and suddenly I felt much better. Steffi was right. A new chapter in my life was about to begin.
CHAPTER FOUR
AGAIN: THE PRATER
The next two weeks were, so to speak, a vacation from worrying. Steffi let me sleep as long as I wanted to and didn't let me spend any money on food.
"Keep your 74 guilders together, Pepi! When you start making the rounds again, you'll need a little change for a cup of coffee or so. Right now, get a good rest, relax and always remember you're young, attractive, and can have any man you want to. Alex wasn't what you really need, but he served his purpose. Forget him!...."
I followed Steffi's advice. I lay in her large bed until ten in the morning. She was usually up and around at eight, but she was so considerate that I never woke up when she did her washing and her hair. She made her morning coffee on a tiny gas burner in one corner of the room and the aroma of the strong brew got into my nostrils and made it quite pleasant to wake up every day. Had I been alone, I might not have faced every new morning with the kind of courage that Steffi's presence and cheerfulness instilled in me.
Around noon we usually went to a little restaurant around the corner and had a plateful of Viennese goulash with potatoes and a glass of beer. Steffi insisted on paying for it every time.
"I could have all the food here for nothing," she explained laughingly, "if I let Alfred screw me several times a week."
Alfred was the proprietor of the place.
"Well, why don't you...?" I asked. "He is quite good-looking and not too old...."
"That's true, but Fifi, who used to come here last year, warned me ... Alfred is awfully jealous and can't understand that we girls have to make a living. He gave Fifi ten guilders every week and free meals, and he really thought that's all she ever wanted to get out of life...."
"You mean ... he thought he could keep a mistress for ten guilders a week and meals...?"
"Yes! As a matter-of-fact, he told Fifi she was lucky to get such an offer because she was just a little streetwalker. Fifi didn't argue with him. She paid the waiter for her meal and walked out without saying a word to Alfred. He called after her, but she ignored him and never came back...."
"Where's Fifi now...?"
Steffi stared at me.
"You don't know...? I thought I told you...! I guess you were so wrapped up with your Alex, we never had any time to have a long gab fest. Fifi is married!"
"You kidding me...?"
Steffi laughed.
"Why? Does it sound so impossible...? I've got to tell you the whole story...."
"First tell me who she got married to...."
"A handsome young guy in Switzerland ... he's a rich watch manufacturer in Zurich...." I sat there gaping.
"Shut your mouth, Pepi, before a fly gets into it," Steffi warned. "Come, let's go and have some coffee in that little place we discovered a few weeks ago. You know, the Cafe Hungaria ... I'll fill you in on the whole story. Yes, Fifi is much smarter than she ever let on...."
Steffi paid and we walked the two blocks to the Cafe Hungaria. We sat down at a small table on the terrace that was surrounded by oleander bushes, protecting us from curious pedestrians. As soon as the waiter had put our coffee with a hood of whipped cream in front of us, Steffi began:
"Didn't you notice how Fifi joined us only every other day in our little cafe on the Alser Street last spring...?"
"Yes, now that you mention it, I remember she said she had a steady customer who kept her busy...."
"There was no such thing! She went to the dancing school of Professor Ellmayer and took lessons...."
"That's ridiculous! Fifi could waltz as well as any of us...."
"Waltz nothing! She studied to be a stage dancer ... a little ballet and some folk dancing ... she became so good that Professor Ellmayer got her a booking at a swank nightclub in Zurich...."
"In Zurich? Why not here...?"
"She wanted to get out of here where she was a streetwalker, silly! Besides, you don't know Swiss men! If you think our Viennese are a horny lot, you should meet a few Swiss! If they see a halfway pretty broad, they get a hard-on that you can see from across the street...."
"How come they are so especially horny...?"
Steffi grinned.
"I've been told the Swiss women aren't famous for beauty. They're either large and bony or the tiny, washed-out type. But the men are very handsome. At least most of them. Tall, athletic and full-blooded. You never had a Swiss customer...?"
"No, I don't believe so...."
"Well, baby, I had two of them once. A couple of friends from Basel who were spending their vacation here. They picked me up in front of the Opera and took me to their hotel room. My, was that a night...! They were both good-looking boys, in their late twenties maybe. Built like Greek statues, but when they were lying on top of me they sure were no statues, but devils! And what vigor! When one was screwing me I had to do a hand-job on the other one. And that went on all night...."
"But that must have been wonderful...!" Steffi laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "You should try it once! Those guys didn't know anything but straight fucking and hand jobs. When I tried a blow job on one of them, he pulled his prick out of my mouth just when I thought he was going to come. I asked him whether he didn't want to come. 'Oh yes,' he said, 'but I want to come in you ...!' And he shoved his large engine into my cunt and after moving in and out a few times he unloaded a flood into me...."
I was getting horny listening to this and said:
"You're getting me all worked up with this story. How often did each of them come...?"
"I guess eight times, or even more...."
"I'll go to Switzerland tomorrow...." Steffi had a fit of laughter and asked: "And what about your career...? I thought you wanted to become a famous demimondaine like Mrs. Benesch?"
"I sure want to, but I'd love to get screwed for the fun of it, too...!"
Steffi at once became serious.
"I've told you many times that you can't always have your cake and eat it. I got sidetracked anyhow. I wanted to tell you about Fifi...."
"Oh yes! Go right ahead...!"
"Fifi is a smart cookie, she knew she had to postpone pleasure for the sake of landing her fish! She posed as a virgin, pure as the freshly fallen snow...!"
"Now you're kidding me...."
"The hell I'm kidding you! Now prick up your ears and listen! You can learn something from this. The first night she danced at the Monseigneur...."
"What's that...?"
"The name of the most elegant nightclub in Zurich, stupid! Anyway, she noticed a handsome young guy sitting all by himself at a small table in front of the little platform where she danced. He kept staring at her like she was the Queen of Sheba or something. Fifi didn't give him as much as a smile...."
"But, damn it, why...?"
"Shut up and listen! She had to come on twice each evening. Before she danced the second time that night, the wardrobe mistress came to her dressing room with an enormous bunch of beautiful red roses and a little note.
Fifi was surprised that it was written on a regular visiting card, giving the name of the guy who was no other than one of the richest watch manufacturers in the country. After she had made sure it was that good-looking chap who'd sent it, she asked the wardrobe woman to translate the message on the card . .
"Whaddya mean 'translate'...?"
"It was written in French ... The nightclub had advertised her as a French dancer, 'Ginette from Paris'...."
"What did the message say...?"
"The guy invited her to have supper with him when she was through with her second appearance that night. Fifi did some quick thinking and told the wardrobe woman to tell the man that she was from Vienna and didn't speak any French, and, second, she was not in the habit of dining with men she hadn't met socially...."
"But that was foolish...!"
"Foolish my ass! The wardrobe woman pleaded with her because the man had given her a large tip, but Fifi knew what she was doing and insisted on her refusal."
"What happened next...?"
"Fifi calculated right. The next evening the guy was sitting there again, at the same table in the front row. After her first dance number she found he had already come backstage and was standing in front of her dressing room door. 'Would you please let me pass?' she asked him. 'Not before you've promised to dine with me. Now you've met me in person. So why don't you say yes?' Fifi gave him a haughty look and said; 'Oh, I see, just because I'm a nightclub dancer and am alone here, you think you can take advantage of the situation. If you are a gentleman you'll let me go into my dressing room now ... ' "
"I still don't understand why Fifi behaved that way...?"
"If you'd shut up and not interrupt me as usual, you'd soon find out...."
"Sorry, please go on...."
"Fifi, as I said, had come to know men when they are horny. The young guy looked sad and apologized for being so insistent and Fifi told him it was quite all right and she hoped he'd come again to see her dance. Five minutes later the wardrobe mistress brought her another bouquet, this time of rare yellow roses. The message attached to it was in German. It said: 'You are the most beautiful girl I've ever met. Please, don't be cruel! I admire and respect you. Paul.' Fifi looked only at one word: 'respect'! That's what she wanted him to think of her, that she was a respectable girl, no matter that she danced in a nightclub...."
"Ah, I'm beginning to see the light...."
"No you don't ... not yet ... the guy came every night and sent her more and more costly flowers. Once, a case with a diamond bracelet in it was tied to the bouquet and Fifi promptly told the wardrobe woman to take it back. When the man came backstage and begged Fifi to accept the bracelet, she said: 'Why do you spoil everything by being so thoughtless? You should realize by now that I can't accept gifts like that from a strange man! Flowers are different. They are a homage to me as a dancer ... '
"'...Also to a beautiful woman ... ' the man added. 'Please, don't torture me any longer. Why don't you come with me tonight and have at least a snack...? ' Fifi actually liked the guy. He was very handsome and had good manners. He also had a terrific hard-on that seemed to burst through his trousers. 'After I'm through here, I've got to go to my Pension and sleep. I get up early in the morning and have to rehearse new dance numbers. I can't afford any night life. But if you'd like to, why don't you take me out to lunch tomorrow? That would be nice ... '
"Paul grabbed her hand and pressed a fiery kiss on it. 'Oh, thank you,' he stammered, 'why, of course, I'd love to take you to lunch tomorrow. May I call for you at your Pension?' "Sure, Mr. Ingall. I'll be expecting you a little after twelve...."
"But why did she call him by his last name...?"
Steffi slapped my wrist.
"I shouldn't have to explain that to you. In good society it takes quite some time to get on a first name basis. Fifi behaved like any lady would! Get it...?"
"Yes, now I do . .
"To make a long story a little shorter, Paul took her to lunch the next day and she permitted him to stay with her in the lobby of her Pension. She couldn't have invited him up to her room anyway. Switzerland is very strict on stuff like that. Young men don't visit women in hotel rooms unless they are old grandmothers or have a chaperone around."
"Wasn't Paul wondering why Fifi was called Ginette from Paris...?"
"She explained that to him right away. He was a man of the world and understood, of course. He liked her honesty and admired her only more, if that was possible. Every night he sat at his small table at the 'Monseigneur', and every other day Fifi permitted him to take her out to lunch. After ten days of this, he couldn't stand it any longer and . .
. and kissed her...?"
"Shut up! You underestimate Fifi! No, he proposed marriage to her. She played her part so well that he felt he couldn't get her into bed any other way...."
"But how could she be so sure...?"
"She gambled ... and she won...!"
"She was smart to accept his proposal at once...!"
"Ha! That's where you're wrong...!"
"You mean ... she didn't say yes immediately...?"
"No, she didn't...!"
"But ... that's crazy...!"
"No, it isn't. And you'll see why. When Paul proposed, on his knees of course, in her dressing room when they were alone for a few minutes ... Fifi made him get up. 'The wardrobe mistress may come in any minute! Sit down over there in that chair. Now, understand me right, Mr. Ingall! I'm greatly honored by your proposal. But after all, we've known each other only a little over a week. Let's discuss it tomorrow after lunch, will you? I'll expect you at the usual time. And now you must excuse me, I've got to change for my next number ...!' And with that she gently pushed him out of the door...."
"Yes, I see...! Fifi IS a smart cookie. I wouldn't have had the guts to play the game that way . .
"You've got to play it that way, Pepi, if you want to win for good. But listen to the end ... after they had had lunch the next day, Fifi played her trump cards.
"'I want you to be reasonable about this, Paul,' she said, 'I may call you, Paul, is it all right she asked innocently. 'Of course,' he assured her, covering her hand with kisses. Fifi drew her hand away and said:
"'First of all, what is your family going to say if you marry a nightclub dancer...? '
"'I have no family! My parents died when I was a boy. Now I'm 27 and am not accountable to anybody for my actions ... I can marry any girl I feel like marrying . .
"'That's fine as far as you are concerned,' said that smart Fifi, 'but my family is still alive. My folks are working people and very poor. I learned dancing on my own because I love to dance and want to make a career as an artist. Men didn't have any place in my life
"The nerve of that girl...." I couldn't help exclaiming.
"Yes, but she risked playing it for keeps...."
"And that Paul Ingall believed her...?"
"He sure did. He not only ran around with a continual hard-on, but Fifi can act like a great lady any time she wants to and be very convincing. She made Paul promise a few things in case she was going to marry him. She wanted to learn languages, like French and Italian. Paul said yes to everything. But if he had hoped she'd hop into bed with him before the whole affair was made legal, she disappointed him. He couldn't get into her until they were lying in the marital bed in his gorgeous mansion . .
"Did she pretend she was still a virgin...?"
"You bet she did. For a girl like her that was mere child's play. But Paul was very gentle and she didn't have to put on too much of an act. Don't forget, she was quite hot for him, too. You can imagine she didn't disappoint him after they'd gone through the first number on the wedding night...."
"When did you hear about all this...?"
"Fifi wrote me several letters and described all the details. She also said that if she ever came visiting here and we meet, we are, of course, strictly 'social' acquaintances. She needn't worry, I always know what to do and not to do . .
"When did you get the last letter...?"
"About a week ago. Paul didn't seem to have had much experience with women or he might have become suspicious of Fifi's tremendous sex knowledge. She made him completely dependent on her so that the guy wants to spend all the time in bed . .
"Well, do they...?"
"Fifi knows better than that. On the contrary, she makes Paul mind his business affairs. She learned shorthand and doubles as his secretary at the office. Paul was delighted to see what a smart business sense his wife has, but she is also smart enough not to make him feel inferior. And when, for the first time, she locked the office door and straddled him on his swivel chair with his cock buried in her cunt, he found out that sex at the office can be just as nice as sex in bed...."
"They do it at the office every time...?"
"That's what Fifi wrote me. Paul is very strongly sexed, like most Swiss men, and Fifi has convinced him by now that no other woman could ever satisfy him the way she does. And boy, she does it so thoroughly that she makes him come six times a night and at least four times during the day . .
"And what about herself ..
"She is wise! She's got to keep her wits about her. She says she tries to get all the pleasure out of their screwing that she possibly can, hut that often she had to pretend she's coming, because Paul is capable of giving her five, six orgasms per hour if she'd let him. The first week she was so sleepy all day that she had trouble keeping her eyes open. He'd made her come about fifteen times the night before . .
"Other people have all the luck...!"
"Don't you fret, Pepi, your time will come. And you'd better use your head, too, like Fifi.
You can't let your cunt run your life, you know . .
"You're damned right I won't let it run my life, but I hope it will run the life of several men, one after the other . .
Steffi measured me with her dark eyes.
"Why, don't YOU want to get married too...?"
"I don't know, Steffi. I still love to play the field before I decide one and the same cock is enough for me. I told you how my mother had to suffer from my father's weak performance. She'd never have let that Mr. Eckhart fuck her if father had been the man a husband is supposed to be. No, before I decide to be faithful to one man I've got to make sure I can do it. If he's a guy like Fifi's Paul, or your Fritz for that matter ... hey! What happened to Fritz? I forgot all about him...!"
Steffi looked a little sad.
"I don't know. Seems, he became disgusted after what happened when Alex surprised us. He knows where he can find me, but he's never showed up...."
Suddenly Steffi stood up.
"Come on, let's pay and get out of here. We've been sitting here for an hour. And don't let's talk about Fritz again. I made a big mistake there. Whores like us who want to go places can't afford to become sentimental about handsome young guys who've got nothing besides a good body and a big tool."
Steffi went inside the cafe and paid the waiter. When she came out she was smiling again.
"Well, don't you feel like hunting up a good customer for a change?"
"What d'you suggest I should do...?"
"You really don't need me to give you any advice, do you, Pepi...?"
I laughed. "Well, it's been quite some time since I've tried to pick somebody up...."
"Nonsense! Any healthy male that looks at you would want to fuck you right on the sidewalk if it were possible ... you know that...!" Steffi was right. The men that looked at us in the street were already fucking us with their eyes. All they needed was for us to let them know we were ready.
"Okay, Steffi ... I'll walk down to the Prater and see what's cooking there...."
"Not a bad idea. After all, that's where you picked up that damned Alex. I hope he doesn't spot you there. He'd love to see you're trying your hand at streetwalking again...."
"It's not my hand I'm trying, although a hand-job always comes in handy. Don't you worry, Steffi, I'll avoid the swank promenade on the Main Avenue. The way I feel today, I'd like to find a guy who gives me a good fuck even if he doesn't pay very much...."
Steffi looked at me like an indulgent mother whose daughter is proving incorrigible.
"In God's name...." she sighed, "but don't forget you want to make a big career very soon ... first, money! Then, pleasure!"
She waved good-bye and disappeared around the corner.
Steffi was right, as always. But before a woman can exploit the fact that she's a woman, or rather, an attractive woman, she's got to feel like one. And what better proof can she get than to feel a virile male between her legs? This is the eternal conflict a whore has to face: she has to live on selling her cunt and shouldn't give it away. On the other hand, she can't afford to let herself become an automaton, a mere fucking machine without any feelings.
I took the streetcar to the Praterstern where several avenues lead into the forest-like Prater. Instead of walking down the broad Main Avenue where the rich crowd shows up on nice afternoons, I took a path that leads to the so-called "Wurstelprater," the amusement park, with its hundreds of merry-go-rounds, Punch and Judy shows, shooting galleries, freak shows, fortune tellers and also small diners that sell hot Wiener sausages on rolls with mustard and corn on the cob. There are also little restaurants with simple tables, meaning some boards placed over two trestles where one can get some hot goulash and a glass of beer for little money.
A young, good-looking cop watched me when I walked past him for the third time. He stood next to "The Hungry Lion," one of the better restaurants where soldiers on furlough liked to dine or relax with a beer after visiting the various booths close by. They had a weakness for the shooting galleries and drove the owners to desperation by winning all the prizes offered to good marksmen.
I knew that soldiers had not much money to spend, but at least they were young and healthy. Their sexual tastes had not been perverted like those of the richer, middle-aged businessmen. Beginning to ply my old trade again, I didn't want to cater to characters who had to be beaten until their tired, wrinkled old pricks got hard, and similar nonsense. At least not the first week. There was time enough once I got my bearings again. Now I wanted to feel a young, healthy soldier stick his ever-ready tool into me. I wanted some real men for a change.
The young cop eyed me suspiciously when I stared at several soldiers who were sitting in the small restaurant garden enjoying a bite and some beer. I decided to make a play for them when they came out and noticed me walking slowly up and down. That's when they would try to pick me up. When I passed the cop he addressed me:
"You know it's against the law to pick up men. I've watched you for the past hour. Why don't you move on?"
I smiled at him and said in a hushed voice: "Shush! Not so loud! I'm trying to catch my fiance here with some other girl! That no-good guy is unfaithful to me even before we get married...."
"You ... what...? Your fiance...? Is he a soldier...?"
He didn't seem to believe me. I looked at him with obvious admiration in my eyes.
"Yes ... but he's not so handsome as you....
I wish you were my fiance...."
Now he knew that I was making it all up, but he also felt that I was attracted to him. He winked at me.
"Why don't you cut out all this malarkey?
I knew all about you when you walked by here the first time. Okay, I don't want to be a spoil-sport. Wait at least until I've walked away from here. It'll take me about half an hour to make the rounds. You should be able to land a customer by that time."
He blushed while he talked and I knew that he wasn't indifferent to my figure. He kept glancing at my firm teats that were almost visible under my thin blouse and I also noticed a slight bulge in his pants.
"You are very kind," I gushed and held out my hand.
He took it and pressed it firmly and then looked to the right and left to see whether somebody was watching. I liked him more and more.
"Please, let me walk with you for a while. You can show me your beat. It's much safer to walk with a strong policeman like you and ... well ... I like to hear you talk...."
He blushed stronger than before and seemed to hesitate:
"Are you sure you want to walk with me for a while...?"
"Quite sure! ... I like you...!"
The bulge under his fly became stronger and bigger.
"All right ... let's go...!"
I fell into step with him. We walked on a narrow path among the trees and when I grabbed his hand, he led me behind a thick growth of shrubs that sheltered us from the curious eyes of anybody who might have chosen this small path. He leaned me against a tree trunk and kissed me full on the lips. I pressed my abdomen against his and felt his stiff tool straining against the inside of his pants. I quickly unbuttoned his fly and closed my fingers around that big joy-stick. He was so excited that he began moving it in my hand. I didn't want to lose a minute of feeling that wonderful specimen in my cunt, and quickly lifted up my skirt and guided that precious dick to where it belonged. He drove it into me up to its roots so that I felt his pubic hair touching mine.
"Ahh...." he groaned, "you feel good ... much too good for doing it with so many guys ... you've a tight hole like a virgin ... it's incredible...."
He began to move faster and pressed his lips on mine. When he felt me coming, his thrusts became wilder. He reminded me of a stallion I once saw covering a mare. If only I could have that guy in bed, both of us naked, I thought-and I came the fourth time. I pressed my tongue between his lips and he responded by plunging his tongue deep into my mouth, moving it in all directions so that it felt like a penis. A sudden twitching of his dick announced he was about to come and soon he spurted a rich load into me.
"Ah...." he moaned, "ah ... this is good ... this is good ... you're sweet...."
He kept moving while filling me full with his juice and with a last, hectic thrust he stopped and rested his face on my hair.
What a pity, I thought, that I can't have a guy like this for myself. In some ways he reminded me of Fritz, the handsome, blond student. I comforted myself with the resolution of making enough money to be able to afford a virile male like this some day.
My young policeman had meanwhile brought out a large handkerchief from his pocket and tried to dry the spot between my legs. I thanked him and showed him the little towel that I carried with me in my purse for such purposes. I used it now to dry his half-stiff dick.
"I could go on like this for a while," he said laughingly. "You really are a find, girl. Do you have to earn your living that way...? Why don't you try to marry a nice guy...?"
"If a nice guy like you would marry me, I might do it," I said.
"With what I'm making I could not nourish a wife...." he whispered. "Here's a little present for you...."
He handed me a silver guilder. I didn't touch it.
"You are not a customer! Put that immediately back in your pocket...."
"No, you must take it," he insisted, "or I'll think you wanted to bribe me by letting me do it with you . .
"Bribe you...? Nonsense! I told you I like you ... d'you know how a girl like me appreciates a handsome nice fellow like you? Most of my customers are fat, elderly bastards who think they overpay me if they give me a few lousy guilders ... no, keep your money. I loved doing it with you. Any time you want to do it again, say so! I'll be around . .
"Hey, hey! That really sounds like a bribe! I've got to watch out, you know, I can't make a habit of going behind the hedges with you when I'm supposed to be walking my beat." He had adjusted his pants and now put his hands on my shoulders.
"Anyway, I enjoyed it. Let's be sensible about it. If I see you again, we can still decide what we want to do. But you must understand that I'd have to take you to the station if I catch you accosting men on my beat. You never can tell ... a supervising officer might watch ... I've got to be careful. You'd better run along now...."
I got up on my toes, put my arms around him and kissed him hard on the lips. He returned the pressure and I could feel his dick getting hard again. He gave me a slight slap on my buttocks and said:
"I've got to go now. I still say you're too good for what you're doing ... see you some time...!"
He walked with me until we reached the path again and there we parted. I walked slowly back to The Hungry Lion while he moved in the opposite direction where some music blared from a merry-go-round. I felt so good that I was debating with myself whether I should call it a day or hustle up some business. It would be a pity to ruin this pleasant experience with the young cop by yielding to some disgusting jerk for a little money.
Just when I approached the entrance to the restaurant two young soldiers came out and nearly collided with me.
"Oops...!" said one, "how lucky can you get! Running into the very thing we need!" He held me by my shoulders. I looked at his smiling eyes and liked what I saw.
"Thanks for not knocking me down," I said, "you and your buddy must be in a hurry to get what you need, as you call it...."
They both laughed. I quickly added:
"Other people need something too! For instance, me! I haven't earned my dinner yet...." They looked at each other and the taller of the two, who hadn't said anything yet, spoke up:
"If you can take us to a place where we can be alone, you might earn a couple of dinners. How about it, girlie...?"
"Well, the next hotel I know of . .
Both interrupted me right there.
"Hotel? Hell, we can't waste so much time to walk to the Praterstern ... we need it badly ... why not pick a nice quiet spot here ... there are lots of trees and shrubs all around ... there's nothing like nature when you want to do something natural...."
"All right, fellows! Come with me ...!" I led them to the same spot where the young cop had screwed me so passionately. It's a nice superstition to believe that at a spot where you had a good lay you will always get another good one. But I wasn't expecting what the two soldiers were up to.
It was quite dark among the trees now and the boys asked me to get out of my skirt. At the same time they took off their pants and shorts. The next moment they had jumped on me like two hungry tigers. One pressed against my belly, the other rubbed his enormous tool against the cleft of my fanny. The one in front pushed his dick into my hole. He had to bend his knees a little to hit the right spot. His hands grabbed my buttocks quite firmly. His buddy had the good sense to put plenty of saliva on his prick before he tried to stick it into my ass; it still hurt like hell. He took hold of my teats and kneaded them, which relaxed me somewhat. After a few seconds I felt his big tool almost in my intestines, but the guy in front had begun to move in me and soon the pain in my rear was exceeded by the pleasure in front.
It was the first time that I had the pricks of two men in me at one and the same time. After a few minutes of being fucked that way I felt as if I had a whole regiment plunging their cocks into me and giving me the works. The boys began to moan and stammer all sorts of nonsense.
"Ah ... what a tiny asshole ... Hans, I feel your cock moving in her cunt...."
"Yeah...." said my front-fucker, "and I feel yours moving in her ass ... let's get this organized ... when you push it in, I pull mine back ... and when I push it in, you pull back ... we don't want to split the poor girl apart...."
I was grateful for that consideration because when they had both pushed into me simultaneously I actually thought their cocks were touching each other inside me. But now they didn't crowd me or each other any more and I began to enjoy that double-fuck the more it progressed. They both discharged into me at the same time, squeezing me with their hands so that I almost yelled with pain, but they soon let go of me and dropped onto the grass. I flopped down too and bedded my head on my skirt that was lying there. I felt like falling asleep.
I must have dozed off, because I was startled by feeling something hard slip into my cunt. It was the tall soldier who was ready for a solo lay. He took his time and seemed to want to give me some satisfaction, too.
"That's fine ... girlie ... I feel you're coming ... you're really good ... yes ... move your little ass ... that's it ... Ah ... I'm coming myself now ... ah...."
And with a violent end-thrust he spurted his juice into me. He'd made me come twice. Now his buddy was ready to take over. He didn't even give me time to let all that liquid run out of my hole. It was just as well to let his oversized prick move in my richly lubricated slit.
"I was wrong, girlie...." he mumbled, " ... you're just as tight in front as you are in your rear ... ah ... this is something...!"
His big cock stimulated another flow of juices in me and I heard myself moan:
"Yes ... yes ... that's good ... don't come yet ... ah ... you're making me come all the time . .
I was throwing my hips in all directions and almost made him slip out of me. But he was soon firmly in control and moved in me faster and faster. Suddenly I felt his buddy's prick in my right hand. This wild lay right in front of him had speeded his recuperation and he wanted me to give him a good hand-job, which I did, with great pleasure.
Again they both came at the same time. When my rider squirted his semen into me, his buddy's prick exploded its load into my hand and beyond it in the grass. They had the decency to lend me their handkerchiefs to dry my hand and other parts of my anatomy that were smeared with a sticky wetness. They also helped me pull on my skirt, but I sat down on the grass again while they put their pants on. I was tired. First a young, vigorous cop and now these two sex-starved soldiers-I couldn't complain of not having obtained my full share of pleasure.
They pulled me to my feet and Hans, the smaller of the two, pressed some coins into my hand.
"Here you are, girlie...." he said and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Nobody should say we soldiers are ungrateful . .
They gave me a mock salute and marched off toward the lights of the small avenue among the trees. I followed them slowly and looked at the coins when I had reached a lantern. Four silver guilders! Quite a generous sum for soldiers who were not overpaid themselves.
I didn't want to spend anything on a fiacre this time; I had to keep my money together. Slowly and almost sleepily I walked to the Praterstern where I boarded a streetcar for home. To my surprise, Steffi was already there and told me she was a little concerned about how I'd make out. When I told her of my adventures, she laughed and said:
"This time you did get your cake and could eat it too. I came home because I've got some news for you. Tomorrow we're going to see a friend of mine ... he's not exactly a friend ... a guy who's headwaiter in a swank nightclub that provides its rich customers with all sorts of unusual entertainment...."
She saw me yawn and exclaimed:
"You are pooped! Did you have something to eat...?"
I yawned again:
"No ... and I'm much too sleepy to feel hungry...."
Steffi began to undress me like a child.
"Off to bed with you! I'll tell you all the details tomorrow over our coffee...."
I was grateful for her understanding. I must have fallen back onto the pillows when she was still slipping my nightgown over my head. Nothing makes a woman sleep more soundly than a good lay, or several of them.
CHAPTER FIVE
CAFE AND SEPAREE
The smell of coffee woke me up. Steffi had it sent up from the cafe across the street. There were also two crisp Kaiser rolls with butter. The tray was waiting on the table near the window.
I got up and put on a dressing gown to join Steffi who had already begun to sip her coffee and munch a roll. Neither of us liked breakfast in bed on account of the crumbs that invariably slipped among the bed sheets. I took my first sip of coffee and felt wonderful. My sexual bout of the previous evening had stirred my ambition again. I was a good-looking wench, there was no doubt about it, and men did get a hard-on when they looked at me. And that was all I had to remember, to realize that much depended on myself to reach the goal.
For a moment I toyed with the thought of how I'd like to marry a nice, virile guy like the cop of last night. He was exceptionally nice, even affectionate. And, no matter how much I longed "to have it regularly," to feel a powerful prick stimulate my cunt the way the young cop had done, I knew I was a sucker for affection because it was a rare thing to get from a man. Most of them wanted mere genital sex, without any sentimental nonsense. And that was all right with me-as long as they paid me decently. But deep down I was a real woman who craved romantic love. I'd never felt it so distinctly as, first, with Fritz, the blond student friend of Steffi, and again last night with that charming policeman.
"You look as if you had to solve a deep problem," said Steffi, interrupting my thoughts. "You haven't touched your roll yet. Look how much butter they spread on it before they sent it up. That waiter must be in love with us...." I took a hearty bite out of the roll and washed it down with coffee.
"Well ... it just occurred to me that a whore has to make a lot of money, first, before she can afford to be a woman, too...."
"Oh, oh...." said Steffi, "you sound like you're still dreaming of the lays you got yesterday. Pepi, Pepi! There are lots of nice guys around, even those with money! And that's what you have to concentrate on from now on! And now listen to the good news. You know the Cafe Oberlecliner on the Opernring, don't you?"
"Sure! It's a first-class cafe next to the opera. I once looked in there, but all tables were taken. I saw a few single women sitting alone at small tables. I recognized one. She's a high-class whore, I was told by Poldi who was with me. Picking up her customers only in nightclubs and hotel lobbies...."
"And that's what you are going to do from now on...."
At Steffi's suggestion I put on one of my better dresses that wasn't too showy and went to the Cafe Oberlecliner, where a fat, bald headwaiter led me to a table by one of the large windows. I had told him I was a friend of Steffi and she might join me soon.
Franz, that was his name, smirked and said: "Well, if Steffi is late, you won't get bored here. There are a lot of professional men who come here: doctors, lawyers, even judges. But we have one rule that you've got to remember. No picking up on the premises! If you think that a man looks at you with special interest, look back at him, smile, and leave. He'll soon call me and pay also for your coffee and go after you. If you walk slowly, he'll soon catch up with you and make a deal with you...."
"Thanks for telling me all that, Franz ... but before you bring me some coffee...."
"I don't bring you any coffee. I'm the headwaiter here ... I just take your order...." He turned to a young waiter who passed by: "Ferdl, one coffee for the lady. And plenty of whipped cream on top...."
"Thanks again," I said, "but what did Steffi mean when she said something of a nightclub...?"
Franz was busy putting a few newspapers and magazines on a chair beside me. Every cafe, even the smallest, subscribes to them for the convenience of the customers.
"What nightclub...?"
"Steffi said there are places that have several private rooms...."
Franz laughed and pretended to clean the marble top of the table with a napkin.
"That's not a nightclub ... there are several restaurants in town where you find small private rooms on either side of the main dining room. Some can be closed by regular doors, and some by thick curtains ... the French call them chambres separees ... you haven't been around much, have you...?"
I felt Franz was trying to put me down and wanted to show him I was not the naive beginner that he seemed to take me for, but he excused himself abruptly. A customer sitting across the room wanted to pay and leave.
I watched Franz talking to the man with great deference, counting out the change and bowing quite low when he got his tip. Apparently a big one. It was an older man, perhaps in his early sixties, with a gray moustache and short beard, in an elegant black suit, white shirt and black tie. The coat into which Franz helped him had a fur collar. He looked very dignified and stern, like a retired school principal. Before he left, he gave me a serious, almost reproachful look like a teacher who was reprimanding a pupil. Franz again made a deep bow when the man went out of the door and then he came back to my table.
"You've already made a conquest ... by the way, what's your name...?"
"Pepi. Pepi Mutzenbacher...."
"Yes, Pepi, the Herr Hofrat asked me to give you this message ... here ... he wrote his address on this piece of paper. He said you should come right up to his place after fifteen minutes ... he's paid for your coffee, too...." I was flabbergasted.
"Are you kidding...? The stern-looking old guy is interested in me...? How come...? And he is a Hofrat, Privy Councillor...?"
"Yes, but retired ... has quite a lot of money and is not stingy when he gets what he wants ... you'd better go right after him now . .
I looked at the address, written in a small pedantic script. It was quite near the cafe. I was still hesitating.
"Thanks a lot, Franz, but ... but I can't believe the man is really interested in me ... he gave me such a stern look, like he was angry at me or something...."
Franz was chuckling.
"Never mind that! I know, he looks like he's always mad at something, but ... that has its reason. And you'll soon find out what it is...."
"Oh no!" I said, "not one of those sadists who beat hell out of you...."
Franz put his hand on my arm.
"Nothing to be afraid of, Pepi ... you can trust me. And you won't regret it. It'll be worth your while ... now you'd better go...." I opened my purse and gave Franz half a crown as a tip. He took it at once, thanking me politely and bowing when I got up. He must have gotten a nice tip from that Hofrat, too, but I understood that he never said "no" when offered even a small tip. Steffi explained to me, later, that's how many of the better known headwaiters grew rich. Those in the larger cafes and restaurants and, of course, in nightclubs. If they didn't pander, they took care of other kinds of "little jobs" to oblige a well-tipping customer.
"Never forget to tip a headwaiter...." Steffi added. "Don't ever believe he's doing something for you for nothing...."
"But suppose I'm broke...." I said.
Steffi nodded wisely.
"Yes, that can happen ... but a good-looking girl can always pay ... with something! Even if it's not cold cash!"
I remembered this when I walked toward the building where the stern-looking Hofrat had his apartment. It was he who answered the door when I had discreetly rung the bell. His stern expression had disappeared. Now he looked embarrassed.
"Come in, please!"
His voice was low-pitched, almost gentle. He led me straight into what I thought was his study. Black upholstered furniture and thick, dark-green curtains against the tall windows. No pictures or photos on the white walls. The Herr Hofrat helped me out of my overcoat and put it over a straight-backed chair in the corner. He asked me to sit down in the armchair next to the huge desk and lowered himself in the comfortable swivel armchair behind it.
Now he assumed the stern expression I had seen at the cafe. If possible, he looked even sterner, almost angry. I felt a little anxious and must have shown it in my face, because he seemed to like it. Undoubtedly a sadist, I thought.
"I don't know whether the headwaiter has told you that I need a good secretary...."
"A secretary...?" I exclaimed.
"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking!" He'd raised his voice and glanced at me sharply.
"Watch your manners, above all! As I've said, I need a good secretary who can take dictation...."
I couldn't help interrupting him again.
"Excuse me, Herr Hofrat, but I've never done anything of that sort ... I don't even know whether I can spell correctly...."
"Never mind ... he cut in, in a rough voice. "Nobody but I will decide how eligible you are. And now, take off everything except your chemise. And then sit down over here at the small desk in the corner...."
He turned discreetly away while I took off my shoes, stockings, dress and panties. When I was about to sit down on the straight-backed chair before the small writing desk he had indicated, I noticed a hole in the middle of the chair. It reminded me of the ring-shaped seat cushions for people suffering from piles.
The Herr Hofrat squatted next to me and stuck his finger through the hole and played a little with my pubic hair without touching my hole at all. After a while he said, again in a serious tone:
"And now write the following letter...."
I found a batch of writing paper lying on the large blotter and dipped a pen into the inkstand and waited.
"Write ... 'Dear Sirs'...."
I hesitated.
"Do you spell 'Sirs' with one or two r's ...?" He looked at me forbiddingly and stood up. He reminded me of one of my teachers at school who loved to slap our wrists with a ruler. When he noticed that I seemed to be afraid, he nodded as if he'd expected it. I saw that he was actually glad. It gave me a good idea how I was to behave to satisfy this peculiar customer.
"A good secretary...." he began, after clearing his throat impressively, "a good secretary has to know that! Incidentally, what is your name...?"
"Pepi...." I whispered.
"All right, Miss Josephine! I must punish you now...."
He sat down in his swivel chair and put me over his knee. Then he took a very small ruler from the desk and beat me with it on my naked behind, but very lightly. I found that so funny that I shook with silent laughter and tears came to my eyes. When he told me to get up, he saw how red my face was, but he thought I had cried from pain and looked highly pleased. Now I was quite sure of what he wanted. I faked a little sob as a special favor. Now he opened his fly and brought out a little, wrinkled, grayish old thing that was supposed to be a penis. He took it carefully between two fingers and moved it from side to side. Then he said:
"Let's go ahead with the letter. 'Dear Sirs ... In reply to your latest of ...!' "
"Please, Herr Hofrat, do you spell 'latest' with an 'a' or with an 'e'...?"
This time he made me get up and bend over. He gave me one slap on the right buttock and one on the left. We continued with the dictation for about a quarter hour and I interrupted every moment with some silly question. He slapped me each time with the small ruler and increased the number of slaps by one on every occasion. I sobbed dutifully, but it didn't hurt a bit. My fanny didn't even become red as I noticed when I looked in a mirror that hung quite low on the wall.
I acted as if I were terribly afraid of him, which made his old sunken dick come to life a tiny little bit. I didn't even sit down anymore, but wrote standing up. Now I pretended I couldn't write any of the words correctly. He kept belaboring my fanny with the small ruler and I whined and sighed as if he were actually hurting me. At last his dick stood up straight, but the next moment it collapsed again and not even one drop appeared on its tip.
The Herr Hofrat quickly turned around and put his face in his hands as if he were very sad. Then he stowed his wrinkled dick away in his fly. I suddenly remembered that Steffi had told us girls of some crazy old Hofrat who used to be a regular customer of hers. That's exactly how he used to act, according to her story.
I pretended to cry silently, although I was inwardly shaking with laughter. The man seemed to be really gullible. He brought a wet towel and cooled my abused fanny.
"I'm really sorry, Miss Josephine...." His voice sounded quite gentle this time. "But punishment has to be as you know...."
"Of course, Herr Hofrat...." I said with a final sob.
"You will make a good secretary, Miss Josephine! Now we shall continue with our letter next Thursday. I'll be expecting you . .
He gave me a sealed white envelope and let me out of the apartment. To satisfy him even more, I made a shy, awkward curtsy before I walked out the door. He looked quite pleased and then said with a stern voice:
"Don't forget! Next Thursday at exactly four in the afternoon! Be punctual, or I'll have to punish you . .
I quickly ran downstairs. I opened the envelope before I stepped into the street and found two brand-new ten guilder bills. Not bad, I thought, considering the guy was one of the most acceptable sadists I'd ever met, or ever was to meet again.
When I went back to the Cafe Oberlecliner I found Steffi waiting for me at the same table I had occupied earlier. She was talking to Franz. When I came in they both were looking at me, grinning from ear to ear. I sat down with a contented sigh.
"Well...." asked Franz, "did you have to suffer much?"
I laughed. "No, I'm not sighing because it hurts to sit down...."
Steffi laughed too.
"I hear you were picked up by my crazy, old Hofrat. Did you turn out to be a good secretary...."
"I hope not...." I said. I waited until Franz followed a call from some customer. He didn't have to know everything.
"I am such a lousy secretary," I continued, "that I earned twenty guilders in hardly more than one hour. How's that...?"
"Twenty...?" Steffi wondered. "I'm going to be jealous of you. The old geezer never gave me more than ten. But, of course, that was last year ... what else did he do but tickle you with that little ruler...."
"Nothing at all ... when his antique little prick stood up at last, it shrunk again the next moment ... that was all...."
"Ah...." said Steffi. "I guess that's it. He seems to feel guilty now and pays more. You see, last year he could still keep up his erection for a few minutes. He used to rub it against my buttocks, but nothing came. Yes, the dear old Hofrat is getting old...."
We both laughed and Steffi said:
"Franz thinks you are very pretty and he could recommend you to the headwaiter of The Green Anchor...."
"What's that...?"
"That swank restaurant in the Seiler Street, you must know it...?"
"I guess I passed it quite often. Is that the place where they have those separees...?"
"Yes! And the customers there are all very rich people, often with well-known names. Let's go now, I paid Franz for our coffee before you came...."
"But doesn't he have to give me a recommendation to the place...?"
"I've got it here in my purse. Take it and don't lose it...."
Steffi handed me the ace of hearts that belonged in a stack of cards somewhere.
"Here! You give this to Rudolf, the headwaiter of The Green Anchor, and say that Franz sent you...."
"An ace of hearts ... what sort of recommendation is this...?"
"Don't be silly," Steffi chided me. "What sort of introduction do you expect? Something like, 'This is to introduce Pepi Mutzenbacher who's a first-class whore and will please all your customers ... ' Franz can't afford to put anything in writing. He and Rudolf have a special code of their own. When he sends a girl to Rudolf with, let's say, an ace of clubs, she's nothing special and Rudolf will use her only if he's short of 'material.' If the girl shows him an ace of spades, it means Rudolf can fuck her himself as often as he wants to...."
"I don't quite get the idea...."
"You see, Rudolf works very hard and has little time to pick up girls. He can't use those that are exclusively for his customers, for various reasons. But Franz is obligated to him for all sorts of favors and that's the way he reciprocates ... he sends him a nice piece of ass from time to time...."
"I wonder what Rudolf does for Franz so that he feels like sending him gratis lays...."
"Never mind, Pepi! It doesn't do much good to get too curious around these guys. Don't you know that waiters are all potential detectives? They know a lot about a lot of people! And headwaiters are almost like secret service men ... they often know more than the police would like to know. Never underrate them! They can help you in more than one way...."
"Yes, I'm beginning to believe that."
Steffi snapped her purse shut with a bang and said:
"We'd better get some dinner now and then you put on your best dress and take off for The Green Anchor. Let's go...."
We nodded to Franz who was busy across the room and he gave us a polite bow. After all, we looked and behaved like ladies and it was in his own interest to treat us that way in front of his customers.
We had a quick dinner at a small place near Steffi's rooming house and then went to her room where I freshened up and chose a really costly dress that was one of Alex's presents. Wine-red velvet and genuine lace around the d'collet'. It also had a little train that made me look taller. It was clear that I'd have to hire a carriage in this sort of getup. Instead of a hat I put on an opera shawl of tulle with silver sequins, and to look like a real lady I put on a pair of long black gloves that came up to my elbows.
Steffi thought I looked my best and was going to be a smash hit.
"I've got to run, Pepi...." she said, I'm already late for my date with my doctor friend. He's getting laid every Thursday, just like your new customer, the crazy Hofrat. You look stunning ... just do everything Rudolf is going to tell you and ... be careful...!"
And she was gone. I spent some time before the full-length mirror and admired myself. I wished it was already two years later and I had become the mistress of a millionaire. He wouldn't have to be ashamed of me, at least not as far as my looks were concerned.
I splurged and hired a fiacre to take me to The Green Anchor. A fat, friendly little man in tails received me inside. It was Rudolf, the headwaiter. When I handed him the ace of hearts, he looked perplexed.
"So help me God, I wouldn't have suspected you're one of Franz's prot'g'es...."
Who did you think I was...?" I asked, greatly flattered.
Rudolf grinned and made a bow.
"If you had come with an escort, I'd have taken you for a baroness, at least...."
"I'm glad to hear that because I wanted to make a good impression on you. Franz wouldn't have given me the ace of hearts for you if he didn't set high hopes on me . .
Rudolf took me to a sort of dressing room that was next to his office.
"Lady customers use this very often to adjust their coiffure and readjust their toilettes...."
I winked at him.
"I suppose their coiffures and toilettes need to be readjusted pretty often...?"
He laughed discreetly and said nothing. I sat down on an upholstered chair and said: "Please don't let me detain you. I know you're a busy man. D'you think there will be something for me tonight...?"
"That's what I was going to find out a while ago. Excuse me a minute, I'll have to look over the list of reservations . .
I was alone in the elegantly furnished room that reminded me more and more of the dressing room of an actress ... I stepped in front of the mirror to see whether my coiffure didn't need any readjustments, but I couldn't find a hair out of place. It would probably look different before I left The Green Anchor later.
Rudolf came back and seemed a little excited.
"You really are a godsend tonight. It doesn't happen often that I make a mistake, but I just discovered that I accepted a reservation for a very important gentleman and forgot to notify the lady that usually entertains him here. I bet he won't mind to find you as a replacement...."
"Who is he...?"
Rudolf put his index finger before his lips. "No names of course! If a customer wants to introduce himself to you that's his own business. All I can tell you is that he's a member of high society. I'm going to see whether he's ready to be told about you...."
"Where is he now...?"
"He's already in the separee waiting for his 'lady' and doesn't know yet she won't be here tonight. I'd better tell him about it and do some apologizing...."
Rudolf disappeared and was back in five minutes, radiating all over his broad face.
"His excellency was very gracious about it and would like you to join him for dinner. Follow me!"
Rudolf stepped close to me and whispered fiercely: "And don't ask him any personal questions...!"
We went down a narrow hallway that was separated by heavy curtains from the general dining hall, on one side, and from a row of private rooms, the separees, on the other. It was in front of one of the latter that Rudolf stopped and drew the curtains aside. He bowed and said:
"This is the lady, your excellency!"
Making a deep bow, he stepped aside and let me enter. A tall gray-haired man got up from the ottoman in the corner and met me halfway, taking my hand and kissing it. Fortunately I had thought of taking off my right glove before I entered.
"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," he said in a low-pitched voice. And turning to Rudolf who had entered and closed the curtain behind him:
"You certainly had no reason to apologize for bringing me such a beautiful guest, Rudolf. On the contrary, I am greatly obliged to you...."
And turning to me again:
"Why don't you sit down, my dear, right here at the table ... Rudolf, please open the champagne and tell them to start serving...." With a loud noise the champagne cork popped against the ceiling and Rudolf again apologized, this time for forgetting the duties of an experienced headwaiter who should have opened the bottle with a minimum of noise.
"Oh, that's quite all right," said my host. "Such a festive occasion must be greeted with a gun salute to the charming visitor ... I forgot to ask your name, young lady...?"
I made a slight bow.
"Pepi Mutzenbacher."
"Ah, Mademoiselle Pepi then! We shall drink on your visit...."
Rudolf had filled the two chalices and my host, touching my glass, said:
"To the beauty of Mademoiselle Pepi!"
"And to your health, sir...." I added.
I drank only a little of the bubbling liquid. Steffi had warned me always to leave the unrestrained drinking to the men.
Rudolf left and my host sat opposite me at the nicely laid table; everything was silver and crystal.
"By the way, Mademoiselle Pepi, tonight you don't have to stand on ceremony. I'm neither to be called 'sir', or 'excellency' by you. I am simply Anton!"
"Thank you, your excel ... I mean, Anton...!"
There was a clatter of plates and dishes outside and soon two waiters came in, loaded down with trays, which they deposited on a small sideboard. It was an excellent dinner, or rather supper. Six courses and no wines except the dry champagne. Rudolf opened the third bottle before the dessert arrived.
"Thank you, Rudolf. We don't need anything after that...." said Anton, as I called him now.
When Rudolf left with a deep bow, he pulled a sliding panel from one side of the wall which served as a door, apart from the draw curtains.
As soon as we were alone, Anton wanted me to drink some more of the champagne.
"You had only two glasses ... he said. "Don't you like it...?"
"It's delicious, but I don't like to drink very much. You don't want me to fall asleep."
"No! At least not without me...!" said my host, laughing at his own remark.
I politely joined in his laughter. His face was quite red and I could see that he was trying to find an appropriate transition from polite conversation to getting down to brass tacks. I decided to make it easy for him. The champagne and the closed room had made me feel quite warm, I began to fan myself with a napkin and asked:
"It's quite warm in here, Anton. Do you mind if I take off my shawl...?"
I still wore the tulle shawl with the sequins on my hair. He jumped up and had to steady himself on the back of my chair. Laughingly he said:
"I guess the champagne is quite strong. Permit me to help you with the shawl...."
"No, thanks! I've got to do that myself. It's fastened with hairpins...."
"Ah, why don't you want to be a good sport and let down your beautiful hair...? Please, let me do it myself...."
"If you promise to be careful...."
"I promise...."
With trembling fingers he removed the two pins that held the shawl in place and then gently removed all the other pins until my rich hair fell over my shoulders.
"How beautiful...!" he exclaimed. "You look like a real nymph...."
Oh God, I thought, remembering my crazy "satyr" of the Vienna Woods. Not that again!
"My dear...." Anton said, still standing behind my chair, "why don't you open your dress a little to be less bothered by the heat...? Come, let's sit down on the sofa there...."
He led me to the ottoman and made me sit down.
"It's kind of you to let me open my dress a little," I said, looking up at him, "but you'll have to help me open the two buttons on my back. It's difficult for me to reach them, especially after a delicious supper like that...."
Anton leaned against me when he tried to search for the buttons of my dress below my neck and I felt his stiff dick touching my face. Of course, it was still inside his trousers. But I was ready for some good healthy fun and while he was busy with the buttons of my dress, I opened the buttons of his fly. To my great consternation his erection collapsed as soon as I touched it.
Anton quickly stepped away from me. His face showed anger.
"Don't ever touch me unless I tell you...." he said with a voice a little heavy from the wine.
I knew I'd made a mistake. Apparently Anton did have his peculiarities and I had to be very careful about dealing with him. I quickly apologized.
He had drawn up a chair and sat down a little away from me. His breath was almost audible.
"Mademoiselle Pepi, you're supposed to do only what I tell you. Hasn't Rudolf prepared you...?"
I became somewhat disturbed.
"Prepared...? For what...?"
Anton came over to me and pulled my breasts out from the opened dress. His flushed face was close to mine now.
"For my specialty! Because I have my own manner of enjoying a beautiful woman...." In spite of his being quite drunk, he must have sensed my growing uneasiness. He stroked my cheek and said:
"There's nothing to be afraid of. Just do only what I tell you and you won't regret it...." He made me get up as carefully as his condition permitted, he pulled the dress off me. He seemed quite satisfied to find me willing.
"Now let me look at you ... ah, I knew you'd look divine in your lingerie ... not every woman looks good in her undies ... it's got to be a special type, like you, for instance ... and now let me strip you down more and more...."
I must admit he tried not to tear any of my lingerie. Piece after piece came off until I stood there nude, except for my shoes and silk stockings.
"We'll leave those on...." he said when he thought I wanted to take them off too.
He asked me to recline on the couch and came over to me. I could see that his dick was bursting against his fly. His hands touched every part of my body and while he kissed my navel he had opened his fly and I could feel his prick touch my legs.
"Don't move now...!" he warned me.
His mouth moved toward my grotto and his able tongue began to play with my clitoris, but when I reacted accordingly and jerked my body, he stopped and said:
"Don't move...! I want you to lie still...!" That's a nice way of having sex, I said to myself. He gets me all worked up, but doesn't want me to show it. Other men get a kick out of seeing how the woman reacts to their caresses, but my "excellency" had what he calls his "specialty." I wasn't even quite sure whether what he was doing at the moment was already the specialty, or whether I was in for a surprise of some kind.
I couldn't prevent myself from coming and was afraid he might resent it. But as soon as my juices were flowing, he slurped and licked up every drop. Then he grabbed the freshly opened champagne bottle from the ice bucket, filled his glass and chased my glandular secretions with the good, dry champagne. I wondered whether I should take this for a compliment or for an offense. Perhaps my vaginal juice tasted good with a chaser of champagne, or he wanted to get rid of the taste. Anton didn't enlighten me on this point. Instead he announced:
"And now comes my specialty...."
He filled a glass full of champagne and dunked his dick in it. I thought the cold wine might make the erection collapse, but it didn't. The tickling of the bubbles seemed to stimulate it all the more. Now Anton placed himself in front of my face and commanded:
"Put it in your mouth and show your skill. And tickle my balls very gently with your fingers...."
I did as ordered and soon my "skill" had the desired effect. It was the first time I had to do a blow-job on a dick bathed in champagne. When Anton discharged he grabbed my head and pressed my face against his belly. He almost choked me with his large prick so that I had difficulty in swallowing his semen. The next moment he let go of me and poured some champagne in my glass on the table, brought it over to me and said:
"Drink...!"
I did and was wondering whether that was the end of it. I was quite worked up and wanted to feel that big stick of his in my cunt at long last. But he readjusted his pants and told me to rest for a while if I felt like it. He took a few banknotes from his wallet and put them under my champagne glass, then he put on his overcoat and, half turning in my direction, he said: "Rudolf will see that you get home, Mademoiselle Pepi. See you again some time...." And he was gone. Tired though I was, I jumped up and looked at the banknotes on the table. Five twenty guilder bills! That was the biggest sum of money I'd ever received from a one-night-stand customer. I was a little disappointed that he had made his departure so abruptly, in contrast to his very courteous welcome two hours before. But I realized that as soon as he wasn't horny any more, Mademoiselle Pepi had become a better-class whore who wanted to get paid. For one hundred guilders I'd accept any lack of chivalrous courtesy.
Suddenly the sliding panel moved again and without any warning Rudolf appeared between the parted curtains. I instinctively put my hand in front of my mound, but Rudolf laughed.
"A beauty like you doesn't have to be ashamed to be seen naked. His excellency told me that you might like to get something stiff between your legs...."
Before I had the time to realize what he said, he had pushed me on my back on the couch and was kneeling between my thighs and pushing his bared prick into me. It was not too long, but reasonably thick, and he moved quickly back and forth. He was considerate enough not to put his fat red face too close to mine and kept moving in a fast but regular rhythm. When I came, he said:
"I knew you'd enjoy it ... my prick is not as big as the one of his excellency, but it can do a good job ... you have a very small hole, Pepi ... that's mighty good ... you ought to be able to go places with a cunt like that ... ah ... I'm coming now ... ah...."
And with a last violent thrust he unloaded into me. He got off me and dunked a napkin into some champagne and cleaned my mound and the hair around it almost affectionately. "You've got a fortune here...." he said.
He helped me get into my clothes and asked me to sit down for a minute because he had to tell me something important. He went out and came back with two cups of strong coffee and urged me to sip it. He took a sip from his own cup, looked at me in a speculative sort of way and then said:
"Pepi, I know you've made good money tonight. But you could do much better! I'd hate to lose you as an 'entertainer' in this place, but I can make a better deal for both of us...." The coffee was hot and strong and helped me to think and listen attentively.
"What d'you mean, for both of us...?"
Rudolf fixed his shrewd little eyes on me.
"It means that I'm not going to lose anything by getting you a better job . .
"A job...? What are you talking about...?" He was silent for a minute and seemed to ponder how he should formulate his next sentence. At last he asked:
"How would you like to work in a fashionable house of assignation, Pepi...?"
I nearly hit the saucer with my coffee cup when I put it down with a bang.
"Let's call things by their proper names, Rudolf. You mean a whorehouse, don't you...?" He laughed, but added quite seriously: "There are whorehouses and whorehouses, Pepi. When I call it a house of assignation, I mean of course a very high-class whorehouse...."
"High-class or not," I said, "I'd be under the supervision of a madam and I have more than an idea of what madams do. They get all the money and the poor girls keep owing them percentages ... they're like slaves who can never get out of there again...."
Rudolf put his coffee on the table and paced up and down in front of me. He talked slowly, as if choosing his words.
"If you think that I'd propose that sort of establishment to you, we'd better stop talking about it ... you seem to take me for a cheap panderer and pimp...."
I remembered Steffi's exhortations and said quickly:
"No, Rudolf ... I don't think that at all. But I tell you quite frankly that I want to get out of these one-night stands ... I already had a rich friend, but he got tired of me ... or, the truth is ... I behaved stupidly...."
Rudolf was listening intently now. He asked: "You mean Alex Feringer...?"
I was quite surprised. "How d'you know...?"
"Things get around among headwaiters in this town ... I heard about you before you came here tonight...."
"You mean one of Alex's friends told you ...?"
"Never mind ... names don't matter. But I'm glad you told me the truth. That gives me some hope we can do some business together...."
He pulled up a chair and sat facing me. "Listen, Pepi! I'm getting on in years and want to quit this headwaiter racket. I've saved enough money to retire, but not enough to live comfortably the way I want to. Now I know the madam of a very exclusive place. I recommended a very attractive girl to her a few years ago and earned a very nice percentage from it...."
I was about to speak, but he silenced me with a gesture.
"No, the girl didn't have to pay me. The madam shares part of her income with me. She used to be a well-known demimondaine in her youth...."
"Like Madame Benesch...?"
He grinned. "No, not quite of that class, but still far above the average...."
"And what happened to that girl...?"
"Believe it or not, but she's been married to a count for two years now...."
"You're kidding me ... how can a count marry a whore...? She can be his mistress, but ... a wife...?" Rudolf sighed and said:
"If you'd only let me talk first before you jump at conclusions. It's an Italian count ... Of course, no Austrian aristocrat could have married her, but that Italian could take her to his palace in Rome where nobody knew anything of the girl's past ... but the fact remains that when that girl left, Madame Yvonne lost one of her biggest attractions . .
"Madame Yvonne...? In the Kruger Street
"Oh, so you've heard about her...?"
"Yes, my friend Steffi mentioned her once. The Kruger Street, that's close to the opera ... that's the best section of town...."
"See? I told you it wasn't any of those cheap joints ... now I'll be quite open with you. I'm sure Madame Yvonne would be glad to get you. She never keeps more than four girls ... now she's left with only three. If I introduce you to her, my percentage will be enough to let me retire ... there! Now it's up to you...!" He was so serious that I knew he had spoken truthfully. But I still had my doubts.
"What about the percentage that the girls have to give to Madame Yvonne...?"
"None! That's the big difference between Madame Yvonne's place and a second or third-class brothel. She gets paid by the customer. And whatever the girls receive is theirs. What's more, if you need any lingerie and good clothes, Madame gets them at a discount price for her girls and for herself. She still has connections from the days when the newspapers described how she was dressed when she appeared at the races with a rich friend. You can believe me!
I'm not doing this for your sake only! It's me I'm thinking of. You see ... I speak quite frankly...."
I began to yawn and got up.
"Please, help me into my overcoat, Rudolf, and then call a cab for me. I appreciate your offer, but I want to talk it over with Steffi, my girl friend. She's got more brains than I have...."
Rudolf held out my coat for me.
"You're quite sharp, Pepi. And you got all the rest...."
He pressed his palm around my breasts when he helped me to button the coat.
"... a girl like you is wasted in separees, or being picked up in cafes. I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll have my after-lunch coffee at the Cafe Oberlecliner tomorrow. Why don't you meet me there no matter how you decide. How about it...?"
"Fine! I'll be there. The Oberlecliner is always a good place for a girl ... and yes, thanks for tonight...!"
I stooped a little and kissed Rudolf on his shiny bald head. A waiter on the other side of the curtain announced that Rudolf was wanted. He accompanied me to the entrance and was about to whistle for a cab when a one-horse carriage pulled up, and a late customer got out and paid the driver. Rudolf made me get in and called:
"Don't forget ... tomorrow after lunch...!" I told the driver Steffi's address and arrived there in fifteen minutes. The driver seemed to know what a single female was doing at The Green Anchor late at night, because when I handed him the fare and a good tip, he grinned and said:
"Thanks! I wish all the ladies who come from The Green Anchor and want to get home in a cab gave me such tips ... good night ... countess!"
Viennese cabdrivers bestow nobility on everybody who gives them a good tip. I thought I was perhaps a little too generous. To give him less and be called baroness would have been sufficient. I still had to learn to keep my money together.
Steffi was already asleep. She woke up when I came and mumbled:
"I'm dead tired, honey. I'll go right back to sleep. I'll listen to your report tomorrow at breakfast. Sleep tight . .
I undressed as noiselessly as I could and lay down next to her. I thought I was going to doze off immediately, but my thoughts kept me awake.
I was glad to be with Steffi who had always given me good advice. And now I needed it more than before. If Rudolf had told me the truth about that girl who hooked an Italian count, the place of Madame Yvonne might prove a good hunting ground. On the other hand, I disliked the idea of not being free, of being part of an "institution." I also thought that there were three other girls with whom I'd have to get along ... how does one get along with the competition, I wondered. Each one of them was waiting for a count, a prince charming, or some fat old millionaire to take her away. That's as far as my thoughts carried me. The next moment I'd fallen asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
THE PEEPHOLES
My breakfast conversation with Steffi, next morning, was shorter than I'd expected. She listened to my tale very attentively and the first thing she said was:
"Before we go to the Oberlechner we'll go to the Bankverein and deposit your one hundred guilders on a savings account...."
The Bankverein was one of the largest Austrian banks. It was characteristic of Steffi that her first reaction to my report had nothing to do with Rudolf's proposition, or anything concerning the future, but the present. The money I'd earned must be preserved.
"I guess you're right, Steffi," I said. "But why d'you say we go to the Cafe Oberlechner...? You mean you want to come with me ...?"
"Sure! I've plenty of time. My doctor friend had a big surprise for me yesterday. He presented me with a bank book ... look! Here it is . .
Pepi took it from her purse and opened it on the first page. I had to look twice to believe what I saw there.
"But ... but, Steffi, it says one thousand guilders to your credit...." I left my mouth open.
Steffi laughed happily.
"Yes, you're not dreaming it ... neither am I! The doctor inherited a big amount from some aunt who died last month. And he started a savings account at the Bankverein in my name with these thousand guilders....
"But that's wonderful ... he must be in love with you . .
"Well, yes, more or less. At his age it's more a paternal kind of love. But he thinks I need some rest from 'doing business.' He said I was too pale and too thin, although I eat like a horse. But he's right! I've overworked my cunt lately . .
I felt guilty.
"Damn you, Steffi...! And you never wanted to take any money from me. You kept feeding me and paying for me in the cafes ... that's not fair to yourself...."
She shushed me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Don't be silly, Pepi. Two persons can live as cheaply as one ... if you know how to go about it ... you haven't made me poor. But it's true I've taken on too many customers and I didn't tell the doctor that almost all of them were young and pleasant and very good lays ... I've been indulging, that's all. I was preaching to you ... but I myself ... well...."
She smiled and sipped her coffee. All young and pleasant lays, she had said. Suddenly I understood. She couldn't get over the loss of her handsome student, Fritz. The scene at Alex's place must have been too great a shock for him and he never looked around for Steffi since then.
Naturally, she took on a lot of healthy young guys and I suspected she didn't make too much money from them. It's the middle-aged and elderly customers who have the dough. I couldn't help respecting Steffi for her complete lack of self-pity. I wish I could be like that, I thought.
"You haven't said a word about Rudolf's idea to unload me on that Madame Yvonne...." Steffi put her coffee down with a final gesture.
"Come on, let's get dressed and go to the bank. You know me by now. If I don't say anything, it means I'm not against it...."
"You mean I should accept Rudolf's proposal...?"
For a minute I had the sneaking suspicion that Steffi wanted to get rid of me because I'd become a kind of burden to her, but the next moment I was ashamed of such a thought.
"I think it's the best thing that could happen to you ... at the moment! I know that Madame Yvonne is on the level. I've never met her, but I've seen her in public. She puts on the Ritz and plays at being the great lady, but ... she does it very nicely. She's a good actress. I know she comes from very poor people in Ottakring like you and me. When you hear her talk in her cultivated stage German you wouldn't believe she grew up like we did. I bet if she forgets herself she can spout good old Viennese dialect like any cab driver...."
"So you think I should do it...?"
"Definitely! Put on the same dress you wore when you went to the Oberlecliner and leave the rest to Yvonne's knowledge of human nature. She'll see that you got what it takes ... now hurry ... get dressed and do your hair...." First we went to the Bankverein on the Schottenring and I noticed that most of the tellers were young and quite handsome guys.
"Many of them are students," Steffi explained. They work part-time to pay for their tuition. I'll take you to the one at window four. He looks like a good lay to me...."
Steffi was a good judge of men. I also noticed that the clerk of window four looked very much like Fritz, tall and blond, with regular features. Steffi did all the talking for me and it was obvious that the teller couldn't make up his mind which of us attracted him more. I decided to come here some day and find out whether he could do more than just look at me.
We ate lunch at a small place near the opera so that we didn't have to walk too far to get to the Cafe Oberlecliner. When we got there, Rudolf was already sitting at a table by the window. Franz stood by him, gesticulating with his hands. When we joined them, Rudolf got up politely and held our chairs for us to sit down. Franz looked at me and said:
"What's this I hear...? You're going to leave me in the lurch? What about your poor old Hofrat, next Thursday...? Have you no feelings...?"
He winked at me and I said:
"It's you who have no feelings, letting two ladies sit here without giving them some coffee and some of that nice pastry I can see over there on the tray in the glass-case...."
"Okay, okay...." Franz exclaimed. "We'll fix you up right away...."
A young waiter brought us our coffee and the "pastry girl" came over with the tray of goodies. Steffi and I chose an eclair each, with lots of whipped cream. While we enjoyed our dessert and sipped our coffee, Rudolf looked at me questioningly, but didn't say anything.
"Well, Rudolf," I said at last. "Are you ready to take me to ... how did you call it ... the house of assignation...?"
He laughed and asked us whether we'd mind if he lit a cigar. We didn't, and he spoke to Steffi first.
"I can see you've given Pepi some good advice...."
Steffi cut him short.
"That's because I have confidence in you...." Rudolf laughed again and said:
"Ah, you know how to flatter a guy like me...!"
One could see that he was flattered, nevertheless. He looked at her curiously and asked: "How come you've never thought of becoming part of Madame Yvonne's household? You would be welcome there, I'm sure...."
Steffi stuffed the last bite of her eclair into her mouth and licked the whipped cream from her upper lip.
"See...?" she said to Rudolf. "I don't eat like a lady ... what would I do at such a fine place like Yvonne's...?"
"You don't fool me a bit...." said Rudolf. "I'm serious ... have you never thought of working at her place...?"
"Yes, I did ... at some time or other. But, let's face it. I know I'm not bad-looking, but I can't compare with Pepi here...."
"I wouldn't say that...." protested Rudolf. "Shush! You know better than that. Not everybody who has a good voice has enough talent to be an opera singer. Some can perform only in concerts, and some ... well, some sing in churches and clubs, or just sing only for their own pleasure. It's the same with whores, if you will excuse the expression...."
Rudolf laughed and puffed at his cigar. He looked at Steffi like a teacher when a pupil of
"his "had given Mm a good answer. He turned to me.
"You've a clever friend, Pepi. Watch out! She's going to surprise all of us yet some day!"
"And don't I know it," I said. "But why don't we go to that place now ... that is if you think we should, Rudolf."
"By all means! I had lunch with Madame Yvonne an hour ago and told her about you. She's very eager to meet you. Would Steffi perhaps want to come along...?"
We could see he said that merely out of sheer politeness, but Steffi kidded him about it.
"I wouldn't want to spoil Pepi's chances! You said a while ago that that Yvonne woman would like to have someone like me...."
Rudolf said sheepishly:
"She'd keep both of you, Pm sure ... all right, Pepi, let's go now...."
Steffi pressed my hand encouragingly and said:
"If you don't come home tonight, I'll know you've been 'engaged' as a new member of that glorified fucking team of Yvonne's. Don't worry, I'll see that your clothes and things are sent to your new address. And you know ... if you don't like things, Aunt Steffi is taking it easy for a while. You're always welcome to come back...."
I felt my eyes water up and asked Rudolf to be a nice guy and hold my overcoat for me. Although Steffi said she'd pay for me, I again left a half-crown for Franz on the table. Rudolf saw it and remarked under his breath:
"You're either very smart, or have the instincts of a real lady. Let's go!"
When. I thought back, to that little detail I realize that Rudolf wasn't so wrong. It's true that I was born in a city slum and spent my youth more or less in the gutter. But somehow a lady's instinct must have been born with me, or it couldn't have been drawn out of me later on. I've seen lots of countesses who were taught the right manners, but they never impressed me like real ladies. And I've known many a proletarian girl who had made her way to the top of society and whose graceful manners were often part of her nature. And I still say that a real lady is either a great demimondaine, or a real noblewoman. None of those "respectable" bourgeois women can ever be a great lady. I'd even go so far as to say that a female who doesn't know how to use her cunt, being married or single, can't be made into a lady. It's just my opinion, and nobody has to accept it.
The building in the Kruger Street where Madame Yvonne had rented the whole second floor, had a marble staircase with statues of naked Greek gods placed in regular intervals on the balustrades. It was really a swanky place.
Rudolf rang the bell on the second floor and a dignified elderly maid opened the door and led us into a plushy waiting room, full of all sorts of bronze statues and Chinese vases filled with yellow and red roses.
"Madame will see you in a while," the maid said and left us alone.
We didn't have to wait long before the door opened again and there was Madame Yvonne, clad in a purple silk dress. As a necklace she wore a golden cross on a thin gold chain. Her earrings were simple but costly pearls. We got up and Rudolf presented me:
"Madame, here is the young lady I told you about . .
Yvonne pressed my hand very warmly and said in cultivated German, but affecting a slight French accent:
"Charming! Really charming! I'm glad you came to see me, my child. Have you ever worked in a private institution before...?"
I don't know why all this play-acting made me angry, but it did, and I replied in the Ottakring dialect of my childhood days:
"Nope! Never worked in a whorehouse before!"
I saw Rudolf becoming pale, but Madame Yvonne looked at me with surprise and then laughed out loud and gave me a sound slap on the fanny.
"Attagirl! That's how I like it! I wish I could afford to speak my good old Viennese dialect as in my younger days. But them days are over! You are Pepi Muzenbacher, correct? Rudolf told me everything. I like you, Pepi, you are no phony! And the other girls will like you too, I'm sure. And my customers will crowd you every time you show yourself. You have to excuse me now, I'm busy with the tailor in another room. Some of the girls have to try on some new gowns ... why don't you come here at about nine in the evening. You've time to pack and bring your stuff with you. Our houseman will get it upstairs for you. None of our customers come here before ten. You'll have plenty of time to get acquainted with your three colleagues. But watch out! We don't talk Viennese dialect here. Rudolf told me you speak a very nice High German ... but we'll tell you the details tonight. I'm glad you're joining the family. You'll like it . .
She gave Rudolf her hand to be kissed and kissed me lightly on my cheek. Then we were dismissed. Rudolf hailed a cab for me, while he walked back to the Cafe Oberlecliner for another chat with Franz, as he said.
Steffi helped me get my things in two large suitcases. I didn't know at the time I'd pestered Alex to buy them for me that I'd have to use them so soon.
"There's no need to say good-bye ... said Steffi, "we can always meet at the Oberlecliner. Now that I can afford to be a lady of leisure for some time, I can take my afternoon coffee there. Yvonne will let you go out in the daytime as often as you want to. And by the way, don't forget to insist on one free night, too! Don't let her persuade you by any seductive talk of money to give up a free evening during the week. You'll make plenty of dough there. But you'll need a free evening too. You've got to promise me that...."
I promised and was on my way. Yvonne kept her word and had retained the houseman to carry my suitcases upstairs. I was shown to my private room which was not the one in which I would have to entertain customers. It was small, but light and friendly, with a comfortable bed and a large wardrobe to hang up plenty of clothes. I must say this for Madame Yvonne: she looked after her girls like a housemother. There were two large bathrooms with those newfangled gas-heaters which could get a warm bath ready in fifteen minutes. Not quite so modern as Alex's fancy bathroom, but good enough for the hygienic needs of Yvonne and the four girls, myself included.
The girls were very good-looking and friendly. There was a tall Hungarian girl, Ilona, who was introduced to customers as Mademoiselle Carmen from Madrid. She didn't know a word of Spanish of course. Another one was a Viennese like myself; she went under the name of Mademoiselle Jeanette from Paris. Her real name was Gusti. The third was from Prague and spoke with a slight Bohemian accent; that's why Madame insisted on calling her Tatyana from Moscow. I never found out what her actual name was because all the girls called her Tanya, which is short for Tatyana.
I was glad that the girls volunteered to help me unpack my suitcases. All my dresses had to be given to the maids to be ironed. Madame had a 24-hour maid service. Three maids working an eight-hour shift each.
"You won't need any of your elegant dresses during working hours," said Tanya. "We all wear what we have on now, a gauzy gown that covers us completely, but is transparent and lets the customer see everything. You can choose your color. What would you like...?"
"Do you have anything in blue...?"
"Sure, let me get one for your size...."
" After a few minutes she was back with a lovely light-blue gown that was in reality a large veil with sleeves. Under it we wore equally transparent chemises and short panties. It was good to notice that the premises were nicely heated, because we might as well have been naked; those gowns were make-believe.
The girls kissed and hugged me so that I soon guessed they didn't mind a lot of lesbian pleasures. I think Tanya was almost completely lesbian, although no customer ever complained of any lack of passion in her. They all stood around me when I changed into my "work-clothes" and insisted on touching me all over my body when I stood naked for a while. Gusti caressed my slit and exclaimed:
"Gee, Pepi, you're still like a virgin...."
I laughed at her and said:
"No such thing, but if you want to tell the customers that I'm still innocent, I could ask for a higher price...."
The girls, all at once, talked at the same time. "Now be careful, Pepi! Never ask for money, that's a house rule! The men pay without being asked. And never name a price. If a man should ever ask what he owes you, say simply that it's entirely up to him. That way you often get far more than what you'd have asked for...."
"Well...." I said, doubtfully, "what do they usually give a girl here...?"
Tanya spoke up:
"That depends sometimes on the various tastes of the customer...."
"Yes...." Ilona chimed in, "take this handsome officer from Budapest, a landsman of mine, who comes at least once every month. He's a real man ... he wants to fuck you as often as possible ... he often does it five or six times in a few hours...."
Gusti interrupted her:
"But you should see his instrument ... eight inches long and over two inches thick...."
"How d'you know it so exactly...?" I asked. The girls broke into laughter.
"We measured it, that's how! He's so proud of his tool that he invited us to bring a tape measure and see for ourselves . .
"But that's like the cock of a horse...." I said.
"Yes, and he fucks like a stallion...." exclaimed the girls.
Gusti seemed to be the one who preferred a regular lay to all substitutes. I noticed that Tanya mentioned more the customers who loved to eat her pussy.
"Okay girls...." I said at last. "Now what does this Hungarian officer pay...?"
"Arpad always gives me at least one hundred guilders for a whole night...." Gusti said.
"What! For regular fucking? No perversions at all...?"
"No, not Arpad...." said Gusti. "I told you he's a real man. He loves to push into a woman all the time. He's very strong and healthy. He's only twenty-two! Quite broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. And full of muscles! You should see his arms and thighs ... ah...!"
"Stop it, Gusti" I said, "you get me all hot and bothered. I hope I'll meet him soon...."
"Why not? He hasn't been here for almost three weeks. He might be in any evening now...."
The door opened and Madame Yvonne came in.
"Well girls, let me take a look at you ... Ah, Pepi, you look lovely. That blue goes well with your blonde hair and your blue eyes...." She came over and groped at me all over. I suspected that she wasn't antagonistic to lesbian pleasures herself. A madame seldom is. Most whores love to play with each other, especially when there are no males around.
"Oh, we'll have to give you a nice French name ... What about Josette...?"
"Oh please, Madame, let me keep my own name, Pepi! The girls have all outlandish names anyway. The Viennese Pepi makes a good contrast ... and ... I am Pepi ... my name suits my personality very well...."
Yvonne thought for a minute, then she said:
"All right! It might be a good idea. You're as Viennese as they come. I ought to know. And there are quite a few customers who might like that...."
So I was Pepi among Carmen, Jeanette and Tatyana. Yvonne warned me to get used to calling the girls by their assumed names.
"Be careful not to slip up in front of the customers," she said, "they try to keep up an illusion and we help them. You can trust me, I know my business. Mademoiselle Jeanette goes over much better than a simple Gusti. But in your case we can make an exception ... we'll see how it works. And now girls, let's go to the reception room. Customers might show up very soon."
The reception room turned out to be a very large hall, hung with tapestries and pictures of classic nudes, male and female. Sofas were lined up against all four walls and a few tables and stuffed chairs were placed all over the room at convenient intervals so as to leave enough space for walking around and serving drinks and snacks, Yvonne served regular meals at demand. A good chef took care of orders and two elderly waiters brought food and drinks, mostly wine and beer.
In the corner opposite the entrance was an upright piano on which a good-looking young man played soft music. Gusti, or rather Jeanette, whispered to me that the handsome pianist was taboo for us girls.
"He takes care of Madame," she said. "Poor guy, she's making him give it to her almost every night...."
"So what...?" I said. "He's still young ...!"
"Even a young guy can get tired of shooting off his gun half a dozen times, night after night after night...."
"What...?" I nearly yelled. "That old cow has to get fucked six times every night...?"
"Shsh! Not so loud! She will hear you...!" Jeanette looked around, but Yvonne was talking to the young pianist at the moment. "Not only does she make that nice fellow ride her regularly, but often she asks one of us to assist...."
"Well...." I said, "in that way a girl might get him between her legs, too...."
"Fat chance...." sighed Jeanette, "she doesn't even let him look at us. She only wants a girl to assist by sucking her teats...."
I grew angry. "Sucking her teats...? For nothing...? I was hired here for outside customers, but not to suck Madame's teats, or kiss her ass...."
Jeanette looked around anxiously.
"Don't let's talk about it now, Pepi. Anyway, she mostly asks Tatyana to assist at those sessions. She doesn't mind. I believe she prefers women to men anyway...."
So I was right, I thought. Suddenly the bell rang outside.
Yvonne joined us and clapped her hands. "Customers arrive. Distribute yourselves in nice postures, girls ... you, Pepi, recline here on the sofa in front. People have to see we have a new girl...."
The door opened and two elderly men came in, both with greyish hair and solemnly dressed in black.
"Oh God...." Carmen sighed, "here goes our lesbian act again...!"
Madame Yvonne welcomed the guests with her phony French accent and told one of the waiters to bring an ice-bucket with a magnum of champagne. I saw how she pointed with her chin in my direction while talking to the men. Evidently she told them of "the new girl." Carmen's remark proved correct. The two men, "high government officials," Madame said, asked for Tatyana and myself. We accompanied them to another room, much smaller than the reception hall, but nicely furnished with soft couches and an open bed. A waiter brought in the glasses for Tatyana and myself. Since we were to be the "performers" we merely took a small sip from our glasses.
The two oldsters sat down on one of the couches next to each other.
"All right, you may begin...." said one who was addressed by Tatyana as 'General."
She whispered to me:
"You'll have to play it by ear, so to speak. We get into bed and you try to do to me what Pm going to do to you. Use your experience and imagination ... the wilder you carry on, the better ... act, if necessary ... we may each get one hundred guilders...."
That's all that was necessary for me to know. We lay down on the bed and I sensed that Tatyana was not going to act much. She kissed me full on my lips and let me feel her tongue, but only for a second. Then she turned around and got ready for a "sixty-nine," a mutual pussy-eating. Her tongue got me really in the mood and I did my best to reciprocate. We actually came at the same time, and Tatyana's loud moan reminded me that I had to do likewise.
When I looked over to our two guests, I saw they were busy massaging their medium-sized pricks while their eyes were glued to our performance. They were strictly "voyeurs," onlookers.
"Now we've got to do some pussy-rubbing...." whispered Tatyana. She straddled me like a man and I felt her stiff clitoris against my slit. After a while she managed to touch my clitoris with hers and when she saw that I got a little excited she began to suck my nipples. She really did a good job and I was startled to discover that I was moaning loudly. Again we came almost simultaneously and fell backward on the bed.
Our two customers must have discharged too, because each was busy cleaning his prick with a handkerchief. Soon they called us over and poured some more champagne in our glasses. This time we drank greedily because we were thirsty. I wondered whether we would get any customers who might want to watch me doing it with a man, like that nice pianist, for example.
Tatyana asked the men whether they'd like to eat something, but they declined and got up, ready to leave. The "General" pressed something into Tatyana's hand who thanked him with a deep curtsy. I followed her example which seemed to please both of them. They didn't say a word and merely nodded and left.
Tatyana held two hundred-guilder bills in her hand and gave me one.
"Not bad, eh, Pepi...?" she asked.
"No, not bad at all ... but when, for God's sake, can we eat something...?"
"You hungry...?" she asked quite astonished. "Madame permits us to eat at any time when we don't have a customer. Only when someone is waiting for us, we can't afford to dawdle. I'll have the waiter bring you something. What would you like...?"
"Oh just a bite, so I can be ready for another customer, who'll come soon ... I hope...!" Tatyana laughed and went back to the reception hall. I followed her because a maid had come in to put new linen on the bed where we had given our lesbian performance. I found out that food was served to us only in that big room and I sat down at one of the tables where one of the waiters had put a nice portion of cold roast and some salad. I ate with a good appetite. I even got a small glass of beer when I asked for it.
So far, so good, I thought. One hundred guilders for a mere performance without being touched by a customer was not a bad beginning. I didn't dislike doing it with a woman but, unfortunately, it stimulated my desire for getting a good stiff prick into me.
I had just finished eating and wanted to go to the bathroom to rinse my mouth and wash up when the bell rang again. I didn't wait to see who it was, but left through one of the side doors. When I came back after a few minutes I saw all three girls and Yvonne sitting around a young man in the resplendent uniform of a Hungarian hussar officer with all red and gold piping around the shoulders.
I guessed correctly: it was Arpad, Gusti's idol. When he saw me he stood up and bowed. Lady or whore, a Hungarian officer will always treat her with great courtesy. He seemed delighted to see me. He kissed my hand near my wrist and I felt a little tickle from the tip of his tongue. Very promising, I thought.
"That is Mademoiselle Pepi," Yvonne introduced me. "Our new hostess!"
Mademoiselle Pepi sounded silly to me, but it didn't seem to bother Arpad, nor did it seem to bother the other girls that he neglected them and pulled me down on one of the sofas and asked the pianist to play some nice music.
"And where did you come from, little goddess...?" he asked me, trying to take in my face, bosom and legs at one glance.
"I joined Madame's household because I heard she has such handsome guests like you...." I said, while looking him squarely in the face.
He kissed my hands, one after another, and protested:
"But no! This is not in order. It is the man who must pay compliments to the lady ... it is you who are very beautiful ... may I kiss your lips...?"
Without saying anything I approached my lips close to his. He embraced me passionately and closed his mouth over mine, probing with his tongue in all directions. My tongue soon met his and did it full justice. His face was flushed which suited his handsome features. He was one of the handsomest devils I'd ever met. And the uniform only emphasized his athletic figure.
The tight pants also emphasized his terrific hard-on.
Madame Yvonne had approached discreetly and said:
"Baron, would you like Mademoiselle Pepi to invite you to another room...?"
Arpad was visibly embarrassed.
"Oh Madame, I'm sorry ... I forgot myself. I thought I was already in a private room with this divine creature ... I must congratulate you on this acquisition ... yes, I'd very much like to be alone with her...."
I thought the room where Tatyana and I had done our lesbian act would serve the purpose again. Yvonne seemed to agree.
Arpad and I had hardly closed the door behind us when he embraced me again and rubbed his stiff member against my belly. I thought it best to leave it up to him when he wanted me to undress, but I needn't: have worried about being so discreet, because he tried to undress me with his own hands.
"Wait...." I cried, "you'd better let me do it."
He at once released me and began to get out of his uniform. By the time I had taken off my flimsy garments Arpad was completely nude. He looked like a combination of Hercules and Apollo. The ripple of his mighty thigh muscles made me shudder in anticipation of feeling their touch. But most promising of all was his central muscle that raised its rosy head and was twitching with impatience.
I lost my self-control and pulled him after me onto the freshly made bed. Arpad, too, couldn't wait and, without any further preliminaries, buried his tremendous dick in my already moist hole and lay still for a minute, trying to reach my nipples with his lips and letting his tongue play over them so that I began to let my fanny dance up and down. I just couldn't wait any longer. Nor could Arpad. His hands covered my breasts while his lips went over my eyes, cheeks, mouth and his prick moved in me with a wildness I had never experienced with a man before.
I came almost immediately, but Arpad went on unperturbed and after a few minutes I came again. His breath began to hiss but he didn't utter any words. He let his prick speak for itself, but I started to mumble all sorts of incoherent words, forced out of me by this violent pleasure.
"Ah, Arpad ... you're the only real man I've ever had ... fuck me ... fuck me ... you must always fuck me ... you're driving me crazy ... I can't stand it any more ... ah ... Arpad ... I'm coming again...."
He was still moving in me like one obsessed and I felt I was going out of my mind with sheer bliss. One sobering thought crossed my mind suddenly: "And for this I'm going to get paid!" It suddenly seemed unfair to me that he should pay me instead of the other way around....
Suddenly Arpad's movements became faster, if that was still possible. And now I heard him stammer:
"I love you ... Pepi ... you feel wonderful ... ah ... your sweet little hole is what a man like me needs every day ... I love you ... I love you ... ah ... now ... now ... I'm coming ... ah...."
The sluice-gates of his seminal tract opened and released a veritable flood into my cunt. At the same time he yelled with pleasure so that everybody outside must have heard him.
(They did. And the girls told me later that Arpad was the only man they knew who always yelled when he came. It was sometimes embarrassing when a customer had to be told that it was a yell of pleasure and not of pain.)
Since I had nearly fainted after coming the sixth time, Arpad's yell sounded as if it was coming from a distance. It seemed quite natural that a male who could fuck a woman like me into unconsciousness should yell that way when he discharged.
A small voice in me spoke up and warned me: Watch out, Pepi, this is a man who could be dangerous for you! He could fuck all your ambition and will-power out of you and where would your career be?
But at the moment I merely enjoyed the heaviness of Arpad's limbs on my body. I wanted him to lie on me forever. A kiss on my shoulder indicated to me that my lover wanted my attention. I opened my eyes and saw him smile.
"How d'you feel, Pepi...?"
"I wish we could stay like this for always...."
He moved his still rigid prick in me and murmured :
"That's exactly how I feel myself...."
I felt him begin to move in me, first quite slowly, but soon speeding up. I couldn't believe that he was going to carry on like that, but he did.
"You're the best woman I've ever had...."
I heard him say.
"Say that again, Arpad...." I begged.
"I'll do better than that ... I'll prove it by action ... ah ... how I love to fuck you, Pepi ... my prick has never felt so good in any other cunt ... I've been in plenty ... but you beat them all ... you feel like silk and velvet ... you drive me nuts ... ah ... I want to go on like this all night. .
I could hardly believe what I felt. I kept coming every two minutes. I actually was afraid I'd faint, but Arpad couldn't control himself and, letting out a wild roar, he came again and collapsed on me.
We both must have fallen asleep, because when I came to I noticed he had dozed off with his head lying on my bosom. I stroked his blond curly hair and with a big sigh he opened his eyes and smiled at once when he saw me.
"Let's lie like this for a while...." he begged like a little boy.
"Sure, Arpad ... are you sleepy...?"
"Not really ... how about you...?"
"I don't know ... all this seems unreal to me...."
"Unreal...? Am I not real enough for you...?"
He sounded disappointed.
"You don't understand, Arpad. The fact that you are real seems unreal to me ... to make it quite clear ... I ... I...."
I quickly shut my mouth. At the last moment I realized I was about to say "I love you...." That would have been the end of my career. Arpad might have been sobered by it and finished our intimacy at once. I stammered around and said, instead:
"I ... I ... just never had a man like you! All others seem like little boys, or old women...."
It was the truth too. Arpad suddenly kissed my lips with great passion.
"I believe you, Pepi. A few women have told me that before, even when I was sixteen. I started very early ... I first fucked the governess of my younger sister. She was a French girl, oh, about thirty, I guess, but very attractive. I was only fourteen, but I wanted to fuck every female I laid my eyes on ... and I did ... after that governess initiated me ... I fucked almost every night for a whole year...." I listened with great interest to his story; here was a man, a Hungarian baron, not a boy from Ottakring like my brother Franz who learned to fuck when he was only nine. But still, to start at the age of fourteen was quite a feat for a boy of rich and noble people. I told Arpad what I thought.
He laughed and said:
"We Hungarians are a sensual race! I said I had my first real woman when I was fourteen ... I mean I went into her as it should be. But I rubbed my prick on girls several years before that ... once my father caught me in the act and he nearly broke his riding crop on my fanny...."
"Who was the girl...?"
"The young daughter of one of our farmers ... my father owned a large estate of many thousand acres ... and dozens of peasants worked for him ... to some he had leased the land ... others worked in his employ ... well, that girl was only nine ... a mere child ... but she didn't protest when I lay on top of her and rubbed my prick on her belly ... she seemed to like it ... we were doing it behind a stack of hay and my father was just riding by ... well, I got it. I couldn't sit for a week. But it didn't keep me from trying again after a while. Only I made sure that nobody could see us. So you understand, I am a very passionate man ... it's my nature. And you, Pepi, you're a very passionate woman. I can feel it ... when did you start to make love...?"
I told Arpad of my precocious childhood, but I didn't feel like telling him of having it done with my brother and later with my father. My description of Father Mayer's method of hearing confession made him laugh heartily. He guided my hand to his aroused prick and said: "Since you are confessing to me, now, I should act like Father Mayer ... how would you like that...? "
He didn't wait for my answer but spread my legs apart and I was all ready to receive his big club in my moist hole. Suddenly he changed his mind and reversed his position, seeking my clitoris with his mouth while his tool was knocking on my cheek. I put it dutifully in my mouth which was quite an undertaking. My mouth should have been twice as large as it was. As a consequence my lips enclosed the ever-swelling prick very tightly and a loud moan from Arpad proved that he enjoyed this position. His tongue got to working on my clitoris and went deeper into my grotto, alternating from one to the other. It aroused me so strongly that I had to be careful not to close my teeth around his prick which was moving in and out of my mouth.
In spite of getting an immense pleasure from this sixty-nine position, I hoped he would come very soon, because my mouth began to hurt. I'd never believed I was able to open it that wide. I reverted to a little trick to make him discharge. I got hold of his tool with my hand and prevented it from plunging into my mouth more than a few inches and let my tongue play on the glans which was the size of a large egg. Arpad's tongue had made me explode my juices three times and when he felt how I licked his glans his tongue redoubled its activity in my cunt. It felt like having a prick in there and I trembled with every muscle and nerve in my body. My own tongue worked feverishly now and suddenly a violent twitching of the fleshy stick announced the arrival of the discharge. A river of semen shot into my throat and I had to swallow immediately to take care of that enormous quantity. It was the fresh, youthful semen of a young athlete and I had not the slightest aversion to imbibing it.
Up to that moment I'd always swallowed a man's seminal fluid, let's say, out of courtesy to the customer. It was Zenzi, the young streetwalker who had initiated me into the business when I was only thirteen, who had told me that a man might feel offended when he sees the women spitting out his semen.
"Never mind if it doesn't taste like whipped cream...." she had said. "You must never show that you feel any disgust, even if you feel it...."
Throughout the years I'd come to know that the younger a man is the less unpleasant his semen tastes. That also pertains to the smell. In that respect a man's secretion is-at least to me-more acceptable than a woman's.
Having tasted the genital fluids of many thousands of men and I might say, hundreds of women, I came to the conclusion that both the taste and odor vary greatly with age and also with the difference of race. The semen of Italians and Spaniards, not to speak of Turks and Arabians, smells far more acrid than that of northern men like Swedes or Norwegians. But the seminal odor of virile young men of Western and Central Europe has really an agreeable, almost exhilarating smell.
Steffi told me she had learned from her doctor friend that the acrid smell of semen has a lot to do with emotional excitement, while purely physical exercise like dancing and gymnastics makes it smell more aromatic.
Arpad's semen was exactly like that, aromatic though slightly pungent. Of course, after several lays the semen tastes and smells less pleasant; it becomes stale.
It was quite a relief to feel Arpad's tool go slack in my mouth. I was glad he didn't invite any conversation because my jaw muscles hurt so much that I wouldn't have been able to talk immediately. His head was lying on my mound and I felt how his tongue was licking up every trace of moisture in and around my slit. He went about it so thoroughly that I had to smile. For a sensual fellow like Arpad this sort of diet seemed to be a gourmet's treat.
At last, he turned around and kissed me so that I could feel the taste of my own secretions. On the lips of Arpad it tasted good. He got up and stretched his tall figure and gave me a big smile:
"You know," he said, "I've never felt so satisfied before, at least not in this place...."
"Be careful," I said, "the other girls will scratch my eyes out if they hear you...."
His face became serious and he frowned.
"I quite forgot about the other girls ... as a matter-of-fact, I forgot about every other girl in the world . .
"Oh, come on, Arpad ... I'm not that good...."
"Yes you are! At least as far as I'm concerned. Do you think Madame Yvonne would give you a short vacation...?"
"My God...." I exclaimed, "how could I think of asking for a vacation now ... today has been my first day here ... it will take some time for me to get used to the place and the people...."
Arpad sat down next to me and played with my breasts. His hands were both firm and tender.
"Perhaps you won't have to get used to this place at all...."
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"I mean you could come with me to Hungary and be my guest for a few months ... wouldn't you like that...?"
Watch out, Pepi, a small voice in me spoke up. This is the great temptation of which Steffi had always warned me. The same temptation she had to overcome when she was about to fall in love with Fritz, the tall blond student.
I saw that Arpad was bewildered by my silence and I quickly said:
"Naturally, I'd love to come with you as your guest ... but ... you must give me a little time to think things over...."
"What's there to think over...?" His voice sounded almost irritated. "You simply tell Madame Yvonne that I invited you, or better still, I'm going to tell her myself ... So what's the problem...?"
The problem was that I couldn't afford to acquaint Arpad with the problem of a young and upcoming whore who wanted to become an expensive demimondaine as long as she was still in her early twenties. I had to say something, though, to make him see that every madam who treats her girls well deserves a little loyalty, too.
"It's like this, Arpad," I said, stroking his powerful thigh, "Madame Yvonne engaged me because she was one girl short. Did you know the girl that used to be here until last year...?"
"Oh, you mean Anna who married that young devil, the Count Orsano...?"
"So you know all about it...."
"How come you know about it...?"
"I was told about it only last night ... Arpad grinned now.
"And you'd like to do the same thing...? Marry a count...?"
I felt I had to be careful.
"I don't want to marry at all. Not even a baron from Hungary . .
He guffawed and kissed me.
"Believe it or not, I'd ask you to marry me right now if my late father hadn't complicated my life for the next few years...."
"How...? Or would you rather not talk about it...?"
"Hell! Everybody in Hungary knows about it. My old man knew I have an excitable prick and wasn't to be trusted with much money even when I became of age. So he decreed in his will that most of the money that he left was to be tied up until I was thirty ... that's eight more years...!"
"Thirty...? Why, that's quite a long time...!"
"Yes, the most beautiful years a man can have. But father believed that I'll have learned some self-discipline by that time. As if a thirty-year-old man couldn't be pussy-crazy like a twenty-year-old...."
"But ... but you've got to be able to live decently until then...." I probed discreetly.
"Oh, I've got enough money to tide me over until I inherit my father's millions ... why, are you afraid I couldn't afford you as my guest for some time...?"
"No, no, it's not that...." I said quickly. "I was thinking of you, not of myself...." Which was not quite untrue.
Arpad slapped my fanny and gave it a little pinch.
"Don't worry your pretty head off over me. I'm quite all right. Now ... what do we do about your coming with me to Hungary...?"
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Arpad. I'd like to talk with Madame Yvonne myself before you mention anything to her. She might prefer to hear the news from me or she might think I was just hiding behind you...."
"That sounds reasonable...." said Arpad and began to put on his undershorts. He seemed to know this place better than I did because he opened a chest of drawers and took out an elegant dressing gown of pure silk. He laughed when he noticed my astonishment.
"That proves that you are new here! There's a whole stack of nice robes for the use of customers here. I don't want to put on the tight uniform for a while...."
He looked nice and comfortable in the dark blue robe that was big enough for his athletic figure. I too got back into my chemise and gown and bound my hair up in a shawl I found in one of the drawers. It looked like a turban, Arpad said. Since I was to be with him for the night, I didn't want to get my hair up with the help of a dozen bobby pins.
"Why don't you talk to Madame Yvonne right now...?" Arpad said. "I'm going to have a little snack. Shall I order something for you, too? I hope you'll join me, soon...."
"Why don't you have it served right here...? They can put up a small table next to the couch over there. I'd like to be alone with you...."
He laughed and chucked me under the chin. "Are you afraid that one of the other girls is going to take me away from you...?"
I didn't like that remark. He was very nice and the best fucker I'd ever been to bed with, but his youth began to assert itself. Of course, I'd made a mistake by letting him see what a good number he was and how crazy he could drive me with his big tool working in me like the piston of a locomotive. Let a man see you're hung up on him, Steffi always said, and he can do with you what he wants.
"You forget," I replied in a light tone, "that no girl has a monopoly on any customer, but that a customer has the right to monopolize any girl he prefers. So it's entirely up to you, and you'd better make up your mind, lover!" He looked at me, surprised.
Before he could say anything I went to the door and said:
"I'll send a waiter in to you so you can give him your order...!" And I slipped out.
The heavily curtained door was almost soundproof. That's why the tinkle of the piano had not quite penetrated to the boudoir where Arpad and I were amusing ourselves. Now I saw three couples dancing a waltz while Madame stood next to her darling, the pianist, and was watching the three guests waltzing around with the girls. When she saw me she beckoned me to follow her to a cabinet through a small door next to the piano.
"First let me send a waiter in to Arpad," I said. He's hungry and thirsty. He also wants to order something for me ... but I'd like to talk to you anyhow."
She gave me a searching look and then told one of the waiters to get his order from Arpad. She lifted the curtain in front of the cabinet and made me enter first. The light was a dim pink.
"This is our conference room," Yvonne said dryly and sat down, asking me to do the same. "Now, what gives, Pepi...? I can see you are preoccupied...."
I thought it best to tell her of Arpad's invitation without adding comment. She listened, watching my facial expressions all the time. At last she spoke:
"You didn't tell me what you said to Arpad...."
"I thought you could take it for granted I said that I couldn't do such a thing to you ... that this was my first day here ... and that you'd be without a fourth girl...."
I couldn't quite make out her face because the light was too dim. She came over to where I sat and said:
"Move over, Pepi, I want to sit beside you . .
I did. She plumped her heavy figure on the couch next to me and put her be ringed hand on my shoulder.
"I want you to know that I'm not a monster, Pepi. You don't have to worry about me not having a fourth girl, in case you leave, although I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I know that Arpad is an extremely good lay and a very handsome young man. Many a girl would lose her head over him, even women of my age! All I want to tell you now is that a great demimondaine can't afford to be in love with the man whose mistress she is. She must keep a cool head, all of the time. But you'd better go back to Arpad and eat your snack. He wants to spend the night with you as I can see now. I make it a rule never to ask a customer, at least not one like Arpad, how long he wants to stay. It's better that way, because a man feels free to change his mind several times during the evening...."
She kissed me on the cheek with a warmth that wasn't exactly maternal. Oh boy, I thought, having a lesbian bout with her might be the price I'd have to pay for getting her consent to go with Arpad to Hungary. But I was willing to do it. What was far more important to me was to find out whether I should let my pussy drive me in one direction while my brain began to suggest more and more that I should think of my career.
I returned her kiss, with less passion of course, and went to join Arpad. He was eating some cold roast beef like a hungry wolf.
"Love gives you an appetite ... he ex claimed when I entered the boudoir. A bucket with two champagne bottles stood on a chair next to the table. He was sitting on the couch and patted the place next to him, inviting me to sit there.
"You'd better eat your portion, Pepi, or I'll clean up everything. And let's drink a toast to our trip to Hungary...."
We clinked glasses and I emptied the whole content. Arpad refilled my glass.
"What about downing this one too...?"
"No," I said. "I was thirsty, but now I'm all right. But I want to eat. This looks like good roast beef...."
"Yes, and it doesn't merely look it! And Madame always has some good pumpernickel to go with it ... wait until you taste our Hungarian bread! Our peasant women bake it in a communal oven ... it's delicious...! Incidentally, did you have a chance to tell Madame Yvonne about our Hungarian trip...?"
"Yes...."
"Well...? What did she say...?"
I took my time to chew the morsel I had in my mouth and then washed it down with some more champagne. I made up my mind to let Arpad dangle a little concerning that invitation. I knew now that he was a fantastic lay, but I also knew that I had to keep the upper hand. Not only with him, but with any male I was to deal with in the future.
"It's like this...." I began, taking my time. "Madame, naturally, wasn't exactly delighted when I told her you want me to spend some time with you away from here. After all, she is a business woman . .
"But she mustn't show it too much . .
"Who says she does? I was merely reminding you of the fact. And besides, she would like to discuss the whole thing with me first. You realize that I do have to agree to that...." Arpad had had a little too much of the champagne. His voice rose:
"Couldn't you have told her that you love me...? And that...."
My expression stopped him short. Tipsy as he was, he could see that I was serious. I looked straight in his eyes.
"Just a minute, Arpad ... how do you know that I love you...? Would you tell Madame Yvonne that you have fallen in love with me, for instance...? You know that woman has been around...."
That made him sit up.
"Well ... but ... but you do love me don't you...?"
"What gives you the right to think so...?"
"But when we were in bed together...."
"So what...? Didn't you repeat like a madman 'I love you, I love you' about twenty times...? And when? When you were in my cunt! How would you like me to take you up on it...?"
His face was a study. I felt sorry for him, because he was very young and his success with women had made him overconfident. And now a young whore had to tell him the facts of life. He reached for my hand.
"You mean ... you don't love me...?"
"I didn't say that, did I? I really don't know. Suppose I did, would that change anything between us...?"
He drained his glass and again poured it full to the brim.
"I told you why I can't marry you...." he said, almost plaintively.
"Why the hell should you believe I want to marry you? Or anybody for that matter? And just because that Italian count happened to marry my predecessor, does that mean that aristocrats are in the habit of marrying whores out of a brothel...?"
It pained him to hear me talk like that, but I knew I had to make the situation quite clear to him. Perhaps I was a little too sharp with my words, but it did me good to feel that I had not fallen under his influence. I knew deep down that I had been far too careless about letting him impress me with his incredible potency and personal charm. He had stirred up my guts so much that I forgot to use my wits. When a woman feels she could easily become the sexual slave of a man, she wants to get back at him. The war between the sexes is no joke. It exists and girls like me must be especially careful not to forget it. On the other hand, one has to know how much one can afford to hurt a man's vanity without losing him. I thought I had shown to Arpad that I had a mind of my own, no matter how often I gave him my pussy.
He shook the robe off his shoulders so that I could see his muscular torso.
"It's getting warm," he said. "Why don't you do like me ... make yourself more comfortable...?"
He tried to pull the gown off my shoulders and kissed me on the neck.
"It's no good arguing so seriously," he said, "let's have a good time. We don't have to worry about love and all that ... do we...?"
"I wasn't, but you were...." I couldn't help reminding him. "Why don't you let me order some more champagne ... I'm thirsty myself," I said.
"That's the best idea you ever had ... giggled Arpad. He was pretty high by now.
Now that he was getting drunk, the young boy in him came out. He began to act like an exuberant fifteen year old. How amazing to get insight into one's own delusive thinking. If a well-built youngster with an enormous prick gives us a good going over, we are apt to think of him as a man. He's not a man, but a youngster who's a potent male. That is all.
As soon as I saw Arpad for what he was, my sexual interest cooled down and went back to normal, which means I still wanted to get laid by him, but I'd know I was getting screwed by a boy who still had a lot of growing up to do.
When the champagne was brought in, I used that age-old trick of emptying my glass into the bucket when Arpad wasn't paying any attention and I saw to it that he was draining one glassful after another. After the fourth bottle was half empty, he could hardly keep his eyes open. And that's what I wanted.
"Come on ... Pe ... Pepi...." he stammered, "let's go to bed...."
"Sure...." I said, and helped him up, but he couldn't keep his balance and always fell back on the couch. It's just as well, I thought, and took a pillow from the bed and put it under his head. After two minutes he was blissfully snoring.
I silently closed the door behind me and told the girls and the waiters outside that Arpad mustn't be disturbed. Yvonne gave me a questioning glance.
"Yes," I told her. "He got soused and has to sleep it off now. Why don't we have our little talk if you can make the time now...?"
She looked around the room to see whether everything was under control. Tatyana and Jeanette were in other rooms with customers. Carmen was playing cards with a very senile-looking old man.
"That's a retired Imperial Councillor...." whispered Yvonne. "He can't have sex any more ... too old and impotent ... so he comes here 'to enjoy the atmosphere,' as he calls it. He pays like any regular customer and the girls like to keep him company in that harmless manner. You can be sure he'll give Carmen at least fifty guilders when he leaves...."
Imperial Councillor! He reminded me of the old Hofrat, which was about the same rank on the Civil Service list. In a few years he too might wind up playing cards instead of tickling girls' buttocks with that ridiculous small ruler. It was touching to think that merely being in a whorehouse became a good substitute for real sex to old guys like that.
Madame took me into the narrow corridor that ran around one length of the reception room. I hadn't seen it before. It was quite dark. The only light came through five or six circular openings in the wall. I looked through one and saw that it permitted the view of a bedroom where Tatyana was being laid by a middle-aged gent. I felt Madame's hand pulling me to the third peephole. Through it I could watch Jeanette and a man concentrating on a wild sixty-nine. When I wanted to ask Yvonne what this was all about, she put her hand over my mouth and pulled me along until she reached a hidden door on the other end of the corridor.
We entered what seemed to be her private bedroom. It was covered with Persian rugs and looked altogether luxurious. In one corner stood a huge bed with an old-fashioned canopy as I'd seen in illustrations of gallant French novels. The bed was open and inviting, but Madame made me sit in a large armchair and chose one beside me. I couldn't control my curiosity any longer.
"What's the meaning of all those peepholes...?" I asked.
Yvonne laughed at my apparent naivete. "That's what they are: peepholes! You must have heard of voyeurs, I'm sure...?"
"Voyeurs...?" I gasped. "But that's what our first customers were tonight. Those two men who watched Tatyana and myself doing a lesbian act...."
"Don't use that word...." Yvonne sounded quite irritated. I soon found out why.
"When two women make love to each other they don't have to be lesbians...." she explained. "Have you never felt pleasure with a woman...?"
Aha! Now comes the great seduction scene, I thought. She's going to make me pay for accepting the invitation of Arpad by taking me to bed with her. After all, why not? She was not quite young and a little fat, but definitely not unappetizing. I was told she took a bath twice a day and used a lot of beauty aids. Her costly perfumes came from Paris and she knew how to use them discreetly. No, Yvonne was no cheap madam. The golden cross worn around the neck was the only error of taste she permitted herself. Otherwise she could behave like a real lady.
I didn't mind pouring it on a little thick. "Doing it with a cultivated woman like you," I said as sweetly as I could, "would certainly be a great pleasure. Not to speak of your great experience...."
I seemed to have gone too far.
"Are you alluding to my age...?" she asked. "Not at all, Madame...!"
"When we are among ourselves you don't have to call me Madame, except of course before the other girls."
"Thank you ... Yvonne...." I said as tenderly as I could and got up. I bent over her and kissed her lightly on the lips. She pressed my head against her and the kiss became less light. She stood up, too.
"You know, Pepi, you're the first girl I engaged without seeing her in the nude. Of course, it wasn't necessary to examine you ... I could see at once you had an excellent figure and I knew your skin was ideal...."
She stopped herself, realizing she had said too much. That bastard Rudolf must have told her he had seen me in the buff that night in the separee. I wondered whether he'd also let her know that he'd taken advantage of the situation and given me a quick banging.
"I'd love to let you see me the way I am...." I said in a sugary tone and began to strip down to nothing. Yvonne's breathing became immediately faster. She walked around me, taking her time to touch me at all places. Her voice sounded quite husky.
"Ah ... like a goddess ... really ... your teats are like a virgin's ... and that flat belly ... ah ... what soft skin you have . .
Her face became flushed and her hands were all over me, probing, kneading and pinching. At last, her fingers slipped down to my middle. She was very excited by now.
"Ah, honey, your hole is quite moist ... you do react nicely ... why don't you undress me...?"
I undid the buttons of her dress and went from one thing to another ... It took quite some time, because her groping hands were always in my way, but at last she was quite naked like myself. Before I could take a good look at her figure she had her arms around my middle and rubbed herself against me.
"You feel good ... Pepi ... let's lie down on the bed...."
She tried not to flop down with a thump, but to lower herself as gracefully as her plump body permitted. She didn't look bad at all. A Turk would have thought her quite desirable. Those Mohammedans love fat women. The fatter the better. But our young, nice piano-player wasn't a Turk and I wondered how much pleasure he got out of screwing Yvonne every time she dragged him to bed with her.
"Hold still, honey...." she said now. "I'll be good to you ... just hold still and let me do all the work...!"
She hadn't promised something she couldn't keep. I lay on my back with closed eyes while she got busy with her hands, fingers, legs, and toes, caressing and stimulating every part of me. It was as if she had many tentacles like an octopus. I still don't understand why she was so sensitive about calling lesbianism by its proper name, because she was a past master at the art of rousing and satisfying a woman's lust. Sappho, the ancient Greek poetess of the island of Lesbos, would have devoted several poems to her. What I liked especially about Yvonne's manner was that she had nothing masculine about her, either in her personal manners or the way she made love to me. I could as well have been a man she tried to please, the great difference being her great knowledge of a woman's erotic anatomy.
Since she had forbidden me to move, I couldn't even reciprocate her caresses, but I made a calculated guess and tried anyhow. I somehow managed to introduce my fingers into her slit and felt a tremor going through her compact body, but she didn't protest. Encouraged by this, I slipped under her belly and began to let my tongue work on her large, prominent clitoris that reminded me of a small penis. That was perhaps the reason for my performance becoming more and more enthusiastic.
By now Yvonne had silently agreed to our assuming a mutually pleasing sixty-nine position and both of us had the satisfaction of making the partner come several times. At last, with a deep sigh, she lay back on the large head-pillow and put my head on her shoulder. That was the only quasi-masculine gesture she permitted herself. But it could equally be interpreted as her motherly protectiveness. That motherliness became more and more apparent in her treatment of me, now and later.
"It's a real pleasure to be in bed with you...." she said now.
"I have to pay you the same compliment, Yvonne . .
"Now, now ... you don't have to flatter me...."
"You're right, Yvonne! I don't have to flatter you, because you must have been told the same thing by dozens of men and women who have seen more of the world than I have . .
She liked that. Turning on her side and facing me, she said:
"You and I have the same kind of background, if you want to call it that.
I started out exactly like you and I don't think I've been a failure. I don't see why you can't do the same thing. I know you want to go with Arpad to his parental estate. We call him Arpad here, or rather that's how like likes to be called. But his real name is Ferry von Ofaley, but never call him Ferry. I don't know why he doesn't like it, it's such a nice abbreviation for Ferdinand! Arpad was an ancient Hungarian king, I believe, and our handsome lieutenant identifies with him. So Arpad it is...."
"His family name is von Ofaley, you said...?"
"Yes, d'you know the name...?"
"I believe I saw it in the papers some time ago...."
"That must have been last year, because his father died in the spring. He was prime minister of Hungary...."
"What about the mother...?"
"Oh, she died when he was still a little boy. He grew up among men and learned all sorts of things very early...."
"Yes, he told me how he screwed girls when he was only fourteen or so, and how his father caught him and gave him a terrific beating...."
"Old Ofaley should have remembered that the boy had caught him more than once with a maid at odd places in the old mansion. Arpad is a chip off the old block...."
"Did you know his father...?"
The question seemed to stir some unpleasant memory in Yvonne. She frowned for a while. Then she said:
"Did I know him...? It was that old bastard who once got me pregnant and didn't want to pay when the child had to be given to foster parents. It was lucky for the poor little worm when it died after two months...."
"So quickly...?"
"Yes! Got the measles and wasn't properly treated ... but let's stop talking about it. Sorry it was me that mentioned it! Anyway, Arpad found an old business card of mine in his father's desk and that's how he found me. He's a steady customer...."
"How long has he been coming here...?"
"About two years, since he was twenty. But this is the first time he's invited one of my girls to accompany him home to the family place. It's a huge farm, or rather several farms rolled into one. They still live like feudal lords there in the Hungarian plains. Huge cornfields and thousands of cattle! When Arpad is thirty he'll be a millionaire. But don't marry him even if he goes down on his knees and begs you...!"
"And why not...? Is there something wrong with him?"
Yvonne lifted her head and supported it with her hand.
"Why do you ask that...? Did he tell you something?"
Now my interest was thoroughly roused.
"No ... he didn't say anything, but...."
I tried to make a stab in the dark.
"... when he gets drunk he changes somehow ... I can't quite put my finger on it...." Yvonne grabbed my chin and made me look at her.
"Promise me you'll keep it to yourself. His mother died in a mental hospital. So did a younger brother of hers. There's been lunacy in her family for generations...."
I was shocked.
"Does ... does Arpad know about it...?"
"His father may have told him, or he may have not. I don't know ... and now you know why I said you shouldn't marry him. And be damned careful not to let him get you pregnant ... you don't want a child that might be mentally sick...."
The idea of becoming pregnant occurred to me very rarely in those days. We used our sponges and men used those fish-bladder condoms if we asked them to. But Steffi had promised me that her doctor friend would help me if it came to the worst. Discreet abortions were always possible for rich women. The family doctor arranged everything. It cost quite a bit of money though. And it was not without danger, even when performed by a regular doctor in a regular hospital or a legitimate private clinic.
Yvonne suddenly got up and told me to do the same.
"Put on your gown and things, because the time has come to show you our peepholes when they are used by customers. Don't make any noise, I'll lead you by the hand. And don't try to look through a hole that's occupied by somebody else. A man pays up to a hundred guilders to spend a few hours watching others fucking my girls, or lesbian acts . .
"Ah, see? Now you used the word yourself...!"
"To hell with it...!" Yvonne laughed at her slip of the tongue. "Let's go and do a little sightseeing now...."
When my eyes had got used to the darkness of the narrow corridor, I could make out three men sitting in front of the first three peepholes. Each had his eyes glued to the pane covering the hole and at the same time was jacking off. I suppose Yvonne's cleaning women had to wash the floor and walls in that corridor every morning to remove ounces of dried semen.
The men were so absorbed in the spectacle that they didn't notice Yvonne and myself sneaking by behind them. We stopped by two peepholes that were not in use at the moment. To my amazement I noticed our young pianist lying naked on Jeanette and fucking hell out of her. I turned to Yvonne who was looking through the hole next to me. She put her fingers warningly to her lips and then whispered close to my ear:
"Yes, he's our show-fucker! Many customers like to watch a regular lay between a man and a woman. Usually there are enough customers here so that Ludwig can stay at the piano. Tonight there's only Arpad and he's asleep. The three men that are here are voyeurs ... so-Ludwig had to fill the gap. You must admit he's an experienced gap-filler ... that Jeanette is enjoying it too much ... look, you can see only the white of her eyes ... that little bitch...."
I understood immediately. Yvonne was jealous. The handsome pianist was hers, but I thought it was her good business sense that let her use him in a pinch. He looked quite good in the nude. I wouldn't have thought he had such nicely developed muscles on his thick thighs. I got turned on by watching him doing it to Gusti-Jeanette.
Suddenly I was shaken by a violent suspicion : did the room in which Arpad and I had enjoyed ourselves have peepholes, too? I didn't like the idea of being watched without knowing it. I had to ask Yvonne and didn't want to wait a minute longer. I put my lips close to her ear and told her to be quite frank with me about it.
"No, you weren't watched...!" she whispered back. "Arpad pays enough for his privacy...."
"But you said these voyeurs pay up to a hundred guilders...?"
"And Arpad will leave around three hundred guilders here when he leaves tomorrow. That includes the money you're going to get...." Those figures didn't make any impression on me. All I heard was that Arpad would be leaving the next day. I had to come to a decision. I took Yvonne by the hand and pulled her from her seat. She understood I wanted to get out of that corridor with the peeping-holes and the masturbating customers. We left through the opposite door that led into the hall from which one could enter any other room on the floor. But one had to know where and how. There were a lot of secret doors that had no handles and could be opened only by pressing on certain parts of the wallpaper design. To the uninitiated they looked like part of the walls.
Through one of those secret doors we regained Yvonne's bedroom. She sprayed some perfume behind her ears and refreshed me, too, with a few squirts of the atomizer.
"What is it now...?" she asked. "Would you like to leave with Arpad tomorrow? You don't have to worry about my getting short. There are not too many customers around this time of the year. After New Year when the carnival season begins we'll be working overtime...." I did some quick thinking.
"Yes, if you really don't mind, I'd love to go to Hungary with the boy. I've never been out of Vienna...."
"What? Oh, then you definitely must go and have a good time ... but I want to give you a warning. Arpad likes to fuck all the time, it is true. But you don't know him from another side. That young buck is also a voyeur! Yes, don't look so surprised. It's not only the older guys who get a kick out of seeing others fuck. Healthy studs like Arpad get quite stimulated by watching others...."
"I don't quite understand ... you mean he would make me watch, too?"
"No, silly!" Yvonne laughed. "He will be watching you when others fuck you...."
"What...!"
"Yes! He's got lots of lusty males around his estates. Healthy farmer boys and girls and there's a lot of group-fucking going on during the grape harvest. Also at other times. Sex knows no season in those parts. Hungarians are like bulls and stallions. I know them, Pepi...."
"I've never had one before Arpad. But he seems to be a good representative of the people there. Thanks, Yvonne, for being so good to me. I'll have no time to write a few lines to my friend Steffi. You've heard of her from Rudolf, I'm sure. You'd do me a favor to let her know, perhaps through Rudolf, that I'll be in Hungary for a few weeks...."
"You can count on it, Pepi. And now you'd , better get back to your Arpad. He might wake up and lie there with a hard-on ... you wouldn't want the poor boy to jack off like these old guys before the peepholes...?"
"You bet I wouldn't like him to use any hole except mine ... he can even peep in there if he wants to."
Yvonne quickly put her finger under my gown and tickled my slit and then gave me a good slap on my buttocks before pushing me through another one of those hidden doors.
I found myself in the carpeted boudoir where Arpad was snoring. I sat down on the bed and it squeaked a little. Arpad groaned, stretched and yawned and opened his eyes, blinking in spite of the soft light.
"Hello, beauty...." he greeted me, sitting up and immediately falling back like a boy who doesn't like to get up in the morning.
"You slept like a baby, Arpad...."
He pointed down to a suspicious bulge under his nightshirt.
"Do babies wake up like that, too...? Why don't you come over here and give me your breast...?"
"Why don't you come over to me? It's nicer to be in a bed than on a couch . .
He really got up, tore off his shirt and lay down by me in all his nude glory. After a few minutes I was just as nude and his hands, knees and thighs were rubbing against me on all sides. He turned me around like a doll, kissing me wherever his mouth could reach. At last, he encircled me with his legs and held me quietly.
"You still owe me an answer, Pepi...."
I felt his stiff prick twitching on my skin, but he didn't move. I wanted to avoid a long conversation and get laid instead. Arpad was the very type who was made for fucking, not for arguing. He was still too immature for clever repartee. His wonderful prick was his best argument and I wanted to give him plenty of chance to use it.
"I'll give you the answer, Arpad. And it's this: I'll come with you tomorrow if you show me now that you really enjoy making love to me. I want a foretaste of the wonderful time we are going to have in Hungary...."
He pressed his mouth on mine and probed with his tongue between my lips. It was strange how that boy could use his tongue and make it hard like a real prick. I was quite horny in no time and could hardly wait until he put his shaft to my slit. This time he took his time sliding it into me so that I pressed my hands against his ass to push him in quickly.
And now that rascal stuck in me without moving so that I had to begin swinging my hips making his prick move. Suddenly, without any transition, he started to race back and forth in me like a piston. I came at once and felt his tempo increasing. The moisture in my hole seemed to stimulate him to a wild frenzy, as if he needed any stimulation. His face became flushed and his eyes larger and more luminous. The facial muscles were quite tense so that he really looked like a young boy. I felt again the well-known fascination come over me, but this time I could control it.
"This is a marvelous stud," I said to myself, "a fucker par excellence! How I love that big, stiff, fleshy shaft of his working in me with this wild fury! Yes ... a stud ... a boy who's potent as hell ... ah ... how I love to feel him ... I love being fucked ... being fucked ... nothing more ... this time it's Arpad who's fucking ... ah ... it feels good ... and when he takes me to Hungary I'll let some strong young peasant fuck me ... and he may watch ... why not? ... Yvonne said so ... ah ... I'm coming every few minutes ... I wish he'd go on for ever .'. . that stud...."
That was my method of not being carried away again and mistaking sheer lust for love. After all, what is love? All love comes from the body...! Even parents who fondle their babies delight in the physical touch ... sure, it's not sex, but it's pleasurable. If I fondle a dog or a cat, I do it because it gives me pleasure.
I was glad my thoughts kept running that way, it was a good defense against Arpad's sexual charm. I've had thousands of men since then, but no other exerted that charm on me like that virile stud of a boy.
His piston was racing in me so fast that I couldn't help yelling, no matter how I tried to control it. He began to cover me with little bites on my chin, my ears and nibbled on my nipples. It all felt like being fucked by several men at the same time.
"Pepi ... oh Pepi...." his breath came in gasps, "ahhh ... ahhh. I want to go on fucking you ... all the time ... ah ... I feel it ... I feel it ... it's coming ... everything in me is coming ... ah ... Pepi ... yes ... push against me ... that's good ... that's ... ahhh ... ahh ... now ... now ... oh God...."
He yelled the last words, buried his face in my shoulder. A flood of semen had been squirting into me, mixing with my own secretions, and both were flowing down my thighs now. I felt the wetness spreading all over me and on the sheet under me. But I was so completely spent that I had no energy to move a muscle. Arpad was lying on me like a lifeless bundle of slack muscle. I brushed my lips against his chest and he responded by lifting his head and kissing my ear.
We both fell asleep and I woke again because Arpad's weight began to hurt me. I moved and he rolled off me, still half asleep.
"Pepi...." he suddenly spoke up. "I'll ring for one of the maids. She'll prepare a bath for us and change the sheets on the bed. My, what a mess...!"
He laughed and kissed me quickly. We both jumped up and put our robes on. I had to wipe my body with a towel first because I didn't want my dressing gown to get dirty, too.
When the maid appeared at the door Arpad ordered not only a bath but some sandwiches neatly arranged on a large tray. It was five in the morning by now, but Yvonne's place provided a 24-hour service, from sex to food and drink.
I enjoyed the hot bath. Arpad and I were sitting opposite each other in the roomy tub and he amused himself by tickling me between my legs with his toes. We soaked for a full half hour before using a little soap and washing each other's back. The warm water made Arpad's sexual powers come back pretty soon and I had to use a lot of persuasion for him not to start anything in the tub. There were large Turkish towels and two robes of terry cloth for each of us. We dried ourselves and each other while Arpad used all this, of course, to play with my breasts and use his fingers to check whether I was really dry between my legs. I would have loved to do the same to him, but I wanted to get back to our room and finish the food there and let Arpad open another bottle of beer for us.
At last we were sitting again in our boudoir and eating like two wolves.
"We've got to get some sleep, too...." I said now. "When do you plan to take the train for Budapest?"
"Quite simple...." he said chewing all the while. "We're going to sleep now, and tomorrow evening my man is going to drive us to the station ... can you be ready by then...?"
"I should think so. Do I have to take many dresses with me...?"
"Not for me, Pepi! I like you without any clothes best. This is a compliment! But seriously, we're not going to stay in Budapest, but drive out to my estate. I'll get you a nice peasant costume-and you'll look like a genuine Hungarian girl. On Sundays we all wear our national costumes, you know. You'll look beautiful in it . .
We rang for the waiter to take the tray and plates and glasses away and prepared to sleep in the bed that had been provided with fresh sheets while we took our bath.
"Now you'd better not touch me," I said to Arpad, "or neither of us is going to sleep much."
He laughed like a little boy who is up to some devilry. But I warned him again that I needed my sleep.
"Let's look in that chest again...." I said, "I'm sure we'll find there some fresh nightshirts for us...."
"What do you need nightshirts for ... are you cold...?"
I noticed the laughter in his eyes, but pretended not to understand him.
"Look, Arpad...." I tried desperately to be serious, but it didn't sound the way I wanted to. "If we sleep in the nude, you know damned well that the slightest touch will make us, well, not sleep...."
"And that's bad...?"
I pulled myself together and raised my voice a little.
"All right, my friend! I can see you don't realize that I need my rest. I'm going to sleep on the couch. You can stay in the bed. There are plenty of blankets that I can use...."
That did it. He jumped all over me, begging me to be a good girl and sleep next to him. Yes, we shall put on some nightshirts. And he was not going to touch me.
We found the nightshirts and put them on. Arpad, of course, had to help me slip mine over my head, and then he had to "straighten it out" around my bosom and my fanny. I slapped his hands away and climbed into bed. He got in, too, but by crawling over my body, pretending to be quite awkward.
"Gee, I'm sorry, baby ... I'm so tired I mistook this for my side of the bed...."
I didn't answer but curled up with my back turned to him.
"Now, is that polite to turn your back on me...?" I heard him complain.
"Arpad!" I raised my voice when inflecting the second syllable of his name. "You promised...."
"I promised not to touch you, but you didn't forbid me to see you...."
"You're not supposed to keep your eyes open when you are sleeping. Try to dream of me if you want to see me all the time...."
I heard a deep sigh and felt him toss around for a while, then there was silence. Suddenly he spoke up:
"Pepi, may I ask you something...?"
"What is it...?" I didn't sound very encouraging.
"Am I really good in bed...?"
Oh God! He was either clowning or his little boy vanity needed to be appeased. But I knew he'd never let me sleep if I showed him he could make me angry.
"Why d'you want to know...?" I asked in return.
"Don't you want to turn around so I can see your face...?"
"No! And I mean no!"
"All right, please answer my question...!"
"Whether you're good in bed...?"
"Yes, am I ... really...?"
"Only when you're fucking me, but not when I want to sleep . .
I used the slang word intentionally to shock him into silence. I guessed that he was all ready to ride me again, but I didn't want to go on until I was so exhausted that I wouldn't be able to sleep well. It was a strange situation. Here I was lying next to the best stud in the world. I craved to feel his long, thick, pulsing shaft in my cunt and yet I preferred to sleep. But did I really? I heard a sob behind me.
What was this? I thought. Some new trick to make me turn around. I didn't move. But the sobbing became quite evident and the bed was shaking a little. I turned around and found he was actually crying into his pillow.
I was really confused now. My instincts told me that this was again a symptom of the little boy being hidden in a man's body. Was he craving some motherly feelings in a woman, too? Yvonne said he'd lost his mother as a child. She died in an insane asylum. I decided to investigate this situation which I liked less and less. What's the use of lying next to the body of a resplendent male if inside the body lived a little boy whose mental growth hadn't caught up with the physical one.
Arpad wasn't aware that I had turned toward him. He was still shaking with sobs. I put my hand on his hair and caressed him gently. He didn't stop and didn't react to my touch.
"Arpad...!" I called. "Please, stop crying...!"
My hand continued to stroke his head and I began to massage his strong neck.
"Arpad! Why don't you tell me why you feel so bad ... you're not a little boy anymore ... can't you tell me why you're crying all of a sudden...?"
He moved his head from the pillow onto my breast. I could feel the moisture of his tears. It was important for me to find out what this was all about. I pulled him close against me and felt that he had a terrific erection, but he didn't try in any way to use it. He was still sobbing, though less violently.
"Arpad...." I began again. "You can't go on like this without talking to me...."
He lifted his head and spoke so low that I could hardly understand him.
"I ... I ... feel guilty...."
I was perplexed.
"Guilty? Of what?"
He sat up now and wiped his eyes with a corner of the top sheet.
"I'm not what I seem...."
I understood less and less.
"Please, Arpad! Don't talk in riddles to me. What do you seem? And what is it that you are? Or that you are not, but only seem to be...?"
He looked at me with his wet eyes and spoke with a monotonous voice as if he were reciting something he'd learned by heart.
"I seem to be a good lay. Every woman tells me that. And if she doesn't tell me, I provoke her into saying it. But it's not true. I'm not a good lay!"
I didn't know whether I should start laughing, or get angry.
"You'll have to make it a little clearer to me, Arpad...."
He swallowed and went on in the same monotone :
"The truth is I love to fuck. And when I'm fucking I never think of the woman. All I am interested in is myself. I want to enjoy myself. I want to feel good. I know I have a big penis. It feels good to have it in a small cunt like yours. It gives me tremendous pleasure! But I don't care a damn about your pleasure. I think only of myself. And I'm always surprised to hear that I am giving pleasure. It's purely accidental. I don't intend to do it. I'm only out for myself...."
I began to see some light, at last. He felt he was praised without really deserving it. Well, such a thing has happened before. Many a person acted from selfish motives and, without even knowing it, did some good. But I still didn't understand why Arpad was so shaken up by that flash of self-recognition.
"Listen to me," I said, caressing his curls. "I'm only two years younger than you, but I've seen more of life than you have. At least, so it seems to me. Of course a mature man wants to give a woman as much pleasure as possible when he has sex with her. But I've slept with men of fifty who were the most selfish sons of bitches you can imagine...."
He began to listen with visible interest.
"It's nice of you to be so concerned about not deserving any praise for being a good lay. Because you are a good lay, whether you want it or not. You keep praising my narrow hole, but I assure you that's the way I was born, like a singer with a good voice. I didn't work for it. It's part of me, like your big penis-bless it!-which gives me and other girls a lot of pleasure, or your passion, which is also part of you and isn't earned ... so don't be childish! You're all right...!"
He suddenly kissed me. A brotherly kiss on my cheek.
"I hope you don't say all this just to make me feel good ... because ... because I want to give a lot of pleasure to a woman ... but when I get excited and begin to fuck her ... all that exists is only myself...."
I was genuinely moved by Arpad's emotional dilemma, although he seemed to me now less the healthy, virile male that he becomes when he's sexually active. Looking backward, I must say that not only have I never again found such an excellent performer in bed as Arpad was, but I've also never met anyone like him who had such a conflicting approach to a sexual partner. Perhaps that was part of the mental inheritance of his mother. I never knew what her mental conflict was and I certainly could not make Arpad talk about it.
He had listened to my appeasing words with great attention and suddenly he threw back the blanket covering both of us and before I knew what he was up to, he'd pushed my nightgown upwards and glued his lips to my grotto. His strong hands gripped my buttocks firmly so that I couldn't move the lower part of my body, but I didn't feel like moving it, because his tongue beat a furious tattoo on my clitoris with occasional stabs into my cunt.
I knew instinctively what drove him to assume this position which prevented me to reciprocate his caresses by taking his shaft into my mouth. Arpad wanted to prove to me and perhaps himself that he was able to give pleasure to a woman without bothering about his own pleasure. All I could do was to entangle my fingers in his blond curls and caress his head, ears and neck.
Pretty soon I lost all conscious control over what I was doing because that talented tongue of his threw me into ecstasy and I squeezed my thighs so tightly around his head that he had to come up for air.
Now he couldn't hold himself any longer and, quickly shoving his knees closer to my middle, he plunged his hot, fleshy club into my pulsating hole with such force that I emitted a loud moan.
"Am I hurting you...?" he suddenly whispered and stopped moving.
"No ... silly ... it feels so good ... so good ... go on ... go on ... "
I closed my hands over the small of his back and pressed him deep into my guts. Every muscle and nerve in my body craved to feel this virile male overcoming the female in me. Two currents of thought ran parallel in my mind. One, trying desperately to be detached and objective, made me realize that I was again on the threshold of yielding, body and soul, to a handsome, potent male and that I might renounce everything else for the pleasure of being fucked in this way, day and night. The other tried to silence all attempts at being objective and wanted me to stop thinking altogether. I heard my voice echoing my feelings, but I'd ceased to worry about everything. My whole body and mind had become one quivering something that was no longer Josephine Mutzenbacher, an individual, but woman, the eternal female principle, the cunt, to put it bluntly, sucking all the male strength into itself that the piston-like penis was pushing and beating into her in an ever increasing rhythm. The voice that I heard moaning and muttering incoherent words was my own, but I felt no connection with it. That voice went on and on:
"Yes ... yes ... that's all I want ... ever ... your prick in me ... yes ... like that ... nobody can do it like you ... nobody ... ah ... fuck me, Arpad ... fuck me ... always ... always...."
I threw myself around so wildly that I would have unseated him if his tremendous strength had not kept him firmly in the saddle where his shaft had me impaled. Now I could hear him begin to mutter words of his own:
"Yes ... I'll fuck you ... always ... always ... I'm giving you pleasure ... say that I'm doing it ... say that I'm good ... ah ... say it...."
And like a parrot I cried:
"Yes, you are ... you are giving me pleasure ... you're the only one who can do it ... you're the best fucker in the world ... yes ... go on fucking me ... go on ... your prick is in my whole body ... it's everywhere ... I can't stop coming all the time ... I'm coming again ... again ... ah...."
Arpad's hands and fingers worked feverishly on my breasts, strayed down to my buttocks and squeezed them forcefully for a few seconds and came back to my shoulders, my face, tickled my ears.
"You ... you...." he yelled now, " ... you are all cunt ... you're the best cunt ... yes ... squeeze it ... yes ... like that ... I'm going to squirt soon ... yes ... hug me with your legs like that ... yes ... ah ... ah ... now ... now ... ah...."
His voice became shrill and the almost endless flood of his semen spurted into me while his whole body was vibrating and twitching. His flanks fell on me in a last convulsive thrust which drove his prick into me up to its root. His teeth were biting into my shoulder so violently that I was surprised I didn't cry out with the pain of it. But I was only half conscious and my body lay there like an inert thing. Arpad's weight didn't bother me at first, but after ten or fifteen minutes had passed I tried to push him off me. He rolled over like a corpse, but he threw one arm around my waist and after a while he opened his eyes and looked at me.
"Pepi...." he whispered now. He must have yelled himself hoarse.
Instead of saying something I stroked his head.
"Pepi...." he began again.
"Yes, Arpad ... you're all done in, hm...?" He smiled and his face was quite relaxed. "Yes ... I guess I'm pooped ... how about you...? d'you feel good...?"
"So good that I can't keep awake much longer. You're a sweet boy ... happy dreams...!" I leaned over and kissed his cheek. But he was already asleep. He hadn't taken his arm off my hip and I left it there. I thought it must be about seven in the morning by now. Yvonne didn't believe in putting clocks in the bedrooms where customers were entertained. The only window was covered by thick curtains and by green shutters on the outside. It was an ideal room for making love. The world was completely shut out.
I risked to turn on my other side and felt Arpad's hand sliding off me. Thank God, he slept quite soundly. But though I had thought I'd doze off at once, my brain was still active. This had been quite a new experience for me and I felt it was somehow decisive. As far as I can remember, these were my thoughts: "Pepi, if you haven't learned your lesson tonight you might as well forget all your high ambitions. You will remain a horny cunt all your life. A whore who falls in love with fucking will never go places. She'll fall an easy victim to any pimp who knows how to tickle her guts. It was lucky for you to have met Arpad and find out how quickly a big and talented prick makes you forget all your good intentions. Now you know how easily a strong male can fuck all sense out of you. What are you going to do about it...?"
That question stopped my thinking for a while. I was so tired that I couldn't fall asleep and I knew I'd stay awake until I had found the right answer to my problem. I'd read a lot of what I thought was nonsense about the difference between lust and love. To me the two were the same. And suddenly the answer came up in my tired mind:
"That's it, Pepi! All that talking and writing about romantic love is nonsense! What's it mean when you say you love a guy? You want him to fuck you. To fuck you so well that you stop thinking and feel nothing but pleasure. That's your famous romantic love. That's all it amounts to. But ... what about self-sacrifice and all that sentimental talk you hear from people who say they are in love? Sure, it makes sense, but not the way they see it.
"Self-sacrifice for the man you love means that you're so dependent on being laid by him that you want to do anything and everything to keep him for yourself. Every little streetwalker lets herself be beaten silly by her pimp day after day ... and why? So she can keep him. She doesn't know that her cunt has blotted out her brain. She'll say she loves the guy and that's why she permits him to wipe his feet on her. The main thing is that he gives it to her every day...."
"But what about a mother's self-sacrificing love for her child ...?" my mind spoke up again. But it had the answer ready:
"What's a child? The result of being fucked by the child's father. It always reminds her of him. So there's the connection. Sure, as long as the child is small and helpless she feels like protecting it. Every bitch, every mare, every hen, follows the same instinct. Animals are often much better in that respect than people. Watch out, Pepi, being in love with fucking is just like being in love with eating! If you eat too much you become fat and sick. And it's much better to be in love with fucking than with the guy who fucks you. Remember that! A male is a male and a prick is a prick! There are millions of them around . .
That's as far as I got before I fell asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ADVENTURE IN HUNGARY
Madame Yvonne and the girls almost cried when they kissed and hugged me good-bye the next afternoon.
"Don't forget all the things I told you ... Madame whispered into my ear. "Amuse yourself by all means, Pepi, but don't forget that this Hungarian adventure is not the end. Always look ahead...."
I didn't mind Yvonne's preaching. She meant well and she'd come to like me in a very short time. On the other hand, I perhaps needed to be reminded of what I really wanted out of life, because Arpad had again driven me crazy with his passionate ministrations when we woke up at noon, and I had to insist on getting bathed and dressed so that we could make the train to Budapest on time.
It was my first trip by train and I spent almost every bit of the time looking out of the window, to the great chagrin of Arpad, who had taken a private compartment with the idea of continuing our sexual bouts during the trip. I had to appease his insatiable ardor by promising him to make up for it when we had reached his estate.
After Pressburg, the landscape showed the typical Hungarian features, numerous herds of cattle and horses grazing in the endless fields whose monotony was interrupted only by the tall draw wells every five hundred meters or so. It was already quite dark when the train stopped at the Budapest station where Arpad's young orderly, Jancsi, was waiting for us. He was a handsome fellow with a swarthy complexion and grinning all over his face when he saw me.
"Welcome home, sir! I have the landau waiting outside the station for you and the lady...!"
"You've done well, Jancsi...." said Arpad, giving him an approving slap on the shoulder. "And now show the beautiful Mademoiselle Pepi how fast our horses can run ... we must reach the estate in half an hour at the latest...."
"I'll do my best, Lieutenant, sir...!" said the boy, leading the way through the large vestibule to the street where a most elegant carriage with two black horses was waiting for us. When Jancsi was spreading a warm blanket over Arpad's and my knees, his warm hands rested unnecessarily long on my thighs while his eyes looked into mine. Arpad didn't seem to notice anything. I was wondering whether Jancsi was going to be one of the males that were going to lay me while Arpad was looking on. I liked the well-built boy and his smiling face and thought he might be very good in bed. A kind of nostalgia overcomes me even now when I think back to those days when I not only could have any handsome male I wanted, but when I also had to keep them from crowding me.
Jancsi knew how to handle the horses all right. In less than thirty minutes we drove through the cast iron gate that led to the huge mansion of the estate of the barons of Ofaley. It was in the middle of a huge park of old trees.
All the male and female servants were assembled on the large outside staircase and received us like royalty. The maids were particularly glad to see Arpad again and it was not difficult to guess the reason. The footmen and other male servants kept devouring me with their eyes and I was glad to see that almost all of them were just as young and virile as Jansci, who was now leading the carriage and horses toward the stables.
The room that was assigned to me was furnished in solid peasant style and contained one of those old-fashioned tall beds that made it almost necessary to use a stepladder to get into it. I needn't have worried, because it turned out that I hardly ever went to bed alone and the man, or men, in question always carried me like a baby and dumped me onto the sheets. It was a sturdy bed and could sustain the weight of three or four people, all active in one sort of love play or another.
"Try to be awake early tomorrow morning," said Arpad, "because I want you to see everything on the estate. We'll try to find a very tame horse for you...."
All this sounded very exciting, of course, but I was so tired that I fell asleep at once. It was still dawn when Jancsi, of all people, came to wake me up. I had expected a maid to be trusted with that job and was quite flabbergasted to see the grinning brown face of Arpad's orderly bending over me when I opened my eyes. His hand was stroking my bare shoulder very gently; that was what had waked me up. I slapped him on the wrist and asked him whether it was the habit in Hungary to have ladies being waked up by men.
"Not as a rule," said the grinning boy, "we do that only in the case of very beautiful ladies as a sort of compliment. I'll send your personal maid in at once. Her name is Ilona. She'll be at your service, Mademoiselle."
I sat up without realizing that my breasts had slipped out of my nightgown, which was the low-cut type.
"Ah...." murmured Jancsi, "you are really very, very beautiful, Mademoiselle. You've got the breasts of a goddess...."
I threw a pillow at him and he fled, laughing like a naughty school boy, but not before I could notice the giveaway bulge in the front of his trousers. It looked very promising, almost the size of Arpad's weapon.
I was determined more than before to enjoy the passionate disposition of that nice boy and only hoped that it was true what Yvonne had told me about Arpad's voyeurism. The trouble with promiscuous males is that they, too, can become very jealous and possessive. I had confidence in my talent for intrigue and didn't worry much about how I could get Jancsi between my legs without upsetting Arpad. After all, there was Arpad himself, whose potency equaled that of ten males, and there were dozens of good-looking footmen who seemed all very susceptible to the charms of a young female like myself. I had a premonition that before I was going to leave Hungary I'd have tasted as many men as possible.
Ilona, the maid, came in and made a polite curtsy. She helped me finish my toilette and showed me to the glassed-in veranda at the back of the house. Arpad was already waiting there and soon a delightful breakfast was served and I must admit that Hungarians know how to make good coffee, almost as well and sometimes even better than we Viennese can do it. Arpad was clad in the national manner of Hungarian peasants: wide-legged linen pants, called "gatya," a shirt of the same material, and over it a short embroidered vest.
"I've changed my mind about letting you ride," he said when we were about to get up from the table. "Since you've never ridden before, it would be risky to let you handle even a comparatively tame animal...."
"Oh ... so you want me to ride in a carriage...?"
"Nothing of the kind...." he laughed. "You and I will ride on the same stallion. He is the very devil, but I'm his master...."
Arpad was right. Hajnal, his stallion, was a beautiful beast. When being lifted onto the saddle, Arpad's hand gripped me at my most sensitive spot so that I felt myself getting moist at once. He jumped into the saddle behind me like a circus rider and off we went in a brisk gallop across the vast fields that were still covered by a light mist. Nobody could be seen for miles around.
Suddenly Arpad stopped the horse, jumped down and, gripping me around my waist, lifted me a little and turned me around in the saddle so that I was facing him when he had jumped on the horse again. I didn't feel very safe in this position, but Arpad said:
"Don't worry, Pepi. You're as safe as in your bed. Just lie back and lean your head on Hajnal's neck; it's like a pillow...."
I did as told and was surprised at the horse's cooperation, making a nice pillow with his neck for me. My legs were hanging down on either side, but suddenly I felt a draft of air on my thighs; Arpad had slyly lifted up my skirt and before I knew what was going on, his tool had slipped into me.
"Oh my God...." I thought, "being fucked on a horse must be quite uncomfortable. Why make things so complicated if the simpler methods are so much more satisfying...?" But I was mistaken to be so prematurely critical. Arpad clicked with his tongue and Hajnal started a rhythmic trot while Arpad's hands held me firmly by the waist. His prick didn't move at all. The horse did everything for us. Each movement of the fiery animal drove Arpad's prick deep into me and I was enjoying it immensely. I came after a few' minutes and my juices ran down and dripped from the sides of the saddle. Suddenly Arpad let out his lion's roar and unloaded into me. I was afraid the horse might do something unexpected at this moment, but it went on in the same tempo without paying any attention. Apparently it had been trained by its master to tolerate a fucking couple on its back and was also familiar with Arpad's loud yelling when he came.
We stopped in a large avenue of poplars and Arpad jumped down and wiped his prick with a handkerchief. Then he lifted me down and bedded me on a bench that was standing between the trees.
"Well, Pepi, how did you like your first ride on a Hungarian stallion...?"
"It's difficult for me to say which is the stallion between the two of you . .
He laughed his boyish laughter and bedded my head on his knees.
"That's a good way to put it! Here in Hungary all males are stallions and studs. You'll find out for yourself pretty soon . .
Aha, I thought, here it comes. Now I have to question him very carefully so as not to offend him.
"You mean I'm going to find out still more about you, Arpad...?"
"About me...? Well, perhaps! For instance, that I'm not jealous! I want all my boys around here to share in my pleasures. Incidentally, how do you like the boys you've seen so far...?"
I was cautiously feeling my way.
"Well ... it's a compliment to your sense of beauty and good taste when I say that your servants are all very handsome, the boys and the girls ... are some of them married...? " "Married...?" He laughed. "Only the older ones! None of my men here wants to marry before he is forty or so. They like to enjoy being young. So do the girls...."
"So ... what do they do...?"
"The natural thing, of course! They do it among each other. And as often as possible. And I help them, sometimes ... that is, when the boys get tired too soon...."
"And if they don't get tired...?"
"Ha! Then I help them anyway...." During this talk Arpad's shaft had become rigid again and soon we were doing it right there on the bench while Hajnal was grazing nearby.
"Now it's me who's got to do the work...." he gasped. "That's why Hajnal is so useful ... when we do it on his back, he's doing all the moving...."
Arpad's movements increased in speed as if he wanted to prove to me that his own strength was quite sufficient to perform a good lay.
"Ahhh ... Arpad...." I sighed under him, "it was quite nice doing it on the horse, but this is much, much nicer ... yes ... you are doing it fine ... I'm coming again ... you're sweet...."
He silenced me with a passionate kiss and his tongue was deep in my mouth, wrestling with mine.
"You're sweet yourself, Pepi ... none of the girls here have such a small hole like you ... ah ... now ... now ... now...."
His semen gushed into me in long squirts and, when he yelled at the height of pleasure, Hajnal stopped grazing and looked over at us. Was he disappointed that all this was not going on, on his back, or did he mistake Arpad's roar for something else? But after a moment he went back to grazing again.
We cleaned ourselves and rested on the bench before resuming the ride. This time I was sitting in the saddle facing forward, which was giving Arpad the chance of getting his hands into my blouse and kneading my teats. Suddenly I noticed an old peasant coming our way who looked at us quite curiously. When he noticed Arpad in the saddle behind me, he bowed deeply, lifting his hat. His face didn't register any surprise. A sight like this must have been quite familiar to him. I remarked on it to Arpad and asked:
"What would the man think if he had seen us a while ago, with me facing you...?"
"He would have thought it was a pity that he was already too old to enjoy a woman on a horse . .
"You mean to say he has seen you that way...?"
"Not only me, but some of the other boys and girls too. I permit them to use any horse they can handle . .
Arpad noticed my astonishment and added: "You have to know that fucking on a horse is an old Tartar custom. We Hungarians have a lot of Tartar blood in us, that's why we know how to breed horses and how to ride them. When those Tartar hordes stormed over our plains and far into Central Europe, they kidnapped thousands of women without jumping from their horses. They merely grabbed a woman and pulled her up on the saddle and had their way with her right then and there. Just as I did with you today! Didn't you like it...?"
"Yes, more or less ... it had the charm of the newness, but I wouldn't want it as a steady diet ... don't you like it lying on a soft bed...?"
"Oh sure...." he laughed. "But doing it in bed all the time can become a little monotonous...."
When he saw me frown, he quickly added: "Oh ... not with you, Pepi, of course! But you'll admit that variety gives spice to everything, and certainly to sex. Don't you think so...?"
"Yes, I do, but...."
I wanted to find out what my chances were of getting the other boys between my legs.
"... but it's not only the variety of doing it in different positions and locations, but also in the variety of partners...."
Arpad jumped up quite excitedly.
"Yes ... that's what I wanted to explain to you. Or let me put it this way: would you like to sleep with some of the boys you've seen...?"
I still was afraid to be quite frank.
"Well ... only if it also gives some pleasure to you, Arpad...."
He kissed me and almost bit my lips. "Pleasure...? You don't know what real pleasure is, Pepi, until you've done it with a dozen men or so, one after another...."
I found it somewhat peculiar of an "amateur" to try to teach a whore anything new about sexual pleasures. But I felt it would be a mistake to remind young Arpad that I was far more mature than he thought himself to be. I also knew that men love to teach women. Above all, I was eager to learn when all that group-fucking was going to start and whether I would be permitted to take some of the handsome boys to bed in the privacy of my room, one after another, of course, and not as a group.
We were approaching the mansion and Arpad lifted me down while Jancsi, who seemed to be waiting, held the reins of the horse.
"Could some of the maids, or perhaps Ilona, prepare a bath for me...?" I asked.
"Why, Mademoiselle," Jancsi said, "it will be an honor to prepare your bath myself." And he made a deep bow.
I noticed how he and Arpad exchanged a look of understanding.
"I'm sure...." Arpad said, "Jancsi will give you much better service in the bathroom than any of the maids ... trust him ... he's had experience in serving ladies...."
"I'm sure he has...." I said, measuring the grinning orderly with my eyes. "All right, Jancsi, let's see what you can do ... when will the bath be ready...?"
Jancsi bowed again.
"Mademoiselle can have it in a few minutes. I expected that after a long ride you'd want to refresh yourself. That's why I've been heating the stove for the past hour. If you turn on the water, it must be quite hot by how. But you needn't do anything. I'll take care of filling the tub. All you have to do is to tell me if the water is too warm or too cold...."
The rogue must have known what "a long ride" with Arpad meant.
"That's very thoughtful of you, Jancsi. Lead the way and show me where the bathroom is...."
And turning to Arpad I said:
"After the bath I'll be hungry as a wolf...."
"Me too...." he laughed. "We'll have a very good meal. Jancsi will bring you to the dining room...!"
Another groom had come and was leading Hajnal to the stable.
"I'm going to clean up too...." Arpad said and went toward the left wing of the house.
I followed Jancsi, who had politely been waiting for me.
"Is the bathroom near my bedroom...?" I asked. We were walking toward my room and the boy opened the door for me and let me enter first.
"No, Mademoiselle! It's below your room...."
"Below this room...?"
"Yes, in the basement. And it's done all in tiles ... look...!"
He opened a narrow door in one of the walls that I hadn't noticed before. It reminded me of all the camouflaged doors at Madame Yvonne's.
"Let me light the gas lamp on the staircase, first...." Jancsi said.
A wooden spiral staircase led into the basement bathroom which was actually all covered with white tiles. The tub had enough room for two people and must have been specially built. The wood stove, containing the water pipes leading to the faucets of the tub, stood in a corner and radiated some pleasant warmth. I noticed at once the large couch in the other corner, opposite the tub. There were fresh sheets and pillow slips under the woolen blanket that was half folded back.
"That's very nice, Jancsi ... and you say the water is warm enough now...?"
Instead of answering me, the boy turned on the faucets, and steaming hot water mixed with cold splashed into the large tub. Jancsi said:
"I'm ready to help Mademoiselle to get ready. Or, if you prefer, I can wait outside until you call me so that I can scrub your back...."
I was getting tired of all that playacting and decided to play it straight. I wanted to have that strong boy between my legs, in the nude, and no bones about it.
"No, Jancsi...." I said. "Since you offered your services I want to accept them. Stay right here and help me undress. But you must undress before me, because I don't want your clothes to get wet when you scrub my back. So-quick! Get out of your clothes...!"
He let out a sharp whistle between his teeth and had his clothes off in a minute. What a wonderful body he had! Brown skin over rippling muscles on his back, shoulders, arms, and thighs. And his chief muscle was a sight to see! I had estimated correctly. It was almost the size of Arpad's tool, only a little thicker, if that was possible. The glans was as large as a child's fist and of the softest velvety purple, twitching like nobody's business, impatiently yearning for some shelter. Jancsi was not a bit self-conscious. He helped me out of my skirt and blouse, pressing his shaft against my body all the while. I was actually trembling with excitement and was tempted to let the boy ride me then and there and to hell with the bath. We could have that later. But he had already lifted me up in his arms and carried me over to the tub where he lowered me gently into the water. He must have tested its temperature before, although I hadn't noticed it. It was just right, pleasantly and relaxingly warm. I sank into it with a sigh.
Jancsi stepped into it and reclined next to me. He put his arm under my head so that I could use it like a cushion. My hand went instinctively to his rigid tool. He closed his eyes and emitted a loud groan and at once put his hand over my mound, stroking it gently.
I knew that we would start fucking in the water unless I insisted on getting the soaping and rinsing over with first. Jancsi treated me like a baby, soaping and sponging me all over with an almost tender gentleness. It was unavoidable that his fingers lingered between my legs much longer than necessary for the mere cleaning process. I reciprocated by soaping his enormous prick and before I knew what was happening the water was filled with a flood of his semen. Like Arpad he yelled at the critical moment and I began to ask myself whether all Hungarians had such a vocal reaction when they ejaculated.
"Ah ... Mademoiselle ... you have good hands...." he groaned.
"Let's be less formal when we are alone, Jancsi," I suggested. "That mademoiselle business sounds funny at moments like this...."
He gave me a grateful look and said: "Thank you ... Pepinkam...."
He used the Hungarian pet-name for Josephine.
"You know, Jancsi, my handsome friend, we'd better get out of the tub and dry ourselves...."
"You won't have to do anything, Pepinkam," he protested, "I'll wait on you like a slave on his queen...."
"All right, slave, go right ahead...."
He stepped out of the tub and grabbed a large towel from a chair and wrapped it like a Roman toga around his glistening body. Then he stooped over me and lifted me out of the water and wrapped another large towel over me without putting me down. While he held me pressed against his body, I could feel that his large weapon was ready for another bout. He lowered me on the bed and dried me very thoroughly, although he managed to excite me at the same time by concentrating on my teats and my slit. When he had taken a smaller towel and carefully wiped my hair, his own towel fell off his body and revealed his huge pecker in all its splendor quite close to my face. I couldn't resist the temptation and closed my mouth over this challenging stick, which elicited a cry of pleasure from Jancsi.
He stopped drying me and without pulling his tool from my mouth and supporting himself on his hands, he knelt on the bed with his knees on either side of my head. I grabbed his buttocks with my hands and kneaded them, then I used my left hand to surround his big testicles with my palm and tickled them slightly with my fingertips. Jancsi went wild. He began to move in my mouth spontaneously, quite slowly, so that my fingers could still caress his nuts. But the sounds that came out of his mouth proved that he was having the time of his young life.
"Ah ... oh ... this is the best ... I wish I had another cock to put it into your sweet hole at the same time ... ah ... Pepinkam ... you're a wonderful girl ... ah...."
He made some gurgling sounds that were followed by a yelled "ahhhhhh" and his semen spurted right down into my throat; I had to swallow quickly to avoid being suffocated His pleasure overwhelmed him so much that he quite forgot he was lying on my face so heavily that I could hardly breathe. I loved the feel of his curly pubic hair against my mouth and nose, but I had to push him off me if I didn't want to choke.
"Ah ... Pepinkam...." he mumbled, lying next to me like a corpse. " ... Pepinkam ... Pepinkam ... !"
Since his discharge was unusually rich I assumed that he was really exhausted, but one look at his body convinced me of the opposite. His love-stick was as rigid as ever. I closed my fingers around it and gave it a slight squeeze.
This seemed to galvanize Jancsi's relaxed body. He leaned over me and gave me a dozen kisses, one more fiery than the other. In between, he stammered:
"You wonderful Pepinkam ... you're the finest guest our lieutenant has ever brought home with him...."
This made me curious.
"You mean to say that Arpad always brings a girl here, every few months, or so...?" Jancsi was already pressing his knees between my thighs.
"He's done it twice before he came with you. But they were stupid cunts...."
"And what am I, Jancsi...?"
He slowly pressed his shaft into my twitching hole.
"You, Pepinkam, are a lady...."
It certainly was a peculiar situation to tell a whore she was a lady.
"Are you sure I'm a lady...?"
He began to move his hot prick very slowly. "Yes ... you're a lady, Pepinkam ... from head to pussy...."
I couldn't help laughing.
"And what about my legs, Jancsi ... they are also part of me...."
He began to increase his thrusts.
"They are beautiful ... but best part of lady is pussy...."
God knows, I needed and wanted this lay almost desperately, but I also wanted to keep up this dialogue which made me even more horny, if that was possible.
"You're a strong boy, Jancsi, and your prick feels good ... but I want to know how you recognize the pussy of a lady ... how can you tell...?"
"Pussy of lady ... Jancsi's German became less articulate the more his excitement grew. "Pussy of lady is smallest pussy in the world ... you, Pepinkam, have smallest pussy I know ... ah ... what wonderful, tight pussy . .
Although I was greatly amused to hear this virile young peasant's definition of a lady, I soon gave myself up to the far more important pleasure of being fucked by one of the best lays I'd ever had, including Arpad. Jancsi was only seventeen and his potency was at its peak. My maid, Ilona, told me later that he once had fucked her fourteen times in a night.
"Mademoiselle has no idea...." she confessed to me, "what that Jancsi can do. When our young master is not here we have to depend only on the men in the house . .
"You mean to say that there is a sort of mass-fucking going on in the mansion . .
Ilona laughed at my unabashed use of words.
"Yes, Mademoiselle ... we are young and have to make love a great deal. But when the lieutenant is with us, he sleeps with each girl at least twice a week . .
"But there are almost a dozen of you...."
"That's no problem for the lieutenant. Our boys are good lovers, but the lieutenant and Jancsi are the best of all. They never get tired...."
When Ilona informed me in this frank manner of the vivid love life on the estate, I remembered this first experience I was having now with Jancsi. While he was moving his precious tool within me, he sucked my teats and squeezed my buttocks with his strong hands and, without any warning, he suddenly stopped. It drove me crazy to miss the movement of his prick in me.
"Jancsi ... go on ... go on...!"
He didn't move, but covered every part of my body with his muscular limbs.
"Jancsi ... don't stop ... for God's sake ... I can't stand it ... fuck me ... d'you hear ... fuck me...!"
I began to move my hips against his body. It was no use. He left his prick deep in my hole and went on sucking my nipples. I was in a sort of delirious excitement. I tried to reach around his buttocks and, at last, could touch his testicles. I knew a trick that forced any passionate male to come when I wanted it. Jancsi seemed immune to it, but at least my fingers on his nuts made him start moving again. I couldn't remember having been more aroused with Arpad than I was with this teenager. It was only after a few days that I realized Jancsi's sudden stopping was a very clever device to push me to the utmost limits of excitement. When he had resumed his movements I kept throwing my hips against him with such force that a weaker man would have been thrown off me. Not Jancsi! He seemed to enjoy my wildness which expressed itself in all sorts of incoherent exclamations.
"Ha ... ha ... ah ... ah ... yes ... yes ... fuck me, Jancsi ... don't ever stop again ... I'm coming again ... ah ... again ... don't come now ... don't come ... Jancsi ... ah ... push deeper ... deeper ... ah ... I'm coming again ... you must fuck me every day ... every hour ... ah ... I'm coming again ... you're my sweet boy, Jancsi ... I feel you all over my body ... your prick is pushing up to my heart ... keep pushing ... ah ... I'm coming all the time...."
Jancsi was even more stimulated by my words that escaped with my gasping breath. His lips and tongue worked on my throat, my mouth, my nipples, on my shoulders. He suddenly left his position between my thighs without pulling out of me and then hugged me tight with his mighty thighs and legs making me squeeze his prick in my cunt and increasing our mutual pleasure.
After a few minutes of this he put his knees between my thighs again and increased the tempo of his thrusts so that I knew he was approaching his climax. I had come so often that I was surprised his moving tool could still tickle some juice out of me, but it did.
And soon came the great moment of his performance. During his finishing thrusts his abdomen hit me like a rock. Never before had I felt primitive male power between my legs manifested with such strength. No, not even Arpad! His yell started with an ever increasing moan and with a shuddering last thrust he began to ejaculate. I say began because his twitchings lasted over twenty seconds.
I was filled so full of his juice that the last thrusts produced a squishing sound that might have made me laugh under different circumstances. I pressed his buttocks firmly against me as if I were afraid to let him ever pull out of me again. It was quite some time since I'd had that feeling to keep a male member buried within me and feel the man's body pressing down on me like a protective armor.
Jancsi pressed his hot face against my neck and his fast breathing cooled my skin like a fan. At last it began to tickle me. That's when I regained some of my normal perspective. "Jancsi, my boy ... let's take a quick dip in the tub...."
He mumbled without lifting his face from my shoulder:
"I'll have to test the water first. It must be cold by now...."
"Well ... go ahead, then ... test it...."
With a pleasurable groan he got up and stretched himself to his full length. For the first time I saw his penis soft and relaxed, but even so his size was extraordinary. He went over to the tub and dipped his arm into it.
"Come, Pepinkam ... the water is still lukewarm ... it will do ... or wait ... I'll see if the water in the pipes is still warm...."
He turned on the faucet.
"Yes ... it's not bad ... come...."
I stretched and felt the wetness of the sheet under me.
"Come and get me ... slave...!"
He laughed his boyish laughter and came and picked me up.
"Shall I let you drop into the tub so that there'll be a big splash...?"
I merely looked at him without saying anything. He got the message.
"All right ... all right ... I'll be a good boy...."
He lowered me into the still pleasantly warm water and then climbed in after me.
"But now ... no monkey business, Jancsi ... let's get cleaned up and then get out of here. I'm so hungry that I might bite you . .
He laughed. "As long as you don't bite me here...." he pointed to his tool.
In fifteen minutes we were dried and dressed and walked up the stairs to my room. To my utter surprise there was Arpad with five of the young male servants waiting for us. "What the devil...." I began.
Arpad put his arms around me and shut my mouth with a kiss.
"Don't say anything, Pepi! Let's all go and eat, at last ... aren't you hungry...?"
"I could eat for three ... but ... what have you and the boys been doing in my room...?" We were now on our way to the paneled dining room. The table was laid for two, Arpad and myself. The lord of the manor liked to share his sex with the servants, not his meals. When we were sitting down, I repeated my question.
"Really, Arpad ... what were all of you doing in my room...?"
The first covered dishes were brought in and Arpad gestured me to be silent. When the two serving girls had left the room, he said:
"I'll show you everything after the meal. Now ... dig in!"
I was so hungry that the good smell of the roast helped me control my curiosity. It was an excellently cooked lunch. The dessert was also warm. Some sort of dumplings stuffed with peaches from which the stones had been removed. I didn't know that peach dumplings were a typical Hungarian dessert that was later "imported" into Viennese households.
After the table had been cleared, Arpad took me back to my room and bade me sit in the large overstuffed armchair. Then, without another word, he pulled back the Persian rug on the side near the window and revealed a panel in the wooden floor that looked like the lid of a trapdoor. He lifted it and said:
"Now, Pepi, take a look below . .
I nearly fell through that square hole, but it wasn't large enough to let me get through.
I became so furious I couldn't talk. What I saw was the bathroom below where the gas lamp was still lighting up everything.
Arpad was watching my face and for a moment I felt like slapping him. His little boy grin annoyed me. He and those boys had been watching me and Jancsi all the time while we were carrying on in the bathroom. My face must have made it quite clear to Arpad that I didn't appreciate the joke, or whatever it was supposed to be.
"You're not angry, Pepi, are you...?" Arpad's voice echoed his disappointment at my not "seeing the funny side" of it. All I said was:
"Does Jancsi know that one can watch from here...?"
"Why, of course ... said Arpad.
"Well ... that is the last straw...!" Arpad's face showed utter astonishment. He must have expected me to be delirious with joy at being watched when I least expected it. It became more and more clear to me that when a whore is invited to a man's home like Arpad's she must not expect the consideration due a sensitive woman.
Pepi, I said to myself while keeping a stony silence toward Arpad, pull yourself together.
You were enjoying one of the best lays of your young life and you thought you could get away with it. You must learn that a whore has no privacy until she becomes rich enough to afford it. You're a silly goose, Pepi. Cheer up and show Arpad the friendly smile that he expects from you. After all, he is a baron and has invited you to his estate. Sure, he wants to enjoy your body in various ways. Yvonne has warned you of his voyeurism. So why are you angry now?
The answer that came up in my mind was not too encouraging. You are a silly goose, Pepi, it said. That Jancsi had excited you like Arpad at Madame Yvonne's. Only stronger, perhaps. He's an adolescent with the body of a man. Strong, athletic, virile. And his passion is contagious. His potency is just as strong as Arpad's, perhaps even stronger. And you, silly goose, have fallen for him! Why! Because you're a sucker for good lays. For good lays from virile guys like Arpad and Jancsi. And there will be others, you hope. Now get wise to yourself! It's about time! You can't lose your reason every time a big cock stirs up your guts!
It was almost as if Steffi were talking to me. Anyway, I got hold of myself and forced myself to smile at Arpad, who had been watching me and didn't quite know what to make of my long silence.
"Ah ... at last ... you're smiling again! What's come over you, Pepi? Didn't you know about the corridor with the peepholes at Madame Yvonne's .-. .? This is almost the same thing . .
"Well ... all right, Arpad! But the room in which you were with me at Yvonne's had no peepholes, in case you didn't know that...." He laughed and pulled me toward him.
"I wouldn't have minded at all. Of course, it also depends on the girl. Sometimes I want to be unobserved! That's why I paid Madame for that private bedroom. I wanted to get to know you. I liked you very much...."
"And now ... you don't like me anymore...?"
He kissed me and played with his tongue between my lips. I didn't react, which surprised him.
"How can you talk like that? But now we know each other very well. Each thing has its time, don't you see what I mean? Now we can have all the pleasure we want and share it with others. Now ... tonight, my boys and girls will keep us company ... you like Jancsi ... you'll like the other handsome fellows, too...."
So, there was going to be the much talked-about group-fucking at last. I decided to make the best of it and save my emotions for another time.
"Sure, I'll like it, Arpad! I'd like to do it with each one of your nice boys! The more the better! And you? You're going to lay all the girls...?"
He worked on my teats and pressed his belly against mine.
"Of course, and you too, Pepi. You are the best of all. I've told you that ... Jancsi told you the same thing. He spoke the truth. That kid has been doing it with every female under thirty within a radius of five miles. He's like a bull in heat, all the time ... Just like his master...!"
I laughed and Arpad was happy to see my old gay mood come back. He didn't know that I had become much wiser since my bout with Jancsi in the bathroom.
After dinner, Arpad led me into a large room in the right wing of the mansion. It had a high ceiling supported by oak beams. The walls were all paneled in the same style. There were at least half a dozen couches and sofas along the walls and some more near the center of the room. Heavy rugs covered the floor so that one could walk on it barefoot without touching the wooden parquet. A mass of pillows and cushions were covering all of the couches and were spread over the floor. That was the stage for the group-fucking.
Although I tried to get rid of the shock I had felt when Arpad had shown me that large peephole in my room, I wasn't in an exuberant mood during the orgy that lasted almost until dawn. There were fourteen young menservants, all good-looking, with good, strong bodies. They were already stripped down to their shorts that didn't hide the many erections they already had before anything had started yet.
The eight girls, naked under their short chemises, were all maids whom I'd noticed when I came. Ilona was one of them. She looked quite charming in her negligee that let me see her firm, round teats and her white, velvety thighs. For a moment I toyed with the idea of shocking everybody by starting a wild lesbian act with her, as a sort of revenge for being watched when I was laid by Jancsi. But when I looked over all those handsome males, I said to myself that it would be sheer waste to miss even one of those cock-bearers. I enjoyed female bodies to a certain extent, as I've often mentioned, but whenever it came to choosing between a very attractive male and a female beauty, I didn't hesitate for a second. I wanted a good cock in me, above all.
Orgies are not easy to remember, because there are so many people who alternate with each other all the time, and everything becomes a big blur. I hold with that ancient Roman connoisseur who said that one naked woman can give more pleasure than a hundred of them.
I apply this philosophy to men. One handsome, potent male can give me more enjoyment than a dozen of them. Group-fucking certainly has its charms, but not as a steady diet. And also only when the participants are all good-looking and young.
Jancsi, of course, was there too, but I stalled him until the last moment, which was in the early morning hours. I instinctively felt that I must not start with him, because I might not want to let go of him. It was very flattering to see all the males crowd around me as soon as Arpad had given the signal. He himself pulled a few girls down on a couch with him and then I didn't care to watch him anymore.
The first man who straddled me was perhaps in his late twenties, very tall and well muscled, with a prick that wasn't conspicuous by its size, but once he had it shoved into me, I saw again that the size of a penis is less important than its intelligent use. He made me come twice before he discharged. The next was a boy of about sixteen and seemed to be the youngest of the lot. What he lacked in experience he replaced with enthusiasm and an incredible horniness. Whenever I watched him during the many hours of our orgy, his tool was always standing at attention. I'm sure he could have gone on another twelve hours, or so. When he was fucking me, I first thought that his quick movements would make him come very soon, but I was mistaken. He worked on me for at least ten minutes before his juice gushed into me. That nice little fellow had made me come four times, a fact of which he seemed quite proud. He even kissed me very tenderly before he turned his attentions to another girl.
The nicest lay during that night was one of the chaps that had watched me, like Arpad, through the hole in my room. He was a racy dark-haired boy of about twenty-five whose long tool had given me two orgasms during the first minute he was in me. He whispered:
"Yes ... I envied Jancsi when the master and some of us watched you in the bathroom. You got me all worked up and I said to myself that I was going to prove to you that I can be just as good as Jancsi . .
And he accompanied his genital thrusts with a dozen caresses of his lips, tongue and fingers wherever he could reach. He was the one I remember much better than any of the others, with the exception of Jancsi. I was glad that Jancsi was still around so that I could have him last, because this boy-his name was Istvan, I believe-was tempting me to keep him for a few other lays. That would have been against the unwritten rules of the orgy. Partners must be exchanged as often as possible. But I used a trick to get another lay from Istvan. When he had discharged, I told him not to pull out but to keep moving in me, very slowly, until he felt he could start another fuck. To my pleasant surprise Istvan's recuperative powers were such that he hardly paused after he came and immediately started on his second trip. He was flattered to be so distinguished by me and to be made a fellow-conspirator in breaking the sacred rules of group-fucking. He, too, parted from me with an affectionate kiss.
I wished I could afford some day to have male servants like those boys. There wouldn't be a dull moment in my life.
Dawn was already breaking when I pulled Jancsi over me. I didn't want to spoil this last fuck with him by mentioning that peephole in my room and telling him that he should have told me about it. After all, he was only seventeen and could never understand a mature woman's sensitivity, even if she was "only" a whore like me. I must have come about fifty times during that night, but when Jancsi worked on me and in me, my juices were flowing as freely as if I'd only started. He performed with astonishing vigor, considering that he must have fucked more than a dozen times before I took him on. He kissed me again and again and talked a blue streak:
"I must meet you again, Pepinkam ... I must try to find you when the lieutenant takes me to Vienna again. He won't mind ... I know ... he gets all the lays he wants ... he is a good master ... once he and I were fucking the same girl in one night ... she had no peace ... but she liked it ... couldn't get enough of us ... ah ... Pepinkam ... I feel you're coming ... I like making you come ... all the time ... your hole is so small that I'll come very soon ... Pepinkam ... I must meet you soon ... I know I won't forget your little hole ... I want it again and again ... ah ... now ... Pepinkam ... now ... ahhhhhh...!" And the well-known shout came with Jancsi's violent orgasm. I was really fagged out by that time and had to say no when Jancsi wanted to try another ride. He offered to take me to my room and promised to let me sleep-alone. The last I saw of Arpad that night, or rather that morning, was his naked behind moving rhythmically up and down on one of the girls, while two others were concentrating on caressing his buttocks and testicles.
Jancsi kept his word and left my room after bedding me down with great care and affection. Before he left, he took my hand and made me feel his ever-present erection as if he wanted to prove that I was the most important female in his life. I couldn't help smiling at this mixture of puerile maleness and boyishness. I felt his lips kissing me good night and was instantly asleep.
I woke up late in the afternoon when something in my bed made it impossible for me to turn around without bumping against it. It was Arpad, lying beside me and waiting impatiently for me to wake up. He smiled his radiant egotistical smile and pulled my hand under the cover to feel his hard-on.
"Hi, beauty...." he said, "you sleep so peacefully and look so innocent that I'd never believe that you like what you're holding in your hand now...."
I at once let go of his prick and said:
"If you want to know what I like, it's this: First get me a cup of good coffee and some rolls with butter. Then, in spite of what you've shown me under this rug, I want to take a good, warm bath ... you be a good boy and order all these things for me...."
"On one condition," he said.
"And what is that condition...?"
"That you don't let me suffer like this...." and he pointed to his stiff tool.
"Why don't you let any of your girls relieve you of that suffering?" I asked.
"Because nobody can relieve it like you, Pepi...." he said and was already squatting between my legs.
His knees forced my thighs apart and the next second his spear had impaled me. I thought it was perhaps best to let him drip off his surplus potency and "earn" my late breakfast in that way.
Arpad was so horny that he didn't even notice that I let him fuck me without giving any counterthrusts. But the magic of his big shaft was so overwhelming that he had me sighing in a couple minutes, and when I came once, twice, during the next two minutes, he took it for something granted and quite natural. I sneaked my hand down to his nuts and began to work on them in a certain manner which speeded his orgasm. With his usual shout of joy he collapsed on me. I gently stroked his hair and whispered into his ear:
"You're sweet, Arpad, but that doesn't keep me from being very, very hungry. Now-send Ilona in with a tray and tell Jancsi about the bath, will you...?"
He kissed me on the cheek and got up, reaching for his robe that was hanging over the back of a chair.
"You don't know how many admirers you've made here, Pepi. Jancsi has been firing that stove in the bathroom for the past hour so that you'll have a nice warm bath. And Ilona has already asked me twice when you might want some sort of breakfast at this afternoon hour...."
I laughed. "That's nice of all of them, but you'll kindly tell Jancsi that, this time, I want to bathe alone! You promised to take me to the village and show me the surroundings of your estate. Ilona can bring in the tray half an hour after my bath."
"All right, Pepi...." said Arpad grinning from ear to ear. "I'm going to disappoint poor Jancsi and tell him all you want is a bath...." When he had closed the door behind him, I wrapped a robe around myself and went downstairs to the bathroom where the water was already steaming in the tub. It had the right temperature. There was no sign of Jancsi and so I quickly stepped into the tub and soaked only for a moment. Then I soaped myself and soaked again for a few minutes.
Just when I was getting out of the tub I heard firm steps coming down the stairs. It was Jancsi, dressed in white linen trousers and a T-shirt.
"The master told me you want only to enjoy your bath, Pepinkam ... well, let me at least help you get dry...."
Without waiting for my consent he had wrapped a large white towel around me and patted it gently around my body so that I was dry in a few minutes. I noticed his hard-on that bulged through his trouser front, but I pretended not to see it.
I didn't protest when Jancsi insisted on carrying me upstairs, but when he wanted to help me get dressed I threw a pillow at his head and told him to get the hell out. He laughed like a boy who had played a good prank and left, but not without kissing me on my neck.
Ilona had already put the tray with the coffee and buttered rolls on the table, and I ate and drank with a healthy appetite. I noticed a bell on the desk in the corner and rang it to see what would happen. Ilona came in and asked:
"Do you want more coffee, Mademoiselle...?"
"No, Ilona, thanks! But if you'd help me get into one of these delightful peasant skirts and the embroidered blouse that Arpad wants me to wear, I'd be dressed in no time...." Ilona made me admire myself in the full-length mirror next to the door and when I didn't say anything, she exclaimed:
"But you look beautiful! Don't you like it ...?"
I had to admit that the Hungarian national costume did something for me and decided to wear it every time Arpad was taking me out to show me off.
This time we didn't ride on horseback, but drove in an elegant English dogcart, a light, open carriage on two wheels. Arpad handled the racy horse like an experienced sulky driver. Just when we were about to enter the village we met a group of about fifteen young officers from Arpad's regiment, all on horseback. They crowded around our dogcart and were introduced to me. All were very good-looking and in their twenties and early thirties. The oldest, a herculean major, looked like forty and was extremely attractive. He sat on his horse as if he and the animal were of one piece, like a centaur. Everything about him exuded controlled virility and strength. I was immediately attracted to him.
All officers kissed my hand when Arpad mentioned their names, but the major, a Baron Palfy, turned my hand around and pressed his lips into the fleshy part of my palm. At that moment I wished I could have him in bed.
Arpad noticed my reaction and smiled, but I could see he was not a bit jealous, rather proud of my immediate success among his military brothers.
"That's wonderful," he exclaimed, "that I met you all here. I was going to send you invitations to celebrate Mademoiselle Pepi's visit at Ofaley. We are going to have a wonderful shindig next weekend. It starts on Friday evening and lasts until Monday morning. I know you all can get a weekend leave...."
They all yelled "hurrah!" and promised to come.
"So long, boys!" Arpad shouted. "I'll see you all then, on Friday evening. You know one always has a good time in my place! Bring a healthy appetite with you ... and not only for food...!"
They all laughed and saluted nicely and rode off. Arpad turned the carriage into the main street of the village and said to me:
"You do know a good lay when you see one...!"
I thought I knew what he meant, but I wanted him to say it.
"What are you talking about, Arpad...?"
He grinned.
"That handsome Major von Palfy! He's a devil in bed, I assure you...."
"More than you...?" I teased him.
"Well...." he hesitated for a moment. "He is, let's say, different. I love to fuck a woman the regular way most of the time. But that Palfy ... he can do all sorts of things. Well, you'll find out next Friday!"
I didn't know whether I should be glad of getting into bed with so many young and virile men, or whether I should resent Arpad playing the pander to his men friends. I decided to enjoy myself and forego all ideas of prestige and stupid pride. A whore can't afford these luxuries. Not before she has made the big time.
The village was no great shakes. Arpad ordered a tremendous amount of cakes and other desserts from the bakery, because, as he said, his cook and her helpers could not possibly cope with all the officer guests by relying on their own ovens. The people and shopkeepers we met were all very friendly and, though they seemed to know I was not exactly a baroness, they treated me with almost formal courtesy. Hungarians are that way, especially in the country.
The days until Friday were spent according to the pattern I have already described. Arpad fucked me in all possible and impossible places, in and out of the manor, while Jancsi and some of the other boys sneaked into my room at all hours of the night so that I had to sleep mostly in the morning and seldom got up before noon. But it was highly enjoyable to feel so many young male bodies against my own, and to have them squirt the essence of their manhood into my entrails. I ate, drank, fucked and slept. It was a paradisiacal life.
At last, Friday arrived and the preparations for the shindig had everybody running around carrying things from the basement to the various rooms, or to the attic. The big, high-ceilinged hall where we always had our group-fucking was decorated with garlands and bunting in red, white and green, the national colors. The girls had washed and pressed their own costumes and those of the boys. Everybody looked scrubbed and at his best.
When the sun was settling on the horizon, the first guests arrived. On horseback, naturally, and in their splendid uniforms with a lot of gold braid. The first thing they did was to change into light linen pants and shirts: the official peasant dress.
Dinner was served in barbecue style, in the open. A huge kettle was suspended over a fire kept burning by logs of wood that were continually fed into it. The goulash could be smelled for miles and it seemed to me that not even twice as many people could empty that steaming kettle full of juicy meat cubes, paprika, potatoes and tomatoes and a lot of herbs of which I didn't even know the names. A dozen barrels full of red wine had been rolled into the court, ready to be used.
The tables were simple boards placed on trestles. Equally simple wooden benches served as seats. Soon the feasting began and I was pleased to occupy a place of honor between Arpad and the handsome Major von Palfy.
The wine, potent Tokay, grown in the vineyards of the estates, was continually filled in the waiting glasses. The goulash was the real thing and, therefore, made one thirstier and thirstier. I had to watch myself because that wine went easily to one's head and, what was perhaps better, to the genitals of males and females alike.
Palfy, who'd asked me to call him Pali, or Paul, must have felt that I had become slightly noticed it and took! my other hand to make me feel his erection. This gave me the idea not to wait until Paul would do the same, but to anticipate this move. When I discreetly touched him on his fly and felt the tremendous bulge there, he put his palm on my hand and pressed it more firmly against his pulsating tool.
I noticed that the hands of most of the other officers and the girls were doing all sorts of things under the table. Arpad had asked four of the youngest girls to sit at the table like guests and keep the officers in a good mood. They did an excellent job. By the time the dessert was served, deliciously light cheese dumplings, each officer had released his stiff tool from the prison of his pants as if the cool night air might do it some good.
When the endless toasts started, it was really a strange view to see one officer after another get up to make his speech, while his bare penis was resting on the table in front of him. All toasts were, of course, in honor of that "wonderful paradise that every woman had between her legs and where every man, upon entering it, became a god!"
Paul whispered something to Arpad, while bending across my figure, using this position to press his hand against my mound. Arpad nodded smilingly and slapped the major on the arm.
"Naturally, Pali! Pepi will show you the way! She is an excellent hostess . .
I had guessed correctly. Paul wanted to be alone with me. He helped me to get up and I had to make a little effort to walk straight, but after the first steps I stopped faltering. Paul had put my arm under his and I led him, straightaway, to my room and immediately turned the key in the lock. Before I could walk toward the bed, Paul had stripped me naked with an uncanny skill that made me suspect he was an expert in undressing women. He kissed my nipples and my navel and pressed me gently down on the bed. In a few seconds he was completely naked and joined me in the bed.
What happened next and afterwards has become a pleasant blur in my memory, because, first, I was not quite sober, if not really drunk, and, second, I'd never felt a man doing all the things to me that Paul contrived to do. His caresses, coming from his fingers, palms, arms, elbows, knees, thighs, hips, yes, from every part of his nude, warm body, covered me like a net that held me captive. I could not think anymore, but felt myself sinking into depths of unspeakable delight and bliss. I could vaguely feel his tongue on my nipples, but the next moment they were covered by his fingers, while his tongue caressed my clitoris, and then the inside of my thighs.
I began to whimper and moan like a mad woman:
"Oh, Paul ... Pali ... my love ... you're killing me with sweetness ... ah ... let me return your love ... left me caress you...." And my hands reached out, groping for his penis that I felt slapping against various parts of my body whenever Paul moved around me. At last he put it into my hand and I felt something so big that I had to open my eyes and look at it. I thought I was dreaming when I touched and saw that royal penis that exceeded all that I had seen before, not excluding Arpad's and Jancsi's. It was good that the wine had clouded my thinking. Because otherwise I'd have been seriously afraid to let a man press such a phenomenal shaft into my small hole.
Paul must have felt that I had become slightly uneasy when I saw his cock, because he stuck his finger into my hole to see whether it was well lubricated. It was, but he wanted to reassure me by putting lots of saliva on his glans before he approached the mighty instrument to my grotto.
Slowly and very cautiously did Paul make that pillar of passion slide into me. It didn't hurt a bit so that I tried to push my hips against him and suddenly I felt as if a whole man, Paul himself, had slipped into me and was moving in me. To my delight, and also dismay, I heard myself yelling, something I'd hardly ever done before. At least not so loud that the whole mansion must have heard me. But the pleasure I felt was so compelling that I didn't care who heard me and what they heard. I was delirious, even more so than when Jancsi had given me the business.
"Ahh...." I shrieked, " ... ahhh ... you are a god ... I love you ... I love you ... yes ... move slowly ... that is wonderful ... ah ... you make me come every moment ... you are a god ... Pali ... Pali ... ah ... your hands on my breasts feel so good ... and your lips ... ah ... try to push a little more ... oh yes ... I'm going to die ... I'm losing my senses ... now ... now ... I'm coming again . .
I was throwing my upper body in all directions, but Paul pinned me down by pressing his lips against mine. I heard him murmur between kisses:
"Pepi ... Pepi ... my darling ... I loved you when I first saw you ... I wanted to have you ... to fuck you ... like this ... you are a little goddess yourself ... I've never felt so good before in a woman ... I'll fuck you all night ... do you want me to...?"
I hardly understood him except that he asked me a question. Do I want him to be with me. That's what I'd understood. Did I want him to be with me!
"You must stay with me...." I cried, "you must never leave me ... I want you in me ... all the time ... you must never pull out of me ... oh, Pali, my love ... yes ... now you're becoming faster ... that's wonderful ... I'm all dissolving inside ... I'm flowing like a river ... ah ... now again ... again ... I'm coming all the time...."
I heard Paul's breath become like the kissing of a steam engine while his speed almost doubled. My cunt was so wet and smooth by now that it could have contained even a bigger cock than Paul's gigantic machine. He moaned and grunted and I loved the sound of it. I felt his large testicles bump against my perineum and that contact only increased my happiness. He put his mouth to my ear and whispered:
"I'll come soon ... I can feel it coming up in me ... Oh, Pepi, Pepi, you're the only woman for a man like me ... yes ... keep pushing against me ... yes ... now ... now ... now...."
His voice rose with every "now" until it was a shout.
"NOW...! Ahhhh ... Pepi ... Pepi ... Ahhhh...!"
His discharge was even more copious than that of Jancsi's. His body vibrated and twitched violently as if he were in pain. But it was lust at its highest. I felt the warm liquid rush into me and then I lost consciousness.
I came to only when I felt the smell of some eau de cologne bathing my temples. I opened my eyes and saw the anxious and pleased face of Paul watching me like a doctor aiding a patient.
"Thank God, Pepi...! You had passed out and I couldn't rouse you for ten minutes. What happened...?"
I smiled weakly.
"I ... I don't know ... all I know is I've never been so happy before...."
Paul put the cotton, drenched with eau de cologne on the night table and took me in his strong arms.
"I wouldn't be a man, Pepi, my dear, if I didn't feel proud to hear you say that. But you have made me very happy too! You are quite unique! Do you know that...?"
I didn't know what to answer. But I felt I had to be more careful than ever. First it was Arpad who threw me for a loop at Madame Yvonne's. Then when I had hardly come to my senses again and realized that a man who can give me good orgasms must not make me deviate from pursuing my goal, I fell for Jancsi, the sweet devil. Again I had to pull myself together and think of my future. And now....
I looked in Paul's jet-black eyes and saw great tenderness mixed with deep passion. All kinds of crazy ideas raced through my head. Why should I want to become the great and expensive demimondaine, another Madame Benesch, or perhaps even more famous, if I could spend my life with a male like Paul? He was almost forty, although he looked much younger. But he was a mature man, a baron....
Here I hesitated. A baron! Well, couldn't a baron marry me just as that Italian count had married my predecessor at Madame Yvonne's? A count was more than a baron, although these Hungarian aristocrats think they are better than all the nobility in the world.
While all this was going through my mind, I heard again that other voice, perhaps I should call it the voice of reason. It almost sounded like Steffi's voice.
"You know what you must do whenever you lose your head and fall in love with a man? Take on as many men as you can handle in a day! Try to get laid by lots of handsome guys for a week, for several weeks, until you realize that a big cock has made you lose your common sense for a while, and that you can always get laid by a lot of big cocks if you look around you!"
I also remembered what Madame Yvonne told me when I said good-bye to her.
"You know our good old Viennese saying that when a man's cock gets hard, his brain becomes soft. It's a little bit like that with us women, too. If the sight of a handsome stud, like Arpad for instance, makes us get moist between our legs before he's even touched us, then it's high time for us to watch out! If you want to make a career in our profession, don't ever permit yourself to get hung up on a man, not even if he's a combination of Hercules and Apollo...!"
And that's exactly what Paul, Baron von Palfy, was: a combination of Hercules and Apollo. A very dangerous combination for an impressionable female like myself. While Paul kept brushing his lips all over my skin, I lay with closed eyes and pursued that line of thought. And I found a good solution.
All the fourteen officers who, by now, were probably fucking all the girls, in the company of their horny host, were virile, handsome fellows. They all had come because their pricks were pussy-hungry and needed appeasement. There was no bordello in the small village of Ofaley and the chance for other local lays was small. They would be only too glad to ride me as often as possible, no matter that they had already laid the girls a few times.
"Your brother officers are pretty nice guys...." I murmured sleepily to Paul.
He lifted his lips from my belly.
"That's true! And especially to pretty women! Those studs can take on a girl ten times during a night and then ride out in the morning without showing a trace of fatigue."
I pretended to be skeptical.
"I could believe this of you, Pali, but not of every other officer...."
Paul sat up and gave me a quizzical look. "All right, beautiful! Would you like to test them...?"
I made a thoughtful face and then said:
"I'll take this as a national challenge: A Viennese girl will prove to Hungarian officers that she can take more than they can...!" Paul jumped out of bed and slipped into his pants. My words had done the trick. There are hardly any prouder males in the world when it comes to proving their virility than Hungarians and Spaniards. They are ready to prove it at the drop of a skirt. Often they don't even wait for that and tear the skirt off a woman themselves. Spaniards and Hungarians know the art of friendly rape. When I had already become the expensive demimondaine that I wanted to be, a famous young bullfighter visited me in my Madrid hotel room "to get to know me." Five minutes after he had entered, he "knew" me in the biblical sense. After the exchange of formal courtesies, he asked my permission to use the bathroom-quite an unusual request by a Spanish gentleman-and when he reappeared after a minute or so, he was quite naked and, without saying anything, he ripped my gown off me and laid me right then and there on the rug. And not once, but four times, with hardly any decent pauses in between. I had to tell him that the procedure was very unconventional, but that I was charmed by it, when he slipped his big engine into me for the fifth time. He spent the rest of the night with me and when I tried to remember, the next afternoon, how often my handsome torero had discharged in me, I couldn't make up my mind whether the sum total was fifteen or sixteen. I was to find out now, several years before the Spanish experience, that Hungarian men were of a specially enduring kind. Their seminal vesicles seemed to work overtime.
Paul, dressed in his pants and shirt, said now:
"In the name of my comrades, I accept the challenge from you. You'd better prepare yourself, because I'll be back soon with their answer...."
After he had left the room, I quickly put on a veil-like gown, very much like the thing we wore at Madame Yvonne's. It was green and gave a lift to my reddish-blonde hair. I had hardly finished putting some powder on my face when there was a knock at the door.
"May we come in...?"
I recognized the voices of Paul and Arpad. I bade them enter. When they saw me they exclaimed:
"You certainly look like a challenge! Our comrades are all ready for the big battle. Thank God they are not yet very drunk and will be able to perform like athletes and artists ... may we escort you to them...?"
They stepped to the right and left of me and each gallantly offered me his arm. They escorted me to the orgy room where I saw a mass of nude bodies. The males were in the majority. A large buffet had been placed against one wall and everybody helped himself to snacks and more and more wine.
When my companions entered with me, there was a loud shout of "Eljen!" coming from a dozen young men who all raised their wine glasses toward me and then emptied them with one extended gulp. They didn't throw the glasses into the fireplace, as I'd been told by Steffi, who had once attended an orgy at the palace of a Hungarian count in Vienna. But she had added that the guests were mostly Russian officers of the Imperial guard. They were in the retinue of the tsar who was visiting the Austrian emperor at the time.
I was led to a large couch that had been covered with silken sheets and several soft cushions. When I laid down on it, I was told that each officer would fuck me only once, at one time. And when the last of the group had finished with me, they'd start all over again. I didn't see any of the girls near me and when I questioned Arpad about it, he said sheepishly that they had drunk too much and were not good for anything at the moment.
"That's excellent...!" I exclaimed with a laugh. "Now all my competitors on the male side will have no excuse of becoming tired before I'm through with them...!"
A shout of protest went up among the nude young men whose stiff penises were a sight to see.
"What...! We ... tired...? Come on, boys, let's show that proud Viennese beauty what solid Hungarian pricks can do...!"
I immediately switched off all sensual feeling and let only my brain work. I knew that my cunt was already lubricated enough for the first prick that was to pierce me. After each lay it would be easier and easier to get into me, while I would feel no discomfort at all. On the contrary, I'd have to curb my usual tendency to be carried away by many male caresses. I knew that I could let the whole group fuck me thirty times and more if I merely faked passion and remained a calculating onlooker inside.
I was lucky! Most of the lusty young men were so tipsy that they had no time for affectionate caresses, but were out for purely genital pleasure. Each slid his weapon into me and came after a few minutes. Even Arpad and Paul, who were ordinarily slow and thorough fuckers, were no exceptions this time. I saw Jancsi standing about four feet away from the couch looking on with great longing, but Arpad had made it clear that the challenge concerned only officers. I felt sorry for the horny boy and while the eleventh officer was riding me, I beckoned Jancsi to my side and whispered to him that he may come to my room when all this was over.
"But you'll be exhausted...." he protested.
"Never mind, Jancsi ... you come to my room and find out...!"
My partner of the moment was far too wrapped up in his pleasant task to pay any attention to this quick interchange between Jancsi and me. All the others were looking only at the genital zones of my partner and myself. Some were also refreshing their powers with more snacks and drinks from the buffet.
When the last of the group had discharged into me, Arpad asked me whether I wanted a bite to eat and something to drink. I declined the food but asked for some orange juice with soda. After a few minutes I felt ready to take them on for the second round. I playacted so well that nobody felt like checking up whether I actually came as often as my moans pretended. I noticed that the wine had diminished the endurance of many of the boys and they therefore refused any refreshments after the round was over and said:
"Come on, boys...! You don't want a rest, not yet. Or do you? Hungarian men won't let a girl like me lie here unsatisfied...!"
That was enough to bring them on with renewed enthusiasm. But now, each one of them was coming after only half a minute, and I knew I was going to win the challenge. Everything is permitted in love and war, and this was both. My brain was working like that of a bookkeeper who doesn't want to make any mistakes in his entries. After the third round, I insisted on having them start the fourth, and then the fifth.
I gripped the glans of each prick with my labia so cleverly that the semen spurted almost at once. None of them had enough sense to drink water instead of that strong Tokay. During the sixth round I had to ask for a rule: Every man who kept working in me for five minutes without coming was to be declared out and down. This was accepted as a fair request. After the tenth officer had to quit, according to that rule, I saw Paul and Arpad whisper to each other. Then Arpad stepped forward and handed me a glass of Tokay and proposed a toast to celebrate the obvious victory of the beautiful Viennese woman.
I was overjoyed, but still cautious enough to take only a small sip of the wine. Since I had invited Jancsi to my room, I wanted to be in a condition to enjoy the embraces of that passionate boy who was an excellent lover and, besides, less dangerous for me than a mature man of Paul's caliber.
When I told Arpad that I had earned a little rest, he wanted to take me personally to my room, but I said I didn't want to take him away from his rather weakened guests.
"Why don't you let Jancsi prepare a nice, hot bath for me that will help me to relax...?"
"Why, of course, Pepi! You have done a wonderful job and deserve every accommodation of the house...!"
And he beckoned Jancsi to come to my side and do anything for me I wanted done. He had not the slightest suspicion I would take him literally after I had defeated fifteen Hungarian officers of the best hussar regiment in the war of the sexes and made them come away with limp cocks. I told Jancsi I wanted to leave as inconspicuously as possible and that he should go ahead and heat the stove in the bathroom so that I wouldn't have to wait too long for the water to become hot.
"And this time, Jancsi," I said to the boy who was radiant with anticipation, "we shall have our bath like the first time...."
He gave a shout of joy and disappeared, while I sneaked out by another door unseen. I joined Jancsi in the bathroom which was gradually warmed up by the wood stove. There was just enough time left to let the boy come in me three times before the water was warm enough to let it run into the tub.
When I relaxed in the warm water I suddenly felt very tired. Jancsi noticed it and was considerate enough not to expect any more love play that night. He again took me in his arms like a baby, dried me and slipped a warm nightgown over my head and carried me downstairs into my bed. I must have fallen asleep while he was still tucking me in.
When I appeared at the breakfast table next morning, or I'd better say afternoon, a real surprise awaited me. All the officers, still clad in their becoming peasant trousers and shirts, got up when I entered and cheered as if I were some visiting star of the opera. But that wasn't the surprise. It came when Arpad and Paul led me to a side table that was covered with a green cloth. Arpad snatched it away and my astonished eyes beheld open silk boxes, each of which contained some precious jewelry. Earrings, rings, armbands, necklaces and brooches of pure gold and studded with diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds.
"This...." Arpad said with a slight bow to me, "is the collective gift from all of us to the victor in the tournament of love. It should express our delight at having been defeated by a very beautiful Viennese girl...."
Suddenly everybody had filled wineglasses in his hand and Paul, giving one to me, asked me to touch it to his and then shouted:
"Our beautiful guest from Vienna, the incomparable Mademoiselle Josephine-Eljen!"
"Eljen...." came the answering yell from the others. It was a white light wine, and to show my gratitude I imitated the others and emptied it in three gulps. But then I turned my attention to the strong coffee, the warm buttered rolls and various cakes.
Being a girl that had come up from the slum section of Vienna, it was hard for me to believe that all that jewelry was genuine. But I didn't worry about it for the time being. When I told Arpad that I would have to return to Vienna the next day, he surprised me by saying that he would accompany me and personally return me to Madame Yvonne. I didn't like the word "return," as if I were a book he had borrowed from a library. It was quite clear to me that I would make use of my two experienced headwaiter friends in Vienna to convert all those jewels into hard cash. I might pay a visit to Yvonne, but having come into unexpected riches, I didn't want to continue in a whorehouse, no matter how glamorous.
The young officers were visibly in need of some recuperation and I was, more or less, left alone. The "more or less" pertains to Jancsi who tried hard to get a few more lays out of me, but I told him in a sisterly way that I had to be in good shape before going back to Vienna. He seemed to understand, but kept kissing me whenever he caught me alone and his kisses were not the ones usually given to a sister. He really was a nice kid and I hoped I would see more of him at one time or another.
It was strange to watch Paul, who must have sensed that I had instigated that sexual tournament as a sort of self-defense against falling in love with him. It was the first instance known to me when a man showed the intuition of a woman, especially a virile man like Paul. I have often observed since that strongly sexed men share the chiefly feminine quality of understanding many things by instinct rather than with their intellects. Paul kept watching me as if he expected me to tell him something decisive, but I merely exchanged superficial pleasantries with him, nothing else. Perhaps I would meet him again in a year or two, when I would be able to be on equal terms with him when it came to a showdown such as becoming his mistress, if not his wife.
The day, thank God, passed quite uneventfully and everybody decided to go to bed before midnight. The train which Arpad and I had to catch in Budapest was to leave there in the morning.
We all were up at seven the next day and I was greatly tickled to see that the boys, clad in their resplendent hussar uniforms, would accompany the carriage in which Arpad and I would drive to Budapest, on horseback. There is nothing like the gallantry and thoughtfulness of Hungarian lovers. The boys had telegraphed ahead and ordered a gypsy band to play those old Hungarian tunes for Arpad and myself when we boarded the train. It really made my eyes water when I leaned out of the window of our compartment and shook hands with all the handsome officers who did not so much shake my hand as cover it with kisses.
When the train began to move, the band played the fiery Rakoczy March and the fifteen hussar officers stood at attention and gave a military salute. Then they all shouted "Eljen!" and threw their tchakos in the air, caught them and tossed them in the air again, repeating the exuberant gesture until the train had carried us out of their sight.
I fell back on the nicely upholstered bench of our first-class compartment and felt Arpad's arms close around me. It was good to be on my way back home. Vienna, after all, was my home in a big way. I realized that our compartment was strictly private when I saw Arpad secure the bolt and draw the curtain over the glass pane in the door. He wouldn't have been the man he was if he had not made the best of being alone with me for several hours. Before the train entered the Vienna station, Arpad and I had achieved at least half a dozen orgasms each. For a nobleman like him and a whore like me, it seemed to be the most acceptable way of life.
At the Vienna depot, Arpad hired a fiacre which took us to the elegant Hotel Imperial, on the Ring in the Inner City. After having our bath and eating a sumptuous dinner, we retired early so as not to miss anything a tete-a-tete in bed could offer us. When we at last fell asleep in each other's arms it must have been three in the morning.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IGI AND "THE ARTIST'S PARADISE"
I woke up around ten the next morning, hearing a strange noise which turned out to be Arpad's snoring. I'd never caught him snoring before, but this time he was lying on his back with his mouth half open.
I wanted him to go on sleeping until I had examined my suitcase to see whether all that precious jewelry was actually there and whether I hadn't dreamed it all. I had asked Arpad in the train how the boys were able to get such precious gifts for me at the last minute and he explained that mystery to me.
"Those boys are all from very rich and old families. As soon as they knew they'd be invited to our shindig they got all those presents for you . .
"But I don't quite see why they should plan to give me presents at all. They couldn't have known that I'd let any of them lay me and, least of all, that I'd challenge them to a match where they'd have to prove their potency . .
I stopped when I saw the sly grin on Arpad's face. I said:
"You don't mean to say they were so sure of themselves that a woman couldn't resist them . .
"Says who...?"
I nearly slapped his smirking face.
"Well ... I must say this is the last straw ... they came already with the gifts in their luggage because they took it for granted that they could fuck me just like that, eh? Where is the much-vaunted gentlemanly gallantry of the Hungarian officer in all this...?" Arpad kissed my hand with a grand gesture and said:
"But you don't understand, Pepi. That's exactly how a young, virile Hungarian hussar lieutenant expresses his gallantry . .
"By fucking her, you mean...?"
"Yes, and by giving her a costly present...!" That shut me up. I could never quite overcome those fits of wanting to play the great lady, no matter how silly it may have seemed at the moment. Arpad was right: I got costly presents which would give me a legitimate chance to play the great lady as soon as I converted them into banknotes.
I stepped very cautiously (so as not to wake Arpad) to the window where my suitcase stood on a stool. I opened it and had to stifle a shout of pleasure. There were not only the jewel boxes, but also something that Arpad must have secretly put in before we left. Yes, I suddenly remembered he had asked for the little key to lock the suitcase for me. Right on top of the fifteen jewelry boxes which lay on the bottom of the suitcase, hidden under some chemises, was an elegant thin wallet of crocodile leather. I opened it and there were five one-hundred-guilder notes, all brand new.
My gasp must have been more audible than I thought, because it awoke Arpad. I quickly put the wallet into my purse where it was much safer to watch. I went back to bed and covered the yawning Arpad with kisses.
"That's for your most generous present...." I said.
He yawned and stretched himself, but still found the time to squeeze my breasts.
"What are you talking about...?"
"You know, that expensive wallet and what's in it...!"
He was now quite awake and sat up.
"That's not from me, Pepi. I'm not poor, but I'm not so rich, either, like my friend Pali von Palfy...."
"You mean...?"
"Sure!" he laughed at my astonishment. "Paul is a multimillionaire and he enjoyed you so much that he thought giving you only that emerald brooch was too shabby ... Paul couldn't possibly give you money in person, so he asked me to sneak it into your suitcase."
"My God...! What a man! I'd never have known he was the donor if I hadn't discovered the gift now and asked you about it...."
"That's where you are wrong! If you'll look better, you'll notice a visiting card with his name inside the wallet ... he wanted you to know how much impressed he was with you...."
I was speechless, but not for long. Arpad wouldn't have been himself if he hadn't felt like having a couple of lays before we at last had our baths and ordered a very late breakfast from room-service.
When we started our third cup of coffee, Arpad suddenly reached across the table and covered my hand with his. His face showed a serious expression I'd never seen on him before. I wondered what he was going to tell me.
"Pepi, you know how fond I've become of you! I haven't told you that Madame Yvonne had a brief talk with me before we left. She tried to explain to me that you'd be wasted as an entertainer in a place like hers, and I quite agreed with her. If I wanted to marry now, I'd perhaps ask you to marry me, but ... I don't want to tie myself down before I'm in my late thirties...."
I couldn't help laughing at that.
"You just couldn't stand the idea of doing it with one woman only, at least for a while, and miss out on so many pussies being available...."
He laughed too and squeezed my hand.
"You have come to know me very well ... but I wanted to talk with you! Paul discussed you with me and when he gave me that special gift, he said he hoped you'd somehow manage to become independent...."
I was really touched to hear this. I'd never have believed that men, even those in high society, cared about a piece of female flesh in a human way too. Most of them want to ejaculate in a woman, pay her, and forget all about her until they are plagued by another hard-on. I was particularly moved to discover that it was Paul who felt about me in a special manner. And my surprise was complete when Arpad said now:
"I'm usually not very observant, but when I saw how you looked at Paul when we first met him and the other boys on horseback ... I knew he fascinated you ... perhaps you were thinking of becoming his mistress....
He noticed my frown and reacted immediately.
"Sure, Pepi, I know ... a beautiful girl always hopes to land a husband, even if her origin is of the humbler kind ... many of our aristocratic families received new, healthy blood from such liaisons ... Count Apponyi married a music-hall singer, one of the Esterhazys married his mistress of ten years, and so on. And their children are all handsome, healthy specimens...."
"But I didn't...."
"Please, let me finish this, Pepi. It's not very often that I can be serious like this. Paul would have married you if it were not for his old mother. She was a countess Seczeny before she married Paul's father and the Seczenies are a very old and proud family. The old lady is only sixty and still going strong. She's a widow and Paul is her only son. She'd never be able to take it if he married a girl outside of the nobility...."
"I understand, Arpad. You needn't have bothered to go into all these details. Yes, you were right! I was quite impressed by Paul, just as I was impressed by you. But Paul has a great advantage over you...."
He seemed hurt when I said that.
"Now, that's not fair, Pepi! What has Paul got that I haven't got ... except, perhaps, an inch more in length and half an inch more in diameter . .
I burst out laughing.
"You silly boy...! You really believe that the size of a penis is so all-important to me...? No! Paul is about eighteen years older than you and you must forgive me if I'm more attracted by men who are at least ten years older than I am myself...."
He seemed to think this over for a minute. "All right, I'll accept that! But now let's go back to you again. I've got a very rich friend, a Jewish banker, right here in Vienna. He's fifty and very unhappy...."
"Very rich, you say...? So what is he unhappy about...?"
"He can't find a mistress because he thinks he's not handsome enough for a woman, no matter how much money he might invest in her...."
"In other words, Arpad ... you want to get rid of me and shove me toward an unhappy rich banker who's as ugly as hell ... shame on you!"
He got up and came over to my chair and took me in his arms.
"You just said you preferred Paul to me because he's older ... you were right ... I, somehow, need some change all of the time ... perhaps it's my youth ... or I'm always too horny for my own good. Believe it or not, but I've never before been with a girl longer than a few days ... you've been the great exception...."
He covered me with kisses that tasted a bit of cigarette smoke. When he pressed against me I could feel his aroused sex, but I was determined to be business-like. After all, my future was at stake and here was a chance for me that might not come again so soon. All these valuable jewels, five hundred guilders in cash, and now, just around the corner a rich, ugly, melancholy banker who was panting for a beautiful mistress.
"All right, Arpad...." I said, at last, "I'll always be grateful to you and your nice friends. Especially to you and Paul. And now-lead me to your panting banker. I want to see how ugly he is. What's his name, by the way...?"
"Ignaz Gruenstein...."
"Fine! I'll call him Igi, for short...." Suddenly I did a double-take.
"What did you say...? Gruenstein? Not the Gruenstein...? Not the one whose bank has branches all over Europe like the Rothschilds...?"
Arpad laughed at my exuberance.
"No, not the Gruenstein! But one of his few cousins. He's in charge of the family bank in Vienna. And, believe me, he is loaded. I bet he doesn't know how much money he has himself. All right, get ready. We'll call on him at his office. I have to draw some money out of his bank, anyway. And be prepared to be invited to supper right away. You can stall if you want to. I'll keep our hotel suite for at least another week...."
"I'm sorry, Arpad, I'll have to buy a nice dress first. The one in the suitcase is all wrinkled...."
"Never mind! I'll tell the desk-clerk to send up the saleslady of Corteau ... you know the famous dress shop? They have a little store here in the hotel for the convenience of foreign guests ... they can send up a few things you can try on ... and, of course, you can buy anything you want in my name...!"
I hugged him and he went downstairs and returned with a saleswoman and a bellboy who carried three gorgeous dresses on hangers. I tried them on and kept all three, because they fitted me as if they'd been made to measure. They were mere models for display only, because in those days ready-made dresses were still unknown. All I could have bought, had I gone out to some store, would have been blouses and skirts. The saleswoman complimented me on my "marvelous figure," and I wasn't over-modest about accepting the compliment.
After a light lunch in the dining room downstairs, we set out to visit Ignaz Gruenstein's bank and himself in his beautifully wallpapered office, furnished with antique chairs and an enormous eighteen century sofa in one corner. His desk, too, was a leftover from the days of the Empress Maria Theresa; all eighteenth century stuff.
Igi, as I christened him later, didn't look too ugly among all that antique furniture which would have made an unsuitable frame for a young and handsome man. He was short and fat and quite bald on the top of his round head. The only not too pleasant thing about him was that he was continually sweating. He always carried several clean handkerchiefs on him to wipe his perspiring face every minute. I discovered later that this was pure nervousness and not merely all the blubber under his skin.
As Arpad had predicted, he fell for me hook line and sinker. I was pleasantly surprised, though, that he had the tact to invite me and Arpad to have supper with him the same evening. Arpad, the clever scoundrel, said:
"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Gruenstein, I can't possibly make it myself, but I'd be honored if my good friend Miss Mutzenbacher would accept your invitation. Would you, Pepi...?" I pretended to hesitate while Igi's anxious eyes were watching me. Then I graciously agreed. Igi promised to come for me in his private carriage, and why didn't I wait for him in the lobby of the Imperial around eight in the evening? I decided to make it clear to him, right from the beginning, that-whore or no whore-a lady doesn't wait for a gentleman, but the other way round. He looked quite abashed and corrected himself, he'd meant to say that he would wait for me in the lobby.
When we left, Igi kissed my hand as if he wanted to swallow it. His thick lips felt what I thought was like the suction cups of an octopus, although I'd never seen one except in illustrations. Igi himself was a beauty when compared with an octopus, thank God!
Arpad took me in his carriage to Steffi's place and I was lucky enough to find her at home. She nearly suffocated me with her embrace. In her enthusiasm she also hugged Arpad who didn't dislike it at all. But he soon excused himself and quickly whispered to me that if I didn't show up at the Imperial at night, he would know I wasn't in any "danger." Arpad had hardly left when I asked Steffi to let me tell her about my experience in Hungary at some other time, but that now she should, for heaven's sake, come with me to the Imperial to get the jewels and then discuss the practical side of everything. Steffi saw my point at once. Her eyes popped, though, when I showed her the new wallet with the five hundred guilders in my purse.
"Hm," she said, "now it's you who'll be a woman of leisure and I'll become your chambermaid or something...."
I kissed her and said:
"No, not my chambermaid, but something far more important: my business manager. But let's take a cab now and get my things....
Arpad was not at the hotel when we arrived and I thought it better to open all the jewel boxes right there than display them in Steffi's furnished room.
She gazed at the beautiful stones in their gold settings in silence. Then she looked at me: "You want to sell them, of course...!"
"Steffi, you're my alter ego! Really, I'm glad you are reading my mind. Why don't we ask our two waiter friends to introduce us to a jeweler who'd pay me a decent price...?"
"Nix on that...!" said Steffi with great emphasis. "I wouldn't trust those two rascals, or any jeweler they might recommend. They'd like to get rich on a lot of kickbacks. No! My doctor friend has very good connections, and he's the only one I'd confide in. Don't let anybody know that you've made this big haul! You still don't know people as I do. Come, let's take this treasure and go to my doctor right away. I can go to him whenever I want to. He's given me that privilege long ago...." That's how I at last met Steffi's benefactor, who really looked the part. A friendly and dignified man who couldn't possibly be stuffy even if he wanted to. When he saw the jewelry, he exclaimed:
"I don't understand too much about it, but you should get at least a thousand guilders for the lot...."
"A thousand guilders...." I cried.
"Yes, or even more! Steffi will tell you that you can trust me with it. One of the biggest jewelers in town is a patient of mine. I'll show him the stuff tomorrow and let you know at once what he says...."
"Yes, do it that way...." said Steffi. And then turning to her friend, "When could we come to see you tomorrow ... I mean at what time would you know...?"
"Why don't you two have dinner with me tomorrow. By then I'll have all the information we need...!"
And that's how we remained.
My supper with Igi was a full-blown success. He ate like a horse and sweated like a wrestler. It was evident how much he tried not to push me back right away on the couch in the "chambre separee" where we were eating. It was not The Green Anchor, to my great relief. I didn't feel like being seen by those "who knew me when."
I knew instinctively that I couldn't afford to let Igi get between my legs the first evening, although he was so much worked up that I feared he might have an apoplectic stroke any minute. But he did make a definite proposal to me: Would I consent to be his mistress? I said I felt quite flattered, but that I had to think it over first.
"Oh, I know...." said Igi, sweating all the time, "I know you have been Arpad's friend for quite a while. He's such a good-looking man. It can't be easy for you to put up with a fat old Jew like me...."
I had to nip such ideas in the bud.
"Now, look here, Igi ... I may call you that, mayn't I...?"
"With pleasure...." he exclaimed, not making it clear whose pleasure it was, and kissed my hand up to my elbow.
"Thank you! Now let's get this straight, once and for all. I don't care whether a person is a Jew, a Christian, or a Mohammedan, or what have you! After all, Christ was a Jew! We often forget that...."
Igi beamed and gave me a grateful look. "Now ... where was I...? Yes, now the question of your religion is settled. And as for having been Arpad's friend ... he wouldn't have let me supper with you if he were jealous, would he...? And what's more, he's a little too young for me, charming as he is! Because-and I want you to remember this, Igi-what I'm looking for in a man is not physical beauty, but beauty of soul, goodness and, of course, a good intellect. I like mature men...."
Igi almost cried when he heard me talk like that. That was the moment, I knew, to tell him to please take me back to the hotel now, because I was really tired. He looked the tiniest bit disappointed and seemed embarrassed when I noticed the excitement of his penis underneath his trousers, but he acted like the gentleman he was, or wanted to be. Jews had to be very rich to be accepted in society in those days, and even their money wasn't always helpful when it came to aristocratic snobs who, of course, loved to make use of them as money lenders. Everybody in the lobby of the Imperial seemed quite impressed when Igi deposited me there before midnight and took leave with a moist kiss on my hand.
Arpad wasn't in the suite. He didn't come back that night at all and I surmised he was spending it in the embraces of Madame Yvonne's girls. It turned out I was right. I went out next day before he came home. Steffi and I had a long session before joining her doctor friend at dinner.
"How would you like to be the manager of a nice little cafe...?" I asked her.
"Like it...?" exclaimed Steffi. "I'd love it! And you wouldn't have asked me if you didn't know I could do it, too...!"
"I know you are ideal for that kind of thing! You not only have a good business sense, but also the right personality. You look great and, above all, you have the gift to say no when it's necessary, without offending people...."
"Now, now ... let's stop the compliments...! You'd better tell me what sort of cafe you've in mind...?"
"Well, since the doctor said I could get at least one thousand guilders for the jewelry, I'd own fifteen hundred guilders altogether. I've heard that one can find quite a few owners of the smaller cafes in the Inner City who'd sell for five hundred guilders ... now if I can buy such a little joint, we know lots of boys who could help us redecorate it in a nice bohemian style. I don't want to become a millionaire as a cafe owner, but merely have some security. I want it as a hangout for artists of all kinds. Steffi frowned.
"But they are mostly broke...."
"No, not all of them. And we'll also try to attract some famous artists. You know, singers and actors from the Theatre An Der Wien, from the Ronacher-Music Hall, and so on. You know they do go to the smaller places if they are attractively made up and have interesting regular customers ... and...." now I couldn't help laughing when I saw Steffi's expression, "and just imagine what kind of people might become attracted if they find out that Madame Mutzenbacher has a cafe of her own with you as manager and partner...."
"What?!...." Steffi nearly jumped. "You want me to be co-owner...? But...."
"No 'buts'...! How could I ever make a go of a cafe without you. You know damned well by now that you're closer to me than a sister ... so...."
All that was left was to find a suitable place that would have to be done over to suit our plans. Again it was Steffi who advised me not to use Franz and Rudolf, "the pandering head-waiters," but rely on her doctor's connections. I came to like the doctor more and more, especially when he announced to us at dinner that evening that his jeweler friend was ready to buy all my presents for sixteen hundred dollars.
"I'd suggest to you to close the deal," he said to me, and Steffi seconded him. I left a written authorization with the doctor to sell the various ornaments-each described in detail-for the price of sixteen hundred guilders. Steffi and I took a cab to get her home first and then take me to the Imperial.
The desk clerk handed me a sealed envelope saying:
"The Baron left this for Mademoiselle. He had a telegram from his estate in Ofaley to return at once. He said something about some sickness that had broken out among his cattle, I believe . .
I thanked the man and when I opened the letter in the suite, I first noticed two hundred guilder bills that were enclosed with a note that said:
"My darling Pepi! I just received a telegram from Jancsi informing me about some disease that has befallen our milk-giving cows. I'd like to take the afternoon train. The enclosed little gift should tell you how much I think of you and always will! Hope you're making out with my fat little banker. I paid for the hotel suite for another week. Why don't you have Steffi move in with you for the rest of the time, to have some nice company. Hope to hear from you soon.
Your 'best' lover, Arpad."
Arpad was one of the three or four men in my life who treated me like a human being. A brother couldn't have written me a more friendly note than the one Arpad had left for me. I may just as well mention here that the charming and humane boy died two years later. He had a bad fall from his horse and broke his spine. He was dead at once. It was somehow comforting to know that he didn't have to suffer.
I notified Steffi the next day and she was quite willing to be my roommate for the following week. A very busy period began for me now. I had to divide my time between my ever-sweating Igi, who didn't get me into bed for two weeks and then was so over-excited that he couldn't come, which was only pleasant for me, because it gave me a chance to come six times, which filled him with so much pride and satisfaction that he had his orgasm at last, after working on me for almost an hour. I'm sure he lost at least ten pounds from this effort, to judge from the wet bed sheets that were completely sweated through.
By that time I was already firmly installed in a fancy apartment of my own that Igi had specially selected for me. The building belonged to him, as did many others in the Inner City. His own elegant apartment was two floors above mine. I never told him about my "extracurricular" activities, such as redecorating a small cafe which Steffi and I had recently found and bought for only six hundred guilders. The owner wanted seven hundred, but when we told him we could pay cash, he reduced the price to six hundred.
About half a dozen friends of Steffi and myself, mostly students who needed part-time work, helped us repaint it and decorate it in a gemutlich Biedermayer style, which goes back to about 1825, the time when Franz Schubert wrote his songs and symphonies and Beethoven had reached the zenith of his fame.
It was stupid of me to keep the whole thing secret from Igi, because when he found out that he could help me financially. When I told him that I wanted the cafe to be "my own child," he seemed somewhat hurt, but it was clear to me that he was quite proud of my "good business sense," not realizing that it was Steffi who had been doing all the practical planning, designing and hiring of the help.
When "The Artist's Paradise"-as we christened the little cafe-had its festival opening, Igi insisted on attending, all dressed up in tails to go with my stunning evening gown of red brocade and gold embroidery all over. Steffi herself looked fascinating in her blue velvet gown, embroidered with silver. She didn't want to tell me whom she had engaged as headwaiter. It should be a "surprise" for me and I hoped it would be none of the waiters we knew. They were good waiters all right, but too much out for themselves and would have stolen us blind, apart from making a clandestine whorehouse of our charming little place.
CHAPTER NINE
GOOD TIMES AND MUCH FUN
The opening night of our cafe was a huge success. Pepi, who thought of everything, had ordered over a thousand invitation cards from the printer. They read:
!!We Are Looking Forward To Your Visit!! At "THE ARTIST'S PARADISE" Vienna, I., Lakestreet 2 Good wine! Good Music! Pretty Girls!
When Igi and I entered, the combo of three (piano, violin and accordion) promptly began to play the famous tune by Johann Strauss, The Pretty Girls of Vienna, and Steffi, making a deep bow, escorted us to a box in the back. There were three of those boxes along the back wall for couples who wanted to have a little privacy. Curtains could hide them from others in the cafe while they could watch all that was going on. I often used to sit in one of these boxes to watch business. And once I also enjoyed a good lay there, but I'm rushing ahead of my story.
When I noticed the tall young man in tails who was standing behind Steffi and who was apparently the headwaiter, I nearly fainted. It was Fritz, Steffi's blond, handsome student I He bowed to me as if he'd never seen me before. Igi must have noticed that I looked at Fritz several times and immediately became jealous.
"You know, Pepi, it's not good to have handsome waiters in a place like this...."
"But why not, Igi...?"
He looked at me sheepishly.
"Well ... men who come here with their wives are apt to become jealous . .
"Oh...? Just like you now...?" I laughed. He was visibly embarrassed, because he knew it wasn't "good manners" to show jealousy in public. He began to drink the French Champagne he had ordered and wanted me to clink glasses with him every few minutes. I did, but barely sipped the bubbling stuff which always tastes so harmless, but makes you drunk in no time if you don't watch out.
Since Steffi couldn't talk to me and explain things, for instance, the presence of Fritz as headwaiter, I encouraged Igi to drink until his head began to fall on my shoulder. He could hardly keep awake. That was the moment I'd been waiting for. I asked Steffi to get a cab for us so that I could take Igi to bed and come back alone afterwards.
With Fritz on Igi's right side and me on the left, we managed to support him until we had reached the waiting carriage outside. When I had maneuvered him into the elevator and up to his apartment, his valet took over and, between the two of us, we undressed him and got him into bed. He didn't wake up once.
I had asked the cab driver to wait for me and rode back in it to "The Artist's Paradise." Steffi sat down with me in the same box that Igi and I had just left and gave me the big news while I was strengthening myself with a goulash and a glass of beer.
"It's really not mysterious at all...." Steffi began her report. "I didn't mention to you before that I happened to run into Fritz quite unexpectedly in the street one day. He looked more lean than he ever was, and I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him with me, no matter how much he protested...."
"But when did that happen...? And why did you keep it a secret from me...?"
"You still interrupt a suspenseful story, Pepi, you haven't changed at all ..she teased me. "Now, now, don't give me that dirty look! Well, it happened only a few days ago, and I didn't want to mention it, before I was quite sure I could persuade Fritz to listen to reason...."
"What d'you mean...?"
"Listen, for God's sake! I forced him to accept my invitation to have a snack, and when I saw him devour a sandwich in no time, my suspicion was confirmed. He was famished. At last he told me that he'd lost his other part-time job and hadn't enough money to buy sufficient food and pay for his tuition. I immediately told him of our cafe and that I was looking for some decent, capable guy to be the headwaiter. If he had good looks, too, that was no handicap. 'Can't you just work for half a year, or a whole year, and interrupt your study while you keep earning enough money so that you can study afterwards without needing a job?' He thought it over for a while and then admitted it was a good idea. Well, here he is now. He has eaten three regular meals during the past few days, so he looks a little better. So-that's the story . .
"That's really fantastic...." I said. "And who's the other waiter, that handsome brunet guy. He looks like an Italian...."
"He's Fritz' roommate. He had to move in with Alfredo because the rent is cheaper that way. Alfredo is from Rome and studies here. His German is excellent and the slight accent makes him only more interesting for our customers, especially the women...."
Steffi called Fritz over and made him shake hands with me. He beamed all over his handsome face which had become quite haggard. Steffi would feed him back to his normal weight again, I was sure.
"I can't introduce Alfredo to you at the moment. He's taking orders from the company over there at the big table. We have to wait a while...."
"That's all right. But ... how are you ... I mean ... you and Fritz ... do you...?" I really was embarrassed to ask that question and couldn't go on.
Steffi seemed amused to see me embarrassed. "Do Fritz and I sleep together...? That's what you wanted to ask, eh...?"
"Well ... naturally...."
"It's not so natural, after all! I've met him again only about a week ago and ... well ... trying to help him to get on his feet again and so on and so forth ... I must leave it up to him to make the first move. I don't want him to feel like a pimp who has to fuck me just because I'm feeding him and giving him a chance to earn some money...."
"Yes, I can see you've got a point there...." Steffi looked across the room.
"Ah, now Alfredo can come over to us...." She called him and asked him to step inside the box so she could introduce him to me. He measured me with his deep blue eyes that made a good contrast with his black hair, and pressed his fleshy lips on the inside of my hand. Thousands of men have kissed my hand as a purely social gesture, but as soon as I feel the touch of a man's lips on the back, or the palm, of my hand, I can feel how he can perform in bed. Alfredo was a good lay, I felt. And I planned to find out whether my assumption was correct. But, on the other hand, I wanted Steffi to get her Fritz back and decided to do a little pimping as my good deed for the day.
CHAPTER TEN
MY GUSTL
Steffi left me alone for a while because she wanted to greet a group of customers that had just arrived and were shown to a table by Fritz. Alfredo used that moment to come again into the box and said very politely:
"May I see your hand, for a second...?" Before I knew what he intended to do, he had gently lifted my arm and again kissed my palm, but this time he was beating a trill with his warm tongue that made me shiver. Boy, I thought, you'd fuck me right here if I let you.
"Alfredo," I asked, "when is Fritz' night out?"
"On Mondays, Madame!"
"And that's when you're taking over for him...?"
"That's correct, Madame. Are we going to see you often here? After all, you're the boss...."
I looked him straight in the eyes.
"Yes, I'll be here next Monday night when you're headwaiter. I want to see how you work. Incidentally, Miss Steffi is my partner, which means she's also the boss. And now send Fritz to me. I have to tell him something...." He bowed, but I could see he wasn't able to figure me out. On the one hand I announced I was going to be here next Monday, on the other, I hadn't smiled when I said it. Never mind, I thought, I know you're a good lay and you are all ready to shove your dick into me ... and that's exactly what is going to happen next Monday ... it can be arranged.
My thoughts were interrupted by Fritz. He too addressed me as "Madame," although I used to be plain Pepi for him. I left it like that, for the time being. After all, I was the boss. I looked over to the group of new arrivals to make sure that Steffi was still occupied and then, without any further preliminaries, said to Fritz:
"Your pride will kill you one day! Don't you love Steffi any more...."
"Yes, I ... I ... I do love her as much as ever, but ... but ... you see ... now she's my employer, so to speak...."
"What nonsense you're talking...!" I sounded quite serious. "You love her, you say, and let her suffer in spite of it...? What kind of love is that...?"
He blushed and stammered:
"You mean, she ... really...?"
"Yes, you idiot! She really ... as you say. Now don't lose another day, or night. Show her that you love her and that you're a man...!" I couldn't bring myself to say "Just go ahead and fuck her!" He looked so blond and so damned, well, decent! Now Steffi called for him because some party wanted to pay and leave. He quickly kissed my hand and left. I felt much better now. It would be much easier for me to start a nice and perhaps regular fucking relationship with that racy Alfredo, since I knew that my faithful Steffi was taken care of again. She had once shared Fritz with me, and the least I could do was to make that handsome, conscientious boy again available to her. Since I saw Alfredo, I felt my guts stirred up and knew I wouldn't be interested in any other lay until I'd felt that passionate Italian in me. Of course, my "steady" friend, Igi, was no problem. Sex with him had become something natural, like brushing my teeth every morning, or like shaving for a man.
The following Monday, a messenger boy brought me a note from Steffi, early in the morning, begging me to take care of the cafe that evening because she was getting a cold. Knowing Steffi very well by now, I knew that it could be true what she had written, or-she wanted to give me a chance to be alone with Alfredo that night, or-since it was Fritz' night off, she wanted to be undisturbed to spend it with him, at long last, or-both reasons were valid: she wanted me to have Alfredo and she wanted to taste her Fritz again. As it turned out, my last guess was correct.
I went to "The Artist's Paradise" at ten in the evening. There were not too many customers and Alfredo and the busboy could manage quite nicely. Our dishwasher was very fast. Steffi had seen to that when she engaged the man. When the last guest had paid and left, just before midnight, I told Alfredo to lock the door and start to count the money while the dishwasher was finishing his chores. The short order cook was off, too. Mondays we served only beverages and whatever was delivered from our bakery.
At thirty minutes past midnight Alfredo and I were alone in the cafe. He'd shown me his intake and checked it with the slips and then he excused himself, saying he wanted to change from his working pants into his street clothes (which were the more elegant ones). I was sitting in the very box where he had so passionately kissed my hand and when I thought that just about enough time had passed for him to get out of his working trousers but not enough to put on the other ones, I called him in an urgent tone:
"Quick, Alfredo, I need you ... come ... quick...!"
As I'd expected it, he came running in his undershorts to see what had happened to me. I looked down at his nicely formed legs and calves and the muscular thighs that were covered with a dark fuzz and touched one thigh slightly with my fingers. There was an immediate reaction between his legs.
"Oh yes, Alfredo ... I wanted you to help me to get out of my dress. It's too warm in here...."
He looked at me for a minute to see whether I was serious, or perhaps playing some kind of trick on him, but he lost all doubts when my hand got hold of his enormous penis and squeezed it a little bit. With a groan that came from deep down in his chest, he pulled my clothes off me and, the next minute, had pressed me down on the upholstered bench and shoved his knees between my legs. I grabbed his shaft myself and inserted it into my rather starved cunt, because my lays with Igi were just like dull marital bouts. Not unpleasant, but not exciting.
"You really care for me, Madame, do you...?"
"Stop calling me Madame, Alfredo. My name is Josephine, or Pepi...."
"Ah ... then I'll call you, Beppina, like in Italian ... I loved you the moment I saw you ... I wanted you ... I wanted you very badly
... I didn't know if you would have me . .
I moved my hips against his strong thrusts and stroked his bushy black hair. He began to suck my nipples now.
"You're good, Alfredo ... very good ... I, too, wanted you to have me ... like this ... I knew you were a good lover when I saw you ... and you are ... ah ... you're making me come ... you are a good lover ... my Alfredo...."
He increased his tempo and suddenly came, squirting quite a load of his semen into me, but he did not stop moving. That was quite unusual. Only some of my Hungarian lovers were able to do that. Alfredo's prick did an excellent job. I kept coming several times during that second tour and when he himself discharged, I was so stimulated that I had to discharge at the same time. But still, he didn't stop. His prick kept moving very slowly as if to get its breath back and, after a minute or so, redoubled its tempo. I began to shout with joy and hugged Alfredo's body with my legs, pressing him close against me so that his prick remained for a while deep in me. I could feel it touch my womb and felt the acme of pleasure.
"I'll squirt my semen into you now ... Beppina ... you'll bear me a son ... I want you to bear a child from me ... ah ... here I come ... ah ... Beppina ... Beppina...."
I was hardly conscious, and only when I had rested under Alfredo's weight for a few minutes did it become clear to me what he had stammered during his orgasm. A son! He wanted a son from me! Oh my God, what a crazy idea. But, after all, wasn't it natural for a normal, healthy male to feel that way? To dominate a woman and fertilize her with his seed? When Alfredo and I were dressed again and ready to go, he suddenly embraced me and covered my face with wild kisses and stammered :
"Have I offended you, Beppina? Don't you want to bear me a son...?"
Good old Italian drama, I thought, but I replied:
"I have to think about it, Alfredo. For the time being, let's enjoy each other. Don't you want to...?"
He pressed his mouth to mine and said:
"If I earned some real money I'd marry you right now. I want you ... I want you ... every night...!"
This surplus of passion disturbed me a bit. I was Igi's mistress and didn't want to become involved in some emotional nonsense. Alfredo had certainly proved he was virility itself, but ... a love affair? No, I couldn't afford it.
But-my almost daily indulgence with Alfredo didn't remain without consequences. After six weeks my menstruation failed to take place, and the week after that I went to see a doctor who confirmed that I was pregnant. Steffi, who had blossomed out during the past weeks, thanks to the ministrations of Fritz, did not become alarmed.
"Why? You tell Igi that he got you pregnant. He'll be overjoyed at his own virility...!" She was right. When I confessed my certain "condition" to Igi and, especially, after the doctor had told him that it was indeed so, he nearly went crazy with joy! He, the fast, fifty-ish Igi, had begotten a son. He was convinced it would be a son. From that day on, he didn't let me use the stairs. I always had to use the elevator, which, in those days was a very slow business. Elevators could not be used to go downstairs, only upstairs.
But it was not only Igi who became sentimental over the idea of having sired a son. Alfredo was walking on air and the mere idea of "his son" to be appropriated by anybody else, like Igi, for instance, made him utter dark threats of assassination.
Steffi and I had our own sentimental states. We thought of a name to give the child, especially if it was going to be a boy. Igi had already proposed to name him Raymond, something he had heard in a French stage play. I didn't tell him I didn't want a son of mine being saddled with a French name. But when Alfredo said he wanted "his son" to be called Gustavo, I thought: Well, why not? Of course, not in its Italian version, but in German: Gustaf! And being a Viennese, we'll call him Gusti for short!
Steffi was far more "expectant" than I, the potential mother. It seemed peculiar to me that I should say good-bye to my independent womanhood at twenty to become a mother. I didn't feel like being one. Perhaps this inner resistance of mine had an organic effect, because "Gusti" was still-born. I was the only one that heaved a sight of relief. Igi nearly put on mourning, Alfredo cried and Steffi kept him company with her tears.
After a bed-rest of two weeks, I felt strong again, but was forbidden any intercourse by the doctor under whose care Igi had put me. Igi bore his abstinence heroically. After all, he had shown the world he could sire a son, but Alfredo became more and more nervous, so that I had to relieve him with hand and blow-jobs, also by letting him take me on from behind. Italians are often boy-lovers and anal intercourse is quite familiar to them. Both Alfredo and I were much happier, though, when we could do it again the regular way, although I don't know why it is so called. Perhaps because most people do it, for the lack of more imagination, I guess.
This brings me to the end of my memoirs, at long last. Igi was my first millionaire lover whose financial resources were always at my disposal, no matter that I still watched over my little "Artist's Paradise." It began to make good money and I let Steffi have most of it. She had more than deserved it. She didn't refuse, because now she was pregnant herself. Fritz had "done" it at last, and the two discussed marriage. Yes, the oh-so-clever Steffi was willing to marry the man she loved. She didn't have to become a world-famous demimondaine, she said. Well, I decided to let her be happy her own way. Fritz was the kind of guy who could get a woman to marry him. But not Alfredo! He was too much of a passionate, dramatic and brooding Italian. Ideal in bed, but definitely not for living together.
"The Artist's Paradise" carried on long after I had retired to the country. Steffi and Fritz were the legal owners now. I gave it to them as a wedding present. Steffi's child was a boy, but the next three were all girls. I know she was very happy in her marriage. She once confessed that "no other man can do it the same way Fritz does." I didn't remind her of her own words when she used to tell me that one talks like that of the lover of the moment whose penis is especially long and thick and extremely satisfying. Or rather it did remind me that she had had that opinion, but I found it wise not to bring it up again.
If a woman is in love she can seldom listen to reason. And why should she, if the man in question is a really nice guy like Fritz? I've never found such a rare specimen, or if I did, I ignored the fact. Separation from what one loves brings the same amount of pain as was the amount of joy one felt when one had it. Perhaps I've been a coward. I don't know. I've written down my experiences and my philosophy of life and love, or rather sex! If somebody who believes in marriage wants to hear how to go about it, he should read Steffi's memoirs. I don't know whether she's going to write them. Perhaps, one day.
