prostitution

“Please, Flora,” implored the handsome young man. “Just one little kiss.”



“Really, James, you should try and control yourself.”



“I’m only asking for a kiss.”



Flora’s eyes twinkled. “On the cheek?”



“Well……” The hapless young man suddenly frowned. “Dammit, Flora, I do believe you’re laughing at me.”



“Why not? When you look at me like that you remind me of a hungry puppy begging for his dinner.”



James Metcalfe drew himself up to his full height of five foot seven. “If you will excuse me, Miss Phipps, I believe it is time for me to take my leave.”



He gave a quick, short bow and strode out of the room, followed by the sound of Flora’s laughter. It would be some time before the anger generated by his humiliation would abate; some time before he could compose himself sufficiently to smile at another pretty girl – an hour, at least.



As for Miss Flora Phipps, she was feeling very pleased with herself for obtaining another conquest. A little under medium height with gold brown hair, violet blue eyes, rose cheeks and lips, her teeth were as white as pearls and her figure trim and well-proportioned. She was lively and full of confidence, envisioning her future as an endless waltz with the most handsome and charming man in the world. She hadn’t met him yet – James Metcalfe falling well below on both counts – but she was certain the day would come. The heroines in the novels that she read so avidly always found their ideal partner and Flora had no doubt that she would share their fate.



At the moment she was located, with her parents, in a suite of rooms at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, the biggest and best in New York. They were visiting for a couple of months from their Chicago home. Mr Phipps was a self-made man. He had arrived in America in 1845 with only a smattering of learning, no money, but a sharp sense. He obtained a post as a porter in a provision store and worked his way up from clerk to head clerk, to partner to boss.



The Civil War brought death to thousands and fortunes to a few. Cornelius Phipps was one of the few. His firm secured a government contract, for which they paid dearly, and for which they made the government pay even more. The army of the North was provided with pork which was bought for a song and sold at an average profit of 300 per cent.



The result was a life of ease and luxury for Mr and Mrs Phipps and their daughter, Flora. All three were thoroughly enjoying their holiday in the great city, taking every opportunity to see the sights, visit museums and attend the theatre. A particular highlight was an excursion on a boat taking them along the entire length of the East River front, with Brooklyn, Williamsburg and Long Island on the opposite shore. It also passed the islands of Blackwell, Randall and Ward. The view of New York and Brooklyn from the water was magnificent.



On this bright, sunny spring afternoon she was full of joy and confidence, in the knowledge that she was mistress of her destiny. She burst into her mother’s bedroom.



“Mama, isn’t it an absolutely wonderful, splendid, marvellous day!”



There was a low groan from the bed where Mrs Phipps was laid out, a black mask covering her eyes; this, despite the fact that heavy curtains were drawn across the windows.



“Please, Flora, don’t shout. It’s unladylike.”



“The carriage will be here in ten minutes, Mama.”



“Ooooooh!” A long sigh emanated from that good lady. “I don’t feel like going out today, Flora. I’m absolutely exhausted with all the gallivanting around.”



“But Mama, it’s a beautiful day,” Flora protested. “I want to go for a drive in the park.” She pouted her lips like a spoiled little girl, for indeed, that’s what she was in many ways.



With another long sigh, Mrs Phipps slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position and removed the black shade from her eyes. She was now revealed as being barely twice as old as her daughter and showed no signs of losing her good looks. Like Flora, Mrs Phipps had been considered by all the eligible men – and some not so eligible too – as a very good catch.



She looked into a mirror and pulled a face. “Ugh! I look as bad as I feel.”



“The fresh air will do you good,” said Flora brightly. “Come on.”



“Give me time to make myself presentable.”



“Five minutes, that’s all.” Flora headed for the door.



“Five minutes!” exclaimed her mother. “It can’t be done.”



“Mama – ” the young girl poked her head back into the room. ” – you can do it.”



With that, she was gone.



“Oh, why couldn’t I have had a sympathetic son who’d leave me in peace?” With a sigh, Mrs Phipps rose from the bed and began to dress herself.



The daily parade of fashionable carriages through Central Park was in full swing by the time Flora and her mother arrived. Everybody knew everybody else, so there were constant acknowledgements and, sometimes, a pair of carriages would be stopped whilst their occupants exchanged gossip and information. However, their carriage proceeded serenely along, totally unhindered; they were strangers to the city and its fashionable society.



“There’s dear Charles,” said Mrs Phipps, a slight turn of her head being the only indication that she was drawing her daughter’s attention to a smartly dressed man sitting astride a horse.



“Goodness, Mama, don’t smile at him. He’ll come across to us.”



“Why shouldn’t he? I find him most pleasant.”



Flora pulled a face. “Pleasant! He’s dull and pompous.”



Charles Dunne was fifteen years older than Flora, but behaved as if he had the addition of another twenty. His father was something in Wall Street – exactly what was never made quite clear – and Charles had followed him into the business. They were the only people in New York known to Mr and Mrs Phipps, Charles’ sister having married a friend in Chicago.



“He’s a very good catch,” Mrs Phipps continued. “Wealthy, quite handsome and polite.”



“Polite!” Flora exploded. “Do you mean he doesn’t curse all the time?”



“Of course not. I mean he knows how to treat a lady. I think he has quite a fancy for you, my dear. You should encourage him. Your father would consider that a very good match.”



“In that case, Papa can marry him.”



Flora sat back in a sulk, trying to make herself invisible as Charles Dunne rode alongside the carriage.



“Good afternoon, ladies.” He tipped his hat. “A beautiful day.”



“A blinding day,” said Mrs Phipps, wearily. “The sun is too bright.”



Charles smiled. “Having a holiday can be rather exhausting. But I trust you’re enjoying your visit to New York.”



“Immensely.”



“Perhaps I can increase that enjoyment. There is a ball at the Stewart house tomorrow and I am at liberty to issue an invitation to you all.”



“A ball!” Flora excitedly raised herself from her slumped position.



“Perhaps I might have the pleasure of a dance with you?”



“Well, Mr Dunne, I will have to see if I can find room on my card.” Flora smiled sweetly.



“I see.” Charles looked more than a little offended.



“That’s extremely rude, Flora,” Mrs Phipps reprimanded her daughter. “You will apologise at once.”



“I’m sorry,” Flora ungraciously mumbled.



“Accepted. Maybe you’re expecting to be surrounded by eligible young men. No doubt you will be. Perhaps, Mrs Phipps, you would do me the honor?”



“Why, of course,” replied the mother in some surprise.



“I look forward to it. I shall bring a carriage for you at eight o’clock tomorrow night. Good day, Mrs Phipps — Miss Phipps.”



Charles raised his hat and rode away.



“How could you, Flora? I thought I’d brought you up to be more polite than that. You’re a grave disappointment.”



“Oh Mama!” Flora flung herself into her mother’s arms. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. It just came out. I find Charles so pompous. He never seems to smile. But I’ll be good. I’ll dance with him — at least once.”



Further along Fifth Avenue from the hotel there was a large house designed and decorated exclusively for the use of persons giving balls, suppers or receptions. It was so large that several events could be held at the same time without any inconvenience to the different parties. Everything was provided by the proprietor down to the most minute detail, and though the service was very expensive, most of fashionable New York thought the outlay well worthwhile.



Naturally, both the female members of the Phipps family required to buy new ball gowns for the occasion and a new string of pearls also became a necessity. With each bill presented to him, Papa went a little more red in the face, but not a word of protest did he utter.



Mr Phipps was well aware that to be fashionable took a lot of money and he had that in abundance. He regretted not one cent spent on maintaining his position; after all, had he not come up from nothing? Did he not have a beautiful wife and daughter who needed and deserved to be shown off to their best advantage? Was it not his duty to make them happy?



The answer to all those questions, in the mind of Mr Phipps, was an unequivocal ‘yes’; therefore, he was only too pleased to pay their bills.



The large room was filled with the sound of chatter and the music of an orchestra playing in a far corner. Mr and Mrs Phipps, with their daughter, arrived at the top of a grand staircase leading up from the entrance hall to the ballroom. They were greeted with a smile and a few words of welcome from a haughty couple who, according to Charles, were giving this little ball for their son’s birthday.



“Little!” Mr Phipps exclaimed. “There are hundreds of people here.”



Charles nodded. “I believe fifteen hundred is the figure.”



“Good heavens! It must cost a fortune.”



“Ten to twelve thousand dollars.”



Mr Phipps gasped. He considered himself to be a wealthy man, but he most certainly couldn’t afford to spend that amount on an evening’s entertainment.



“My goodness.” Mrs Phipps looked around at the glitter of the room and finery adorning the women. “I feel quite shabby.”



“Nonsense, my dear,” her husband assured her. “You’re absolutely splendid.”



“I agree,” said Charles. “Both you and Miss Phipps look enchanting and the equal of any woman here. Shall we proceed?”



There were chairs ranged along the walls, allowing plenty of space for the dancing. They were tied together in pairs, denoting that ‘The German’ was to be danced later in the evening. There was very little dancing, however, before midnight. The members of New York society mingled and chatted, their voices almost drowning the orchestra.



Charles introduced his guests to several people who barely acknowledged them. They were not New Yorkers, but came from the sticks; hardly worth bothering about.



“I find everybody rather snooty,” Mr Phipps complained.



Flora was disappointed. After the initial excitement of arriving, no one did anything but stand around and talk. As she knew nobody and was totally ignored, the image of a fish out of water came to mind. It was most unfair. Wasn’t she their equal? Wasn’t she beautifully dressed? Didn’t she have charm and grace? She almost wished they hadn’t come.



Then, suddenly, he was there. A tall, fair-haired, slim young man of perhaps twenty-six or seven, stood before them.



“Good evening, Mr Dunne.”



“Oh — yes, good evening. Erm….may I present my guests. Mr Ambrose Phipps from Chicago, his wife, Matilda and their daughter Flora.” There was a noticeable chill in his voice.



The young man bowed. “Count Henry Dunois.”



“Count?” gasped Mrs Phipps.



“Oui, madame.” He gracefully picked up her hand and kissed it. “From Paris.”



“Oh. Pleased to meet you.” She did her best to suppress the little school-girl giggle in her voice.



“Mam’selle.” He kissed Flora’s hand, lingeringly, almost caressing it with his lips, whilst his eyes gazed into hers. “I shall have the honor of a dance — oui? Perhaps the fourth.”



“Of course,” said Flora, thinking he could have every other dance as well.



It was only one dance, but from that moment Flora was smitten.



Charles Dunne disliked the French count. He also distrusted him and was very sceptical about his claim to a distinguished background and being heir to a fortune. After the ball, where he was completely ignored by Flora, he was also filled with resentment and jealousy.



Charles viewed the young woman as an ideal wife who would look good on his arm and give him two or three children. He was not overly fond of children, but the line had to be continued and, anyway, between his wife and a nanny, he would have little contact with them. He had it all planned out. He had even patiently waited for Flora to become old enough. But now…..now, his plans were in tatters.



Hiring a little ferret of a man who proclaimed himself to be a detective – ‘ALL ENQUIRIES DILIGENTLY PURSUED. TRACING AND RECOVERING STOLEN PROPERTY A SPECIALITY’ – was a demeaning experience for a pillar of society, but Charles was determined to unmask the count as a fraud.



“Find out everything you can,” he instructed the detective.



“Do you want him followed?”



“Yes.”



“It’ll cost you.”



“Naturally.”



“Ten dollars a day, plus expenses.”



“I’m not going to quibble about the money, man. Just get the job done.”



And so it was that every movement of the noble French count was noted in a little black notebook, whilst at the same time his noble pedigree was being investigated. Thick tomes in the New York public library detailing the French nobility proved to be particularly useful.



“He’s a fraud,” declared the detective a week after beginning his surveillance. The details are in my report.” He handed over an envelope. “Do you want me to continue watching him?”



“Yes.”



“He’s seeing a lot of a young lady,” he referred to his notes. “Miss Flora Phipps. Staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Carriage rides in the park, dinners, balls, lunch at Delmonico’s, that sort of thing. But always in the company of one or both of her parents. He’s also a frequent visitor to a house of assignation.”



Charles’ lips curved in a half-smile. “Is he indeed; interesting.”



“I’ve made some discreet enquiries and the lady in question seems to be married to a legal man.”



“Good. Thank you.”



After the detective had gone Charles opened the envelope and began to study the contents of the report. It confirmed everything he had suspected. Give the impostor a little more rope to hang himself and then Charles would take great delight in exposing him.



It was rumoured that the count was heir to a property worth millions of francs and he was considered to be a good catch. It was also rumoured that he was a dab hand at borrowing, and that he was remarkably unlucky at cards and at the races.



Flora and her parents however, were ignorant of such gossip. From the moment she saw him she knew what it was to be in love. All her waking thoughts were centred on the count, and many of her dreams too. There was no other man in the world. The Frenchman seemed to be similarly struck, much to the satisfaction of Mr and Mrs Phipps. Hardly three weeks had passed when the subject of marriage was mentioned.



“A most suitable match,” said Mr Phipps.



“Do you think they’ll live in France?” asked his wife.



“I believe that’s Henri’s intention. He has a large estate not far from Paris. We’ll be able to visit once a year.”



“At least once a year,” said Mrs Phipps firmly.



It was a beautiful spring evening, with only one cloud on the horizon; in two days, Flora and her parents were returning to Chicago. She tried not to dwell upon the end of her holiday and think only of the future. Henri had proposed and been accepted by all three members of the Phipps family.



On this pleasant evening, they were all taking a stroll on the Ramble, a labyrinth of wooded walks with small bridges over brooks, wild flowers and vines. Everything was so simply and naturally arranged it was hard to believe it wasn’t the work of nature. Henri and Flora were walking a little distance ahead of her parents.



“It is a bore,” said Henri, sufficiently loud for Flora to hear, but low enough to defeat eavesdroppers.



“Walking with me?” she queried, a little pout appearing on her mouth.



“No. Always being observed. Your mama and papa are always watching.”



“Yes, you’re right. It is a bore.”



“What can we do about it?”



“I don’t know.”



“Sneak out after everyone is in bed.”



“I can’t. There’s a man guarding every door.”



“That can be no difficulty. A little sum of money changes hands and – voila!”



“Voila?”



Henri smiled. “The guard looks the other way.”



“Oo, yes!” Flora felt a flutter in her breast at the very thought of an adventure. “Where would we go?”



“Leave that to me. You will see New York at night. The excitement, the crowds, the noise. You should see Broadway.”



“But I’ve seen it.”



“But not at night, I wager. You have not strolled the streets at night. Daytime is different. At night Broadway really comes alive. I shall take you.”



“When?” Flora eagerly asked as the music was coming to an end.



“Tomorrow. Your last night in New York. Eleven o’clock.”



“Eleven!” gasped Flora, scarcely able to believe that she would leave the hotel at that time by herself. No, not by herself. Henri would be there to escort her. She would be perfectly safe. “Yes, yes! They’ll want to have an early night because we’re travelling the next morning.”



“Then it is arranged.”



“Yes.”



Later, in the hotel, when bidding goodnight to them all, Henri first kissed the hand of Mama, and then Flora. “Tomorrow,” he murmured.



The detective had placed himself in a position to watch, unobserved, as his quarry approached a private entrance on Broadway of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He witnessed the surreptitious handing over of money to the guardian of the door and then, a few moments later, the emergence of a cloaked female figure on the arm of the count. The ferret made a note of the time in his book; two minutes past eleven.



Broadway was always constantly thronged with a dense and rapidly moving mass of pedestrians, carriages, wagons, carts and omnibuses. As the day wore on, so did the pace ease a little. The promenaders were out to gaze at the rich, beautiful and tempting displays in the windows of the Broadway stores. The side-walks were always crowded, even in the summer. The bustle and uproar were so great it was generally impossible to converse in an ordinary tone. From early morn till after midnight the throng poured on.



At night the scene was different. Only carriages and omnibuses were on the street; strains of music and bursts of applause were to be heard coming from the places of amusement. Restaurants and cafes were ablaze with light. As Flora and Henri walked along, the theatre audiences were beginning to swell the crowd. She tightly clutched her escort’s arm, hardly able to believe she was in the midst of all these wonders with a young man and not her parents.



“Thank you, Henri.”



He looked at Flora. “For what, ma cherie?”



“Bringing me here. It’s so thrilling.”



“It is my delight. But I would like to do so much more.”



“More?”



“I feel so….how you say? Frustrated.”



“Frustrated?” Flora queried.



“I am annoyed because I cannot show you how much is my love for you. Frustrated. That is the right word – yes?



“Yes, but you do show me how much you love me.”



Henri shook his head. “No, no, no! I make play and push away my real desires. Always with people. Your mama and papa are like hawks circling and watching. In Paris this would not happen.”



“No?”



“In Paris I would be able to take you anywhere – to the theatre, to the park, or a restaurant or on a boat. Wherever we wish to go. By ourselves. No one to shake a head or tut-tut because I whisper in your ear or put my arm around and hold you close. We could even kiss.”



“In the street?”



“If we wished. But here…..everybody is so tight, so….so forbidding.”



Flora laughed. “I’ve never thought of my parents as forbidding.”

“You are desirable, ma cherie. I want to kiss those cherry lips.”



“Oh yes,” Flora sighed, trying to imagine what it would be like. Her very first kiss – well – that kind of kiss.



“I want to show you the depths of my love. This I could do in Paris. But here…..” he shrugged.



“Oh, I wish you could. How nice it would be if we were in Paris.”



“One day I shall take you there.”



“I can’t wait.”



“But I am afraid you will have to. We have to be married before I can carry you away to begin our life together. But here – now – we can take the first step.”



“First step?”



“I want to make you feel my love for you. This I cannot do on the street or beneath the gaze of other people. I want you alone. In my arms. With my lips on yours.”



“That would be nice.”



“Then take that first step. We are to be married. We make love tonight…..”



“Tonight?” Flora was wide-eyed.



“….or next week or next month after the wedding vows. What difference? If you truly love me, you would not keep me in this hell.”



“I do love you!” cried Flora.



They were approaching a street corner and he gently propelled her off Broadway onto a narrower and quieter street. There were a few small shops which were soon replaced by houses on both sides.



“Where are we going?” Flora enquired.



“To a house belonging to a friend. She will not spy on us and keep us from each other.”



“She?”



“Mrs Petrie. I became acquainted with her soon after coming to New York. You have no need to fear. She is perfectly respectable, but knows when to be discreet.”



Flora stopped walking. “I….I don’t know, Henri. I don’t think we should be alone.”



“There are other people in the house. Good people. They would not let harm come to you. And I will be with you.”



He carefully pulled the hood of her cloak down, tipped back her head and kissed her. It was a long kiss. An elderly couple walking on the other side of the street looked at the lovers with disapproval. Also on the other side of the street was the ferret, who made a note in his book.



After the kiss, which she had never before experienced, Flora felt weak-kneed. She clung to Henri as he resumed their walk. They passed a few more houses, then he took her up a short flight of steps to a front door. He rang the bell. It was opened after only a few moments and a tubby, pleasant-faced woman of middling years greeted them.



“Good evening.”



Henri nodded. “Mrs Petrie.”



“Nice to see you again.” She looked at Flora and smiled. “Good evening, miss.”



“Hello,” Flora nervously replied.



There were butterflies in her stomach. It wasn’t too late. She could turn and go. Henri would understand. On the other hand, she desperately wanted to feel him loving her. Of course, nobody had ever explained what happened when a man made love to a woman, but she had read books. She clearly remembered the words of Mr Rochester to Jane Eyre.



“Come to me – come to me entirely now,” said he; and added, in his deepest tone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, “Make my happiness – I will make yours.”



Yes, yes. She would go to Henri entirely and make his happiness.



“The room is ready,” Mrs Petrie murmured.



“Merci. Come, my love.”



“Come to me – come to me entirely now.”



The words went round in Flora’s head as she followed him to an upstairs room. It was pleasantly furnished in light colours. The most prominent feature was a double-bed with the covers turned down. She shivered in apprehension. The door closed behind them and they were alone.



Henri gathered Flora into his arms, holding her in a firm embrace. She felt his lips lightly brush her ear, followed by her left cheek, her forehead, right ear, right cheek and finally her lips, where the kiss was more forceful and prolonged. She gasped as he released her and felt her body flushed with heat.



“You know how a man makes love to a woman – yes?”



Flora shook her head. “No,” she whispered.



“Mon dieu! Your mama and papa have not told you?”



“No.”



“Have you seen a man without clothes?”



Flora was shocked. “Of course not.”



“A picture perhaps? Or a statue?”



“I’ve never really noticed.”



“All right.” Henri took off his coat and began to unfasten his trousers. “I will show you.”



Flora stood open-eyed as her future husband – she kept reminding herself that she was in this highly compromising situation with her future husband – took off his trousers. He then removed his underwear.



“Voila!”



Protruding from his lower region was a long stick-like thing and Flora gazed in fascination as he slowly ran his fingers along its length.



“It is hard. That shows how great is my love for you. You do not have this.” Flora shook her head unable to find a voice to speak. “But what you have is made to take this inside. I will show you if you want.”



Did she want? Flora was uncertain and not a little afraid. What did he mean by ‘taking that stick’ inside her? How? He would show her; if she wanted.



“Yes.” It was hardly more than a whisper.



“You will have to remove your clothes.”



“All…..all of them?”



“It is best. I too will disrobe. Our two naked bodies together will make a love such as you cannot imagine. Come. We start.”



He began shedding his remaining clothes. Flora slowly and hesitantly followed suit. “Come to me. Come entirely to me now.”



Rochester’s words went round and round in her mind. She envisioned Jane Eyre standing in front of him revealing herself to the man she loved, just as Flora was doing now. It took a while, but eventually she was naked, eyes downcast and feeling the need to cover herself with her hands. But where? There were more parts to conceal than hands to do it. She settled for lightly clasping her hands in front of her lower private parts with her arms across her breasts.



He came to her, bent down, eased her arms away, and began to kiss her breasts. Her little buds hardened as his tongue caressed them. She was aware of the stick pressing against her stomach and could feel its hardness. By now her limbs were trembling, but she had no idea whether it was with excitement or fear. One thing was certain; her legs would no longer support her. She collapsed onto the bed.



Henri pulled her legs apart and applied his attentions to the delicate heated area between them. Flora began to squirm and softly moan. Waves of pleasure washed through her as he licked and kissed her. Suddenly he got up.



“Lie fully on the bed. With your legs open.”



He went over to a washstand as she complied and picked up a towel, which he brought across. “I will place this beneath you.”



“Why?”



“This is your first time. Sometimes there is bleeding on the first time.”



Flora sat up, fright etched on her face. “Bleeding?”



“It is not to worry you. There is nothing bad or unusual about it. Perfectly normal. After this it will not happen. Lie back.”



Filled with apprehension she did as he said. She was aware of his finger lightly rubbing her most secret part. It was a delightful sensation. She wondered if Henri was deriving as much pleasure, or was he doing this just for her sake. Oooooh, she felt…….



Her eyes opened wide and she gasped as the stick went into her. There was a momentary stab of pain which made her wince, but then it was gone and the only sensation she had was excitement. He moved in and out in a steady rhythm.



“Aaaah!” Flora writhed. “Ooooooh!”



The heat was growing where she was being penetrated and she could feel the stick hardening even more and stretching into her. Suddenly there was a burst of heat and a loud gasp from Henri. For a moment he was still and rigid. She felt something flood into her and then he relaxed, slowly sinking down on top of her.



They lay still for a minute or two, breathing heavily. He once more kissed her nipples and circled his tongue round her breasts. She was overwhelmed with a feeling of contentment.



“I didn’t know it was possible to be as happy as I am now,” Flora crooned. “You must teach me all you know about making love. I want it to be perfect for us both every time.”



“I imagine we will have to wait until after we are married, ma cherie. Tonight we could succeed in our little deception, but after this, we cannot run the risk of being discovered. Your reputation would be in pieces and I would be branded as a cad and rogue. We must not allow this to happen.”



“Oh, I want to kiss and pet you all day long and never be parted. We’ll be so happy, happy together in our own little house.”



“Perhaps it will not be so little.”



She clutched him to her breast and was aware that he was hardening again. She giggled. “Henri, I do believe you want to love me again.”



“My darling, I do believe you are right.”



And he did.



“Time to go, cherie.” Henri got out of bed and began to dress. Flora made to follow. “No, no. You stay as you are a few more moments. The perfect picture. A naked Venus.”



Flora blushed. “You make me embarrassed.”



“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You were a wonderful fuck. Enjoy your new life.”



“What do you mean?”



He opened the door and three men were standing outside. Flora squealed and pulled the covers up.



“I am really sorry, ma cherie. Believe me. This was not what I intended. You see, I am not a real count. I am — er — how you say? – impostor. That is right, yes? Penniless. I came to America with hardly two cents in my pocket, but I made friends.” He indicated the three men. “Friends such as this. I planned for a rich marriage to a charming young woman. You were exactly right. Everything was going according to plan, but then your Mr Charles Dunne interfered. He had me investigated and followed by a rather clumsy detective. He is outside now with his little notebook. He saw us come in. He will see us go out and then we disappear — pouf! Robert Houdin could not do it better.”



Henri picked up Flora’s cloak.



“Henri!” She was frightened and so demented that his words hardly made sense. New life? What new life? “Don’t leave me!”



“But I must. You are my passage back to Europe. You fetched a good price. I was most gratified. Au revoir.”



“Henri!” Flora screamed as the door closed behind him and she was left alone with the three men.



“Come on, my lovely,” growled one man, pulling back the covers. He whistled. “Henri wasn’t lying. Very tasty. He fucked you, so you have an idea what it’s all about, but this is where your education really begins.”



The others had already stripped off their clothes. They stood on either side of the bed and Flora instinctively closed her legs tightly together. To no avail. She was roughly seized and a knee pressed against her crotch. She reacted to the pain by spreading her legs and her assailant grunted in satisfaction.



He was already hard, the sight of the nubile young body being sufficient, and his cock drove into Flora’s cunt. It was dry and unwilling to receive the solid piece of flesh invading her most intimate part. She squealed in pain. With Henri she had been relaxed, at least after the initial penetration, and her juices flowing. Her vagina had welcomed him. But this……this….



She screamed but a hand was firmly clapped over her mouth, cutting it short.



“Don’t want to wake the neighbours, do we?” He laughed. “Not that the people in this house are all that bothered.”



He continued brutally thrusting in and out whilst Flora, unable to stop him, was wide-eyed with pain and horror.



“I know a better way of keeping her quiet,” said the second man.



He kneeled on the bed at her head, facing towards her feet.



“Right.”



He nodded and the hand was removed. He quickly put his cock at her mouth.



“Open.”



She did and he pushed his hard cock inside, choking her.



“Suck,” he commanded. “And don’t you bloody well bite or I’ll knock your teeth through the back of your head.”



Gasping and choking she did as instructed, whilst the man knead her breasts. Meanwhile the first man was reaching a climax and he pulled out of her just before ejaculating. His sperm gushed out over her stomach.



“You want her to clean you up?” enquired the man being sucked.



“Yeh.”



They swiftly changed places and Flora was invaded by a second cock inside both orifices. The one in her mouth tasted salty. She was unable to feel anything but pain and despair. When she had entered this room only a couple of hours earlier, she had been a virgin who had never known the intimacy of lying next to a man. She had not experienced a man’s touch, especially on her most secret parts. With Henri it had been wonderful, but the brutality of this rape was mind-numbing.



The second man’s semen spurted out, spreading across her breasts and stomach. No sooner had he finished than he took up position at her head and pushed his cock into her mouth. This one tasted slightly different; more bitter than salty. Unpleasant. She wondered how she could even begin to register the tastes as a third cock penetrated her vagina. It’s rough edge scraped along the lips.



Flora was taken twice more by each man and then she was turned over. A finger began to work its way into her anal passage.



“No!” she cried.



“Shut it!”



A resounding slap on her ass accompanied the words.



“Aa! It was a loud gasp.



The finger continued pushing and prodding. The pain was worse than when she had been penetrated in the vagina. She closed her eyes tightly, a deep frown furrowing her forehead as she endured the anal intrusion. Her face was tear-stained.



“Kneel up.”



She slowly rose up into a kneeling position. Very gradually the opening began to widen and more of his finger was inserted. A little more and two fingers were inside.



The other two men were standing by the side of the bed stroking their cocks, which were standing to attention, waiting for action. All three of them prided themselves on being able to get a hard-on three or four times a night. They were good at their job, for this was a job. They were paid to break in new fillies for the whorehouses of New York.



There was a constant demand for attractive young women to fill the better class of houses of prostitution. Fresh ones were always required to replace those who had grown less fresh and faded.



There was a regularly-organized system designed to trap vulnerable, naive or extravagant young women. Men were employed the year round to seduce and introduce new subjects to their establishments. These men were almost invariably handsome, with a fine appearance, easy manners, and hearts as hard as any stone. They were often men of some culture and breeding, with agreeable manners, brilliant conversation and man-of-the-world ways which were well calculated to charm any ordinary young woman.



Such a one was Henri Dubois. Though not actually a professional seducer he was, nevertheless, good at seduction. He had won the heart of Flora Phipps and enticed her into bed. It was an extremely pleasing encounter; unfortunately, he had been forced to abandon her. He allowed himself a few moments of regret as he stood on the deck of a departing ship, but then threw his cigar into the water and proceeded towards the saloon. With luck, he would soon meet a delectable young woman who would quickly be charmed by Count Henri Dubois.



At that moment, his previous conquest was enduring the agony of a hardened cock skewering up her backside. As was to be expected, passage was being resisted, causing an excruciating pain.



“Oh….oh…..oh!” Flora squealed. “Stop! Please stop!”



Her plea was ignored. The man derived no sexual pleasure from doing it, but he certainly derived a sadistic satisfaction from tearing open the virgin ass. He enjoyed his work and gave no thought to his young victims, caring nothing for them or their ultimate fate.



After a great deal of pushing, his cock was finally in up the hilt and he began to work it around, in and out. Flora was moaning, her eyes fast shut, as pain washed through her in waves. The man picked up speed and grunted as he felt himself coming. This time he ejaculated into her ass. He pulled out and was replaced. Flora was barely aware of a second cock being pushed into her. She was close to fainting clean away.



After the third man had finished inside her they all left, and the object of their abuse lay sprawled across the bed with dried semen spread over her body, so shattered by the experience even the tears refused to come. She was like a broken doll.



At some time, sleep must have come to her rescue. She was suddenly aware of being shaken awake by a blonde and buxom woman a few years older than herself.



“Feeling better after your rest?”



“Better?” Flora murmured. No, I don’t, she wanted to cry. How can you expect me to feel better after what happened? I’m bruised all over, inside and out. But she stayed silent.



“I know.” There was some sympathy in the tone. “Well….no, I don’t know. It didn’t happen to me. Not necessary. I was willing enough ’cause I needed the dough. But I’ve seen other girls and talked to them, so I’ve got a bit of an idea. Virgin, were you?”



Flora didn’t reply. Strictly speaking, she lost her virginity in a most pleasant and loving way; at least, some of her virginity. What was done to her afterwards stripped everything else away.



“Yeh, it comes hard. But that’s the worst over. You won’t be faced with brutes like that again. You’ll soon find you get used to it. Might even enjoy it sometimes. My name’s Hattie, by the way.”



“Used to what?” Flora asked.



“Satisfying men in bed — and out.”



“I want to go home.”



“Home? You are home. At least, you will be when you’re moved out of here. This isn’t where you’ll work. It’s only a stepping stone.”



“Work?” Flora was still in a half-daze and finding it difficult to take in the words; or at least, their meaning.



“Never worked before, have you? Born into wealth and luxury, I bet. Well, you can kiss that goodbye, though your customers will be toffs. You’re going to a first-class house.”



“I….I don’t understand.”



“You’re a fallen woman. Fucked in every way. Bought and sold to make money for your owner. On your back or on your knees. Sucking cocks; taking them into your cunt or up your fanny; being beaten — some guys get a real kick of smacking a girl or using a whip. It gets them off, then you take it down the throat. Sometimes you get two or three at a time; at the same time.”



If that account of Flora’s expected future life was meant to reassure her, it failed miserably. She huddled into a tight ball on the bed and began to cry.



“Come on, pull yourself together. I’ve got to get you ready for leaving and we’ll both be in trouble if you aren’t ready.” Hattie dragged the naked figure off the bed. “Looks like you’ve been in the wars a bit. Never mind, the bruises will soon go. Be good as new in no time.”



Flora stood still, offering no help as Hattie dressed her.



“Got a nice pair of tits,” commented Hattie. She bent down, ran her tongue across the teats and then gently pulled them with her lips. Surprisingly, they began to harden. “I see you’ve still got a bit of life in you,” Hattie giggled. “But I can’t spend too long enjoying myself. Maybe later. What do you say?”



“Um.” Flora nodded vaguely, only half aware of what was happening.



Hattie continued dressing her and then led her downstairs when she was ready. Mrs Petrie was there.



“Hurry up. We’ve got to get her out of here.”



“Don’t worry. We’re going.”



“The carriage is at the back door.”



“Right.”



The shattered girl was led out of the house and into a carriage with the blinds down. It pulled away, down an alley and out into the main street. Soon it was lost in the early morning traffic.



Half an hour later, after Mr and Mrs Phipps had risen from a deep sleep, they discovered that their daughter’s bed had not been slept in. The hotel was searched from top to bottom. As soon as it was ascertained that she was nowhere inside the police were informed. They began to make enquiries amongst the staff, but everybody denied any knowledge of the missing girl, including the door-keeper who had seen her go. True, he hadn’t seen her face, but adding two and two was hardly high maths.

He kept quiet because he had been well paid to turn a blind eye and felt duty bound to honor his word. Besides, he had no desire to become part of a police investigation, having had a less than squeaky-clean past. What’s more, he was filled with envy of those people who could afford to stay in a classy hotel such as the one which employed him. It gave him pleasure to bring a little grief into their lives.



Thus, the police remained in ignorance of Flora’s departure on the arm of Henri Dubois. At least, they would have done if it hadn’t been for the report of the ferret detective, now in the possession of Charles Dunne. He gave it to the official investigators. A burly police detective questioned the ferret.



“You saw Miss Phipps come out with Count Henri Dubois?”



“Yes, sir.”



“You’re certain it was her.”



“Not at the time she emerged. Wrapped in a cloak, you see. With a hood. I followed the couple as they walked along Broadway and somewhere along the way, he took her hood down. That’s when I clearly saw her face.”



“You recognised her?”



“Oh yes. Very pretty girl she is. Saw her quite a bit whilst I was following Dubois. Always in company with a parent.”



“Except last night.”



“Yes. No parent then. Just Dubois.”



“Where did they go?”



The ferret handed over his notebook. “That’s the address. House of assignation, it is.”



The police detective nodded. “We know it. Did you see them leave?”



“Yes. About two hours later. Wrapped in her cloak she was.”



“Where did they go?”



The ferret shook his head. “Sorry. They came out, jumped into a waiting cab and drove away. I was on foot.”



“Ah. Pity.”



“But I did hear what he said to the driver.”



“Oh?”



“Headed for the docks they were.”



The police detective frowned. “The docks? Now, why would they go there?”



The door-keeper at the hotel was questioned again, but insisted he saw nothing and no-one. He was at his post all the time except…..ah yes, of course….he did go away for just a few moments. The call of nature. About eleven o’clock, he thought.



The police detective’s next port of call was the house of assignation. Mrs Petrie opened the door.



“Hello, Inspector.”



“Can I come in?”



“Got a daytime assignation, have you?”, the housekeeper cheekily asked.



“Happily married, Mrs Petrie.”



She laughed. “Plenty of them come here, I can tell you. Both sexes.”



“Yes, I’m sure they do. I’m pursuing enquiries. Last night. A young girl — eighteen years old — came here with Henri Dubois.”



“Yes, that’s right. Sweet looking girl. Innocent looking. I didn’t like to see her with that Dubois man.”



“Really?”



“He’s visited before with other women. They looked as if they knew what they were doing, but this one….” Mrs Petrie shook her head. “She isn’t the first young girl to be fooled and she won’t be the last. Older women too. Should be older and wiser, but they’re not. My visitors come from all classes in society. Married women meet their lovers here and young girls like her come when their parents think they’re somewhere else. I see it all. Human lust. Provides a handsome income for me, I can tell you.”



“I’m sure it does,” the detective drily responded. “Did she stay the night?”



“This isn’t a hotel or boarding house. Nor is it a brothel. I run a respectable house. I’m in the business of letting rooms for people to meet each other. I’m not to know what they get up to, am I?”



“Of course not. Did you see Dubois and the girl leave?”



“Yes. After a couple of hours or so.”



“Any idea where they went?”



“I assume he took her back home, wherever that is.”



“Um All right. Thank you. I’ll probably want you to make a signed statement.”



“Anything to help the police. By the way. Why are you looking for her?”



“She’s disappeared, Mrs Petrie. Left your house and vanished into thin air.”



“Well, would you credit it.”



Enquiries were made at the docks and the police discovered that a ship had departed the previous night bound for Europe. The timing was exactly right and an entry in the passenger list revealed that a double cabin – second class – had been booked by Count Henri Dubois.



“So that’s it, I’m afraid,” the police detective informed the grieving parents. “Seems the young couple have eloped.”



“But why?” Mrs Phipps tearfully asked. “There was no need to elope. We heartily approved of the marriage.”



“I’ll tell you why,” said Charles Dunne grimly. “It’s all here in the report. My private detective has been making enquiries. He found that Dubois was nothing but a scoundrel and a fraud. There’s no estate, no fortune, no family name. He’s a nothing and a nobody who scraped up a one way passage to New York. We’ve been taken for fools.”



Mr Phipps looked puzzled. “I still don’t understand why Dubois didn’t stay and marry Flora. Once he’d done that we wouldn’t have been able to do anything. The disgrace would have been intolerable.”



“Obviously that’s what he was banking on, but he had to alter his plans. He received a letter from France; probably tipping him off about our investigation.”



“My poor little girl,” cried Mrs Phipps. “Tricked into marriage by a charlatan.”



“He’s an expert in seducing women,” said Charles grimly. “No doubt you’ll receive a letter eventually, demanding money to support them. If you refuse to pay, God knows what will happen to poor Flora in France.”



Mr Phipps looked shattered, whilst his wife collapsed onto the sofa in a flurry of wailing and crying.



Flora had been taken to a house not far from the hotel; a house much like any other fashionable residence for a well-to-do family. She was given a room, a surprisingly pleasant room, with good furnishings and a welcoming feel. It was where she would work and sleep. She was also provided with a wardrobe of dresses which were pretty and had one thing in common; they showed off her figure to its best advantage. There was not much in the way of undergarments.



The girls were not allowed out for the first month, she was informed, though they could sit in the garden at the rear of the house on a good day. After the month, they could walk out to the shops or park, but always in the company of another girl. There was also an ever-watchful male minder trailing behind.



This was a parlor-house, run by Mrs Greene, and there were ten ‘lady boarders’ as they were euphemistically called. It was a three-story brownstone house, furnished throughout with the most costly and newest improvements. There were French mirrors, English and Brussels carpets, rosewood furniture and rich wallpaper, creating an emporium of love and beauty.



“I receive the patronage of only the best,” Mrs Greene told the new arrival. “Many of them are distinguished foreign gentlemen. I apologise for the way you have been snatched away from your life and your parents. I wish it wasn’t necessary, but my gentlemen only want the very best girls. The second and third class houses can find enough willing girls for their purpose, but first class houses have a problem of supply. Beautiful, graceful, charming and educated girls like yourself are rarely prepared to enter a parlor-house of their own free will. How do you feel after your ordeal?”



“Sore,” Flora murmured, eyes downcast.



“I’m sure you will be for a few days. You will not start work until you’ve recovered. Meanwhile, you’ll be taught everything you need to know about pleasing a man.”



Mrs Greene was as good as her word. Flora was shown how to masturbate a male penis, as well as suck it, her previous ‘training’ not being sufficient. She was also introduced to the ‘French Male Safe’, a perfect shield against disease or conception. A clay model of an erect penis was brought to her room and she was shown how to roll the ‘safe’ onto the distended member.



“Some men don’t want to wear one,” said Mrs Greene. “It is important they should do so, for their sake, as well as yours. You must insist. No penetration without protection. Is that clear?”



“Yes.”



Flora was blushing at using the model and couldn’t imagine how she would feel with the real thing. It seemed like a bad dream, from which she would soon wake. Perhaps, after making love with Henri, she had fallen asleep and guilt had given her a nightmare. For after all, she was unchaste; she had given herself to a man before marriage. But they were going to be married; surely that would lessen her crime.



“A doctor is coming to examine you this afternoon.” The voice of Mrs Greene cut into her thoughts. “To make sure everything is all right. I believe you’ll be ready for your first gentleman tomorrow.”



The door closed after Mrs Greene and Flora sank onto the bed. It was a large comfortable bed with beautiful covers, worthy enough to grace the Fifth Avenue Hotel. She thought of her parents. Only a few days ago she had been with them, loved and loving. Now, she had lost them and they had lost her. What did they imagine had happened to her? Where did they think she had gone? She began to cry; for herself, but even more, for them.



The parlor was an elegant room with a glass chandelier, thick carpet, sofas and chairs. After a late breakfast, the ‘lady boarders’ assembled, ready to begin their day’s work. Flora wore an elegant dress with a low cut bodice that perfectly showed off her trim figure.



The first gentleman arrived a little after midday, to be warmly welcomed by Mrs Greene, and charmingly greeted by the girls, who introduced themselves. Wine was produced and poured by a servant, who was always in attendance. Everybody sat around and chatted, the visitor, who was not known to the company, informing them that he was in New York on business.



“Banking. I’m from Boston.”



“Is this your first visit to our great city?” enquired one of the girls.



“Not at all. I come two or three times a year. Always take the opportunity for a little relaxation with pleasant female company.”



There were little coy giggles from some of the girls. Flora remained quiet, trying to imagine what it would be like to have him in her bed. And to put on the male safe. She shuddered at the thought, feeling herself tremble with nervousness.



Eventually — there was never any hurry about this process — the man stood up and offered his hand to a young blonde girl who had been several months in the house. They left the parlor together. There was no negotiation of price, as it was fixed by the house and applied to everyone.



As the afternoon wore on more gentlemen entered and departed with the girl of their choice. It was after five o’clock when a foreign man chose Flora.



“I am from Deutschland,” he had proclaimed.



“Where’s that?” a girl called Susie had asked.



“Germany,” Flora murmured.



“Ah yes!” boomed the man. “As you call it — Germany.”



From that moment on he lavished all his attention on Flora and it was soon obvious that he would choose her. She began trembling even more. She would soon sell her body to this stranger. He would pay money to insert his….his….phallus into her. He was far from handsome and there were rolls of fat around his middle.



Suddenly he was on his feet, hand outstretched towards her. She tried to smile as she took hold of it, but felt it probably came out as more of a grimace. They went upstairs to her room.



Trying to remember what she was taught, Flora put her arms round him and held him close.



“You’re a big man. Is everything big?”



“Ja. Maybe too big for die Scheide.” He laughed.



“Die Scheide?” Flora queried.



He pointed down at her lower region. “What you say? Pussy.”



“Oh.” Flora attempted a laugh. “No, I don’t think so.”



“We will find out. Ja?”



“Yes. Take your coat off and I’ll hang it up. Vest as well.”



He did as he was told.



“Your turn.”



“Um…yes.”



Flora carefully hung up the coat and vest before turning towards him. She slowly began to unfasten the dress, slipped it off and was left standing in a chemise.



“Shirt and tie.”



“Ja, ja.”



The German eagerly complied, also removing his undervest. She was right about the rolls of fat. Gritting her teeth, she knelt down undid the buttons on his trousers and pulled them down around his ankles. Roaring with laughter he jumped around trying to extricate himself from the trousers, falling onto the bed in the process. After removing his shoes and much tugging and pulling, he finally succeeded. He was down to his long-johns.



“Stand up,” Flora ordered.



“Jawohl, mein liebchen.”



She pulled down his drawers and his cock sprang to attention. Gathering up her courage she took it in her hand and slowly masturbated it, running her hand up and down, gently squeezing and pulling. It grew even harder beneath her touch. She then ran her tongue over it and, after a moment’s hesitancy, took it into her mouth.



A slight moan escaped his lips as she sucked and licked the distended penis. Trying to judge just the right moment — not too soon and not too late — she stopped her action, reached over to a bedside drawer and took out the male safe. Before he realised what was happening she was rolling the protector on. He grunted disapproval, but Flora shook her head.



“This way or not at all.”



“Ja…ja, this way.”



Flora took off her chemise and lay on the bed, her legs spread. She closed her eyes as he quickly pulled his long-johns off his ankles. He climbed on top of her, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight. She felt the penis searching for her opening; she guided it into her. He pushed all the way and then began to pump.



He had paid money for this, she thought. He had bought me like a whore. But why not? I am a whore. Oh, Henri, how could you do this to me? Didn’t you love me one little bit? Maybe I could run away and return to my home in Chicago. Surely it was possible.



The German was pumping faster and faster, his gasps growing with the energy expended. He was also reaching his climax. He kneaded her breasts, pinching her nipples.



“Ow!”



He grinned, offering no apology, and continued grinding.



No. It was impossible. She had no money and was too ashamed. How could she face any of her friends or acquaintances now? This was her life now and she would just have to……



“Aaaaah!”



She felt the German disgorge his semen; luckily, not into her vagina. She was a prostitute now, bought and paid for; no mistake about that.



She had one more gentleman that night and three the following day. And so it went on. There was never a long queue waiting for her services — or for any of the girls. This was a first-class house. Nothing was rushed. She didn’t have to cope with fifteen or twenty men one after the other, mauling her and thrusting their cock into her, though she heard stories about some of the low-class places where such practices were common. When she stopped to think about it, that would eventually be her fate. Most prostitutes went down-hill, some faster than others. As they grew older, less attractive and more worn, they would leave for a second-class house then a third and then…….



But she preferred not to think about it.



Time passed. Her twentieth birthday had come and gone. When she first started she kept a count of all the men who had possessed her body in return for money, but she had long ago given up that fruitless exercise. She still looked remarkably fresh and pretty and was a popular ‘lady boarder’. On one occasion she encountered a man of her acquaintance in the house. It took him a little while, but then it dawned on him who she was.



“Are you in New York for business or pleasure?” Flora politely enquired.



“Business earlier, pleasure now.” He grinned laciviously.



Of course, he chose her.



“Have you seen my parents?” she asked him in the bedroom.



“Not often. Since you — er — disappeared, they’ve withdrawn from society. The story was that you eloped with a damned Frenchman.”



“Damned indeed. He seduced me and then left me to the mercy of three thugs who brutalised and raped me before bringing me here. I was turned into a whore and whore I am. What do you want? In my cunt, in my ass or in my mouth.”



“Yes, please.” He grinned. “You’ve no idea how I fantasised about getting you naked and sticking my cock up you. A lot of my friends did. I can’t believe that I’m actually going to do it.”



“You didn’t have a chance then, but now, if you pay me, I’m all yours.”



He had her on her back, on her knees and astride him.



Whilst they were recovering their breath from an insertion, Flora asked him if he was married.



“Er — yes,” he reluctantly admitted.



“Anyone I knew?”



“Jane Sommers.”



“Oh yes, I remember. Quite plain, if I recall. Or am I being bitchy?”



“No, you’re right. She’s not exactly a looker, but there’s pots of money in the family.”



“And that’s important, isn’t it?”



“My parents seem to think that.”



“So you were sold off for marriage, whilst I was sold off for sex. Not much difference between us, is there?”



He shrugged.



“What would your wife say if she knew you were in a parlor-house with me?”



“There’d be hell to pay. For God’s sake, don’t tell her.”



“I’m not likely to, am I? Likewise, I’d prefer it if you didn’t speak about me.”



“Of course.”



“Should I hear any word of this coming from Chicago, your wife will be told exactly how you found out. Believe me, I can do it. I have friends.”



She sounded convincingly threatening, though not really sure how she could do anything about it.



“I promise, I promise.” He was thoroughly frightened.



She reached for his cock. “I think this requires a little work.”



She began her ministrations and he began his moans. In a very short space of time he was hard enough for the male safe, which Flora expertly rolled on.



“Come on, I want all of it in my cunt.” She had learned how to talk dirty as well. “Push in as far as you can and really make me feel it. Just imagine it’s two years ago and we’re at a party. We’ve sneaked into a bedroom and I’m a virgin who’s about to lose it all to you. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”



“Yes, yes,” he gasped.



“You didn’t think you would ever have me. I wasn’t a girl like that, but now you’ve found out that I have thoughts like that too and I want you to split me wide and fill me with your cock and your seed. And you do. I’m gasping, shrieking and writhing in my ecstasy. I’ve never experienced anything like it. You’re so good. I can feel you all the way in pumping and……”



“Oooh, God!”



They lay still and Flora was aware of his cock deflating inside her.



“Withdraw before your seed escapes from the protector,” she quietly said.



“What? Oh, yes….yes, of course.”



He pulled out and she took the male safe off, dropping it into a chamber pot.



“That was….that was…..”



“What?”



“Earth shattering.”



She laughed. “Thank you, kind sir.”



She didn’t see him again.



Six months later there was another even more familar face in the parlor.



“Well, well, well, if it’s not the upright pillar of society,” Flora greeted him. “What are you doing in a parlor-house, Charles?”



“My God!” He looked astounded. “I might ask you the same question. I thought — everyone thought…..”



“That I’d eloped with Henri Dubois.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid his intention was to sell me for as much as he could get. I don’t know how much that was. He neglected to tell me.”



“I can’t believe it. You’re only here. Why didn’t you go home?”



“I couldn’t have faced it. Disgraced and deflowered. No, here I was and here I’ve stayed. But what about you. No wife yet or are you here to forget her for a while?”



“She prefers that I obtain sexual gratification in someone else’s bed.”



“Ah.” Flora nodded in understanding.



She looked around the parlor at the other girls who were sitting open-mouthed.



“An old friend. May I introduce Mr Charles Dunne.”



“Good evening, ladies.”



“You sit here in the parlor for a while,” Flora explained. “Have some wine and a chat and when you’ve decided which of us you want, go upstairs.”

“Are you all right, mate?” It hurt to talk through the burning throb of my lips and cheek. I could already feel my left eye swelling shut as I pinched the bridge of my nose through the gauze to try and stop the bleeding.



“Yeah,” Fang replied quietly. “I think it’s broken.”



The blackhat medic crouched in front of him on the road, silently strapping his arm tightly to his chest to immobilise it. She hadn’t bothered trying to wrestle him out of his black fire suit after the less than stoic performance he gave getting his webbing off. That would be taken care of at the hospital, she knew.



She was pretty, in a plain sort of way. Her flawless skin was pale, almost pink, and contrasted heavily with her navy blue beret. Tantalisingly, her lips twitched with concentration as she worked on Fang.



Her piercing grey eyes locked with mine. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”



Fang coughed a laugh, delighted that I’d been caught staring. But poetic justice intervened, causing him to wince in pain as his arm moved with the bounce of his chest.



I smiled to myself under the veil of bloody gauze across my face, but kept my gaze firmly on the blackhat. She narrowed her eyes at me, her brow creasing slightly. Realising I wasn’t going to look away, she poked her tongue out, the pink flesh glistening seductively in the sunlight. I was captivated by the shine of the saliva left on her lips when she pulled her tongue back in. It just made me want to stare more. She was suddenly distracted by the crackle of uncontrolled gunfire and the muffled pops of flashbangs going off in the two storey building behind us.



It was absolute chaos!



The 3 Squadron commander had well and truly lost his shit, and was screaming into his radio on the other side of the road. Operators in black body armour and blackhat support staff in khaki camouflage were running around trying to get a handle on the situation. It was a lost cause.



Fang and I exchanged a knowing look. We sat there sheepishly at the medic’s station in the middle of the road, behind the cordon, hoping nobody would notice us. It had been our failed covert entry a few minutes earlier that had kicked off this whole gang fuck.



“There’s your man.” I recognised the polished private school accent of the Signals Major. It was not unlike my own.



“Which one?” the working class voice replied. “The one pissing blood, or the one with the arm?”



The Major sighed as the two men in khaki strode up and came to a standstill above us. “The bleeder.”



“G’day, Boss,” I chirped up at him from the road, flattering him with the address usually reserved for beret-qualified officers.



He bristled, chuffed with my greeting. “As I was saying, we’ve just got him back from the Forward Air Controller Instructor’s course with the US Air Force.”



“So what are you wasting him here for?” frowned the other bloke, an operator in sunglasses and a sandy beret.



“Scheduling, as always,” replied the Major. “My blokes are scattered from asshole to breakfast. I can’t get a worthwhile group together until next month.”



A siren went off behind us, bringing an end to the counter terrorism exercise, and the chaos. The tension in the air immediately dissipated as the gathered crowd relaxed with a collective sigh of relief.



The operator looked around at the activity behind us, then back down at Fang and I. “Looks like you blokes made a fucking mess of this then.” Then turning back to the Major, “And this is your best chook?”



The murderous rage of the screaming behind me caught my attention before I could hear the Major’s reply. “Where the fuck is he?!”



I looked over my shoulder and saw Brill charging out of the kill house about thirty metres away. He was almost pin-wheeling as he shoved blokes aside on his way towards us. His face was a seething shade of red, making him look like a beetroot with arms.



“You!” Brill’s stubby, gloved finger drew a bead right between my eyes. “You little fucking shit! I’m going to fucking kill you!”



I threw the gauze to the ground and shot up onto my feet. “Don’t fucking start, cunt. You’re going to hurt yourself,” I called back in an even tone, which only enraged him further. Then again, I suppose the threat didn’t help.



“What the fuck did you just say to me? This is my house, you little prick.” Brill’s arm flailed wildly behind him, gesturing at the kill house. “You show some fucking respect!”



“Your house?! Fuck you, you Neanderthal!” I roared back. Then pointing down at Fang, still sitting in a black, huddled ball on the road, “You broke his fucking arm!”



Brill’s rage found new heights, if that was at all possible, and he broke into a trot on his way towards me. His fingers balled into fists as he closed to within about fifteen metres.



The impending threat triggered my muscle memory, and my world became a silent slow motion as my tunnel vision focussed in on Brill’s contorted face. I drew my pistol, the zip of the steel against the holster and the click of the safety switch the only sounds I heard. My left hand wrapped around my right, and I stepped into the target. The foresight went blurry against his forehead. I exhaled. And fired, twice.



Pop! Pop!



Brill stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping back as the two paint-filled wax training rounds struck him in the forehead. He threw his hands to his face and buckled at the knees, splashing to the road like liquid.



Everyone erupted into raucous laughter, from the Squadron Commander down. Some of the blokes even started applauding.



The blackhat medic jogged over to Brill to check he was okay, but she had to stop halfway over to gain control of her giggling. She was hunched over, with her hands resting on her knees, searching for a straight face. She found it. Then her face split into a broad grin when she looked back at me.



Brill was flat on his back, with his knees up. He was pressing his palms to his forehead and groaning softly in response to her asking if he was all right.



I turned to see the operator killing himself laughing, steadying himself on the officer beside him. The Signals Major though, was ashen white, no doubt panicked about one of his men committing the cardinal sin of discharging a weapon outside a firing range.



“Oh, that was fucking brilliant,” the operator cried, wiping tears from his eyes. He introduced himself as one of the 1 Squadron troop sergeants, and when he finally regained his composure, he said seriously, “We’ve been issued a warning order. And you’re with me.”



That was it, no fucking around.



“Make sure this gets signed in, mate,” I said to Fang as I took off my black, counter terrorism webbing, dropping my weapons and training ammunition on the road next to him. “I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”



“Mate,” Fang barked in his boofy footballer voice. “Get fucked.”



I gave him a smile, and the finger, as I followed the Troop Sergeant to the waiting Landrover. We took off for the 1 Squadron area of the Barracks, rumbling past the numerous, nondescript buildings and eucalypts lining the road along the way.



“What was all that about?” the Troop Sargent asked after a minute or two of silence.



“Just Brill getting carried away again.” I explained how he had kicked the shit out of Fang and I when we had tried to gain entry into the kill house. Then I admitted, “I may have got a few rounds in under his face mask during the scuffle.”



“Good one,” he laughed. We waited at an intersection for a pair of canvas-topped Unimog trucks to go by. “So you’re the one that saved the day during the Sydney Olympics last year?”



“Right place, right time,” I dismissed, hoping the flush in my face would disappear. Then changing the subject, “What’s the job?”



“Gus is taking a small team into Afghanistan tomorrow,” he began. “We’ve got to try and find an American commander over there who’ll give us an area of operations. Then we call in the rest of the Squadron and get stuck in.”



“You’re joking?” I balked. “You mean we haven’t been officially requested?”



“Yeah, we have to drum up our own business on this one. Gus spent the last week running around the Pentagon, trying to get us in on the action. Apparently he got so desperate, he sent our last chook into every briefing, doing Steve Irwin impressions.” He smiled in response to my expression and nodded. “I know, but hey, whatever works. They ate it up. We’ve already got an in with one of their generals on site.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “How’s your Crocodile Hunter?”



“Crikey!” I breathed, eliciting a frown, and shrugging myself. “So what happened to your last chook?”



“Fast roping accident this morning,” he explained as he wrestled the Landrover around a corner. “Shattered both his legs up to the hips.”



I sucked in a sympathetic wince through my teeth.



“Yeah,” the Troop Sergeant laughed. “What a dickhead!”



We pulled up outside the 1 Squadron staging area and headed inside. Much the same as ours, it was a huge, cavernous warehouse, with a gently arching, hangar-like roof. A row of Unimogs were parked up on the right, with pallets of equipment and a dozen or so blackhats buzzing around on the left. And over by the back wall, a clutch of nine operators, complete with sandy berets, stood by a door I figured led to their briefing room.



“Would you get a load of this bruised turd,” one of the blokes called out as we approached them.



“Jesus,” cried another, this one with a shock of dark red hair. “Looks like he copped a flogging with the ugly stick.”



“Okay, listen up, you blokes.” The Troop Sergeant interrupted as we came up on the group. “This is the new chook. He’ll be heading out with us tomorrow.”



I was greeted by nothing but poker faces and piercing, uncompromising stares. I already felt out of place. I was at least ten years younger than the other blokes standing around, and a good six inches taller. The fact that I was decked out in my black counter terrorism fire suit, while the rest of them were in their khaki disruptive pattern combat uniforms only made it worse. And they were giving me the typical Regiment welcome.



Red was first with the ass sniffing. “Where are you from?”



“North Sydney,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face.



“No, dickhead,” Bruised Turd chimed in. “Which Troop have you been working with? You’re obviously with Three Squadron.”



I knew what Red meant of course, but the sizing up went both ways. “Water Troop,” I snorted.



“For fuck sake,” one of them sighed, while the rest of them rolled their eyes and shook their heads.



“Sorry, should have said. We’re Air Troop,” The Troop Sergeant explained.



“Poofters, huh?” I grinned. “Could be worse. At least I didn’t end up with the fatties from Vehicle Mounted.”



“Are you air qualified, Waterboy?” growled the more grizzled of the group, unimpressed with my taunt. He was about forty, and had a face like a cat’s ass.



“It’s been a while since I’ve been high altitude, but I know enough not to land on my heels when I’m jumping out of a helicopter, if that’s what you’re asking?”



Cat’s Ass pursed his lips tighter by way of reply. I couldn’t tell if that was good or not. Either way, I had no time to ponder it.



The rest of the day was spent in briefings and organising equipment. As the signaller, I was responsible for getting all the communications gear for the team sorted. While it felt good to focus on my own task and avoid the microscopic scrutiny of my new patrol, it was just something else that kept me on the outer.



With the assistance of a few blackhat signallers, I pored over topographical maps of southern Afghanistan, and studied weather charts. It was the vernal equinox, I knew, or the autumnal in the northern hemisphere. And I needed to figure out what communications equipment would function best in the atmospheric conditions of the looming, Afghan winter.



By the time I finished requisitioning the equipment we needed from the quartermaster And made my way back to the warehouse, most of the blokes had already cleared out. Only Cat’s Ass and the Troop Sergeant remained, chatting by the back of one of the Unimogs.



“Comms gear sorted?” The Troop Sergeant kept his attention on the clipboard in his hands.



I handed over the paperwork with a nod, then ran him through the list of equipment I had arranged. He slid it in behind a bundle of other papers he had attached to his clipboard, listening to my account, rather than checking what was written down.



“Good one,” he nodded. “That’s it. Meet back here tomorrow at zero nine hundred. We’ll do one last check of the gear, then head out to Pearce. The Hercules lifts off at thirteen thirty.



“You heard the Boss. If this thing goes the way we want it, we’ll be gone at least six months. Make sure you make the most of it tonight. Fill your boots, yeah?”



I shot him a quick grin, then made eye contact with Cat’s Ass. My smile faded under his withering scowl. I had definitely had my fill of fuckwitts that day, but I held his gaze a second or two longer than I wanted. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”



One of the blackhats drove me around to the 3 Squadron staging area. The locker room was deserted, but the blokes had left my stuff on one of the benches. My black helmet and goggles, and webbing, now empty of weapons and ammunition, sat in a neat pile. My respirator wasn’t there, but it had been broken when Brill kicked me in the face. They had also printed off a photo of the whole Troop, with all of them mooning the camera, and stuck it to my locker.



I snorted the odd laugh as I read the messages they had each scrawled on the photo. I had been with these blokes in the Squadron for three years, and Fang for five. We had been best mates from the moment we met on the first day of Selection, standing there buck naked in a gymnasium with a hundred other hopeful dickheads. We had been inseparable ever since.



And just like that, I was going off to war without him.



On the eve of my second major conflict, the realisation that I would probably never serve with these blokes again hit me. If things went well, I would most likely be integrated into 1 Squadron. And if they went badly, well, I was fucked.



I struggled to shake the thought as I showered alone in the large communal bathroom. Standing there in my steamy solitude, I let the hot water drum against the back of my neck for I don’t know how long. The fears and doubts continued their attack while I dried myself and ran a comb through my dark hair. But I managed to push them aside when I focussed on my reflection in the mirror above the row of sinks.



“Fucking Brill,” my voice echoed off the walls of the empty bathroom as I sneered at the angry purple bruise engulfing my left eye, and the fat lip that brushed painfully against my teeth.



I pulled on a black t-shirt and jeans, and cleaned everything out of my locker, loading my gear into two large backpacks and a dive bag. Shouldering the packs, I heaved them outside and loaded them into the back of my car. It would all get dumped into one of the 1 Squadron lockers when I returned to Barracks the next day.



Rolling out past the guard post, I turned right onto the West Coast Highway on my way home to Fremantle. The late afternoon sun warmed the side of my face on its agonisingly slow descent towards the Indian Ocean, while the other side throbbed painfully. The heat was starting to annoy me, as was the glare in the corner of my right eye. There was little respite from the sun visor, so I swung it back around to the windscreen with a sigh.



Briefly halted at a traffic light, I lost myself for a moment in the slow stalk of the shadows from the trees on the opposite side of the road. The next time the sun rose, I mused, the day would be longer than the night. But where I was going, it was the darkness that would prevail. The darkness we would bring.



Slowly crawling along the café strip at Freo a few minutes later, the chattering throng of Perth’s trendy latte set obliviously going about their lives fuelled my loneliness. As much as I despised them and their pretentious attitudes, I couldn’t help but envy the companionship they shared with each other in that moment. I had been cast adrift, separated from my mates who would now be preparing to assault an offshore container ship in yet another exercise. And Fang was down for the count, at home getting screamed stupid by his girlfriend for hurting himself playing army men.



I was on my own, and all the clichés of a soldier on his way to war flooded my mind as I parked around the corner and trudged up the stairs to my apartment. . With my face the way it was, I had no chance of picking anyone up at one of the nearby pubs. To say nothing of the fact I was hopeless at it. Even the slim pickings and alcohol impaired judgement of the 2am slut rush wasn’t promising, and not what I wanted for my last night in civilization.



Opting for the lesser of two evils, I stalked into the second bedroom that I used as a study and picked up the Yellow Pages. Flicking to E for escorts, I found the number for Langtrees and dialled. After I exchanged pleasantries with the receptionist, I asked, “Who have you got working tonight?”



A blonde twenty-eight year old named Donna sounded the most appealing by virtue of her age. The string of numbers and measurements meant nothing to me beyond declaring her not to be outside the realms of stereotypical beauty. She was on a job at the moment, the receptionist told me, but they could have her to my place in about an hour and a half. I agreed, immediately noticing the quickening of my heartbeat.



I flew into action, cleaning up my apartment. It was far from the typical bachelor-sty, but still, I wanted it to be in its best condition. I wiped down all the tables and benches, ran a vacuum over the beige carpet, and put a fresh set of white sheets on my bed. It was funny I thought, making an effort for a prostitute. But she was a woman nonetheless, and I wanted to impress her.



The phone rang while I was hanging up some clean towels in the bathroom. It was the receptionist from Langtrees, apologising profusely. Donna’s current client had apparently extended his time with her another hour. Rather than keep me waiting, she had decided to send Angelina instead. Sensing my hesitation, the receptionist assured me I wouldn’t be disappointed, before finally admitting she was already on the way.



My nervous anticipation had reached such a point, I didn’t really care. Instead, I was excited by the prospect of a nubile nineteen year old with “natural, DD” breasts. I was fifteen minutes away from sex with a beautiful woman. I finished getting ready, brushing my teeth and giving myself a quick squirt of Armani. Then I set up an observation post on the balcony, looking down at the street from where she would approach.



The last of the sun dipped behind the horizon, bathing the street in a gloomy, purple dusk. A small group of couples laughed loudly with each other as they made their way to the muffled din of the café strip around the corner, and a black Saab pulled into the underground garage of the building across the road. I watched the clattering metal roller door swallow up the car and cursed the excruciatingly slow passage of time.



It was the clip-clop of high heels on pavement that finally drew my attention to the street corner below. A voluptuous young brunette strode down the footpath on her way towards the entrance of my building, her enormous breasts bouncing seductively in her black midriff top. By the length of her miniskirt, or lack thereof, it had to be Angelina.



She stopped abruptly at the front door and stabbed her finger at the intercom. The aggressive buzzer screeching inside my apartment caused me to shoot up and lunge for the handset on the wall by the door. My blood pumped wildly as I let her in. I could feel the throbbing pulse in my lips and cheek while I waited for her to climb the two flights of stairs.

Watching through the peephole, Angelina bounded into view, dark and distorted by the fisheye lens. I went to open the door, but she was too quick, landing several knocks before I managed to twist the knob. I barely got the door ajar before she brushed past me into my living room.



“Um, hi,” I breathed. “How are you?”



“Fine thanks,” she mumbled, fishing around in her black leather handbag. “You’re paying by card?”



“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I slipped the Gold Mastercard from my pocket and handed it over.



She didn’t look at me as she took it, instead focussing her attention on operating the portable EFTPOS machine, beeping away at the keypad. She brushed the ringlets of raven hair away from her heavily made up eyes, then swiped my card.



“I need your PIN.” She thrust the EFTPOS machine at me.



I took it and tapped in my code. I tried to make eye contact when I handed it back, but Angelina was avoiding my gaze, her head slightly tilted and the ends of her dark, curly hair tickling at the left shoulder of her black crop jacket. The EFTPOS machine spat out a receipt with a high-pitched, electric grind, and she tore it off and handed it over along with my credit card.



I checked that the total read $250 as I slipped both into my pocket. “Would you like something to drink?”



“No thanks, I’m okay.” She looked down the hall. “That’s your bedroom?”



“Yeah, on the left.” I followed her, revelling in the spectacular curve of her ass in that black mini as she walked off.



Angelina peeled off her crop jacket as she marched into my bedroom, dropping it on the floor in the corner. Putting her handbag on the bedside table, she picked up the phone and announced, “I’ve just got to call the studio and let them know I’m here.”



I nodded, familiar with the procedure. She turned her back to me as she spoke, and stepped down out of her stilettos, losing a couple of inches in height so she was a good head and shoulders shorter than me. Hanging up, she turned around and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt, and staring at my chest, she wiggled it down over the delicious flare of her hips, revealing a skimpy pair of black panties. Angelina was stunning. Her creamy skin was flawless, and contrasted brilliantly with her dark features and the black singlet that struggled to contain her breasts.



“Mmm,” she purred when I peeled off my t-shirt, strutting over to me. She pressed her fingertips into my abs, pressing hard against the muscles as she drew her fingers down to my fly.



I sniffed at the frangipani scent of her hair as she undid my jeans. Angelina pulled them, along with my jocks, down my thighs, causing my cock to bounce free between us. She followed my pants to the floor, squatting in front of me. Rather clinically, she held my erect shaft with one hand while she inspected my balls with the other for any visible sign of sexually transmitted infection.



“You look fine,” she said matter of factly, rising to her feet.



“Yeah, I had a new one put in last week,” I smiled, but she didn’t care for my banter.



Angelina pushed me back onto the bed, and I scooted backwards as she crawled on top of me, until I was sitting up against the bedhead. Straddling my waist, my cock grinding into her panty-clad pussy, she crossed her arms and slipped her singlet off. I barely got a look at her amazing breasts before she grabbed my head and smothered me between them.



The left side of my face throbbed with pain at the rough contact, and I struggled to breathe. I got my hands up to her soft globes, each full breast spilling out of my grasp. I tried to push her back slightly, so I could get control of her and maybe get one of the nipples that was flicking against my fingers into my mouth. But the bear hug she had on my skull was too tight, so all I could kiss was her sternum.



I was actually getting turned off by how sexually aggressive she was.



“Do you like my tits?” She released her grip on my head, allowing me to breathe. “They’re real, you know?”



“They’re beautiful,” I replied, trying to say the right thing regardless.



With the space I had, I started planting little kisses on her collar bone while I kneaded the soft flesh of her breasts, causing her nipples to harden beneath my caressing thumbs. I kissed my way up her neck, marvelling in the smooth tightness of her nineteen year old skin. A moan caught in the back of her throat as I flicked my tongue across the soft spot behind her ear.



I moved in to kiss her, but she turned her face away. When she brought it back, I tried again, but with the same result.



“You don’t kiss?” I whispered, receiving a shake of her head by way of reply. I tried to contain my sigh, but to no avail. Desperate to salvage the situation, I asked, “Can I go down on you?”



Angelina nodded, flicking her dark curls across my face. I tapped her thigh and leaned forward, forcing her to scramble backwards. She lay down on her back along the foot of the bed, and I crawled over the top of her.



I resumed my gentle kisses behind her ear, before making my way along her jawline, then down her throat. I was still amazed by how smooth her skin felt against my lips. My wonder continued as I climbed the soft peak of her right breast. I sucked her hard nub into my mouth, spiralling my tongue around the pucker of her areola, while I rolled her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger.



Squeezing her breasts together, I took her other nipple into my mouth, gently chewing on both, before releasing the first to my pinching fingers. I suckled her proud point, softly biting down and flicking the end with my tongue. It seemed to do the trick, eliciting a long moan from her as she arched her back beneath me.



For the first time since I had gained control, I felt her encouragement as her hand caressed my back. I looked up at her, but her head was back, and her eyes closed. I snorted a laugh as she pushed down on my shoulders, directing me towards her pussy.



“What?”



“You obviously want me to go somewhere?” I smiled.



Angelina ignored me, sinking back into the bed with a purr as I began my journey across her taut stomach. I ran my hands down her smooth curves ahead of my kisses, registering every tactile sensation, until I firmly held her hips. Taking in the sight, I then pressed my lips to her mound through her black, lace panties.



I dug my fingers in around the waistband of her underwear, and she lifted her ass off the bed to let me pull them down. When her fully shaven slit came into view, I flushed with warmth. No longer able to take my time, I yanked her panties down her long legs and threw them over my shoulder in a frenzy.



I grabbed her slender legs behind the knees and splayed them apart as I settled in a kneeling crouch between them. Angelina’s pussy was so unbelievably pretty. Her delicate, pink folds glistened with her arousal. I licked the length of her slit with the flat of my tongue, causing her to twitch. And I repeated the process over and over.



Burrowing the tip of my tongue between her labia, I gouged up towards her clit. She gasped at the contact with her sensitive button, and I began to focus my attention there, flicking and swirling and sucking. Angelina bucked her hips underneath me, moaning loudly.



I slowly eased my finger inside her, but before I got to the first knuckle, she tightly gripped my wrist. I looked up at her, finally achieving eye contact for the first time since we had met.



“Don’t put your fingers in me.” Her tone was serious, without the slightest hint of arousal or shortness of breath.



I had no issue respecting her wishes, but I was starting to get annoyed. This wasn’t what I wanted.



But before I had time to talk myself out of anything, Angelina pulled my head back between her legs. Pussy’s pussy, I thought as I continued working her clit with my mouth. I kept my hands on her creamy inner thighs and ate her out for all I was worth. Eventually her moans reached a violent crescendo as her gyrating hips bucked in wild spasms.



I sat back on my heels, wondering if I had actually made her come, or she was just keeping to schedule. Regretting my decision to call Langtrees, I watched her crawl over to the bedside table to retrieve a condom from her handbag.



My father’s voice echoed in my ears: never pass a toilet; never trust a fart; and never waste an erection. Sound advice, I thought. And as long as I had paid for the hour, I might as well see this through.



Angelina’s ass was a perfect ripe peach bent over in front of me. I couldn’t help but reach out and grope her, squeezing the firm flesh of her left buttock. But she sidestepped on her knees out of my reach with a sigh, causing me to parrot her frustration.



Then my uncle’s advice invaded my thoughts as I watched her struggle to get the condom on me. He had been in the Navy, and the mantra those blokes lived by seemed frightfully apt. On his first day in, he had been told to sleep with an Australian prostitute, so he knew what zero out of ten felt like. I couldn’t help but laugh.



“Yeah, I know,” Angelina chuckled. “I need the big ones.” She went back to her handbag for another condom, oblivious to what I was really thinking.



At least she was making the effort to flatter me. The standard ones fit just fine, I knew. The younger girls often played this game. As long as she didn’t drag it out to the point I lost my erection.



Thankfully she didn’t. Instead, she pinched the tip and rolled the condom down my shaft to the base, wanking me with her hand to spread the lube. Once I was suited up, Angelina lay back across the foot of the bed, pulling me between her legs and guiding the tip of my cock to her opening.



I wriggled my mushroom head past her pussy lips, then let my weight slowly sink my full length inside her. I could feel the warm pressure of her snatch around my cock, and her smooth thighs around my hips, but the “extra large” Can’t-Feel-Shits from Trojan were definitely taking the shine off. Pulling out an inch or two to check that it was at least staying in place, I began to slowly fuck her. Angelina groaned as I bottomed out at the end of each stroke, my balls adding the slapping percussion against her ass.



“Are you okay?” Despite everything, I still wanted to make sure she was all right.



“Uh-huh,” she grunted beneath me through closed eyes.



Angelina was easily the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, let alone had sex with. However, the complete absence of any emotional connection with her whatsoever, and the desensitising effect of the condom kept me in a kind of sexual no man’s land. I fucked her non-stop for well over half an hour, according to the occasional glances at my alarm clock.



With our time together drawing to a close, I picked up my pace, slamming into her slippery cunt like an animal. The sweat was pouring off me, and Angelina’s heavy breasts jiggled frictionlessly between us. The slurping, slapping grunting mess of our sex assaulted my ears as I fucked her, until finally, I felt that familiar tingle that signalled my release.



“I’m going to come!” I groaned.



Angelina gave no reply, instead just holding herself in place with her arms and legs wrapped around me.



My orgasm was unremarkable, gently easing over me like a warm, wet blanket. I barely felt the cum oozing from my cock into the condom.



They can’t all be mind-blowing, I thought, as I lay spent on top of her. When I regained my breath, I reached between us to grab the base of the condom, making sure it didn’t come off inside her when I slipped out.



“Can I have a shower?” Angelina broke the silence as soon as I rolled off her.



I held out my hand, helping her up off the bed, and led her into the ensuite. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, and her smeared makeup and dark ringlets of hair plastered to her forehead only made her look more so. But after I pointed out the fresh towels and toiletries, she shut the door on me, denying me the chance to watch her while she showered.



I pulled on my jeans and sat on the bed while I waited for her. “What the fuck am I doing?” I sighed to myself. This wasn’t the life affirming experience I was hoping for. But more often than not, it wasn’t, I chided myself. I knew that.



Angelina came out of the bathroom wrapped in a white towel. Her raven hair was returned to its former glory and her makeup had been reapplied. She found her panties over by the wardrobe, and slipped them on underneath the towel. Then turning her back to me, she dropped the towel and put her black singlet back on.



“This isn’t all I do, you know?” She turned around to face me, stepping into her skirt and shimmying it up her shapely legs. “I’m just doing this while I’m studying. I actually go to Murdoch University.”



“What do you study?” I smiled, feeling bad for her that she felt it necessary to justify herself. I can’t remember what her answer was. And it honestly doesn’t matter. What does, is that I felt all the more alone for having spent time with her.



The phone rang as she shrugged on her crop jacket. It was Langtrees calling to let us know that my time was up, and to see if I wanted to extend. Angelina took the handset and confirmed that she was all right, and that there would be no extension.



“The driver’s downstairs,” she announced, returning the handset to its cradle. She stepped up into her heels and strode out into the living area.



I followed, unable to resist glancing down at her perfect ass as she walked to the front door. “Thank you,” I said as she pulled it open.



Angelina turned on the landing to face me as I stood at the threshold, still without my shirt. She was an expert at avoiding eye contact, but she managed a tight smile and a half-assed wave before she bounced off down the stairs.



I let the door swing shut, then allowed my forehead to fall against the wood. After a minute or two, I spun around and rested with my back to the door, before slowly sliding to the floor and hugging my knees.



I just wanted someone to hold. Someone to hold me. Instead, I ended up fucking an insecure, nineteen year old prostitute.



“Fucking good one!” I threw my head back, banging it painfully into the door. “Ahh! Motherfucker!”



My grumbling stomach finally shook me loose from my self-pity. I got up from the floor, threw on my black t-shirt and a pair of boots, and wandered over to Cicerello’s for some fish and chips. The place was heaving, as usual. There was no trouble finding a seat though, given nobody wanted to sit next to the tall, sweaty, bruised up thug in black. But the self-proclaimed world’s finest went down nicely with a couple of beers.



Back at my place, I tried to distract myself by watching some cheesy sitcoms I had taped earlier during the week. And for the most part, it worked. But when the shows ended, I was back at square one, overcome with loneliness.



“Don’t do it,” I sighed to no one.



But it was hopeless. Of course I was going to do it.



“Hello. Langtrees. How can we help you?”



When I hung up, Donna was thirty minutes away. Once again that night, I was a study of frenetic, domestic activity. I removed the doona cover, still wet with sweat and pussy. By the earthiness of the aroma, it seemed that Angelina had at least enjoyed herself. The new one went on easily enough, and I smoothed down the thick stripes of navy blue and white, giving my bedroom a somewhat beachy vibe.



I scrubbed hard at myself with the sea sponge, desperate to get every last trace of Angelina off me. I was almost rabbit-punching at my face with my toothbrush, ignoring the pain of my lip while scouring every nook and cranny of my mouth. My dark hair shone in the mirror, and another misting of Armani finished the job. With the towels replaced, I threw on a black button-up shirt and rolled the sleeves to just below my elbows.



The intercom buzzed twice out in the living room before I had finished getting dressed. I snatched up a pair of tan cargos and skipped out to answer it.



“Hey, it’s Donna,” she sang when I answered.



“Hey,” I smiled back, already hopeful from the friendly tone of her voice. “Come on up, top floor.”



I clumsily hopped into my pants and wrestled to get the button through the hole. Holding the door open, I stepped out onto the landing and looked down at the other one half a flight below me. The worn charcoal carpet was starkly illuminated by the overhead fluorescent lighting in the stairwell.



The beat of Donna’s footsteps changed as she climbed the stairs from the level below. Her scruffy, bleach-blonde mop came into view first, hanging just above her bare shoulders. As more of her rose above the banister, I could see she was poured into a white, strapless evening gown. As she turned on the landing below me, her tanned, slender leg protruded from the split in her dress that ran halfway up her thigh.



“Hey,” she beamed up at me, her big, blue eyes twinkling. She stopped a moment, framed by the full length window behind her and the contrasting darkness of night it held back. She tilted her head, and her lips pressed together in a crooked smile. “Your fly’s undone.”



I closed my eyes against the burn in my cheeks and sighed. Leaning back against the spring loaded door, I quickly zipped up under the sound of Donna’s approaching giggle.



“Smooth,” she grinned on her arrival to the top of the stairs. She floated over to me with her hand extended. “I’m Donna. It’s lovely to meet you.”



I introduced myself as I took her hand. She sandwiched mine between hers and used me as a lever to pull herself in, craning up and planting a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. Her pink lips spread into a warm smile beneath those sparkling, blue eyes.



Then her brow furrowed as she sucked air in through puckered lips. “Ooo, what happened?” She very gently put her hand up to the side of my face and gingerly traced my swollen cheekbone with the pad of her thumb. Then trailing down, she lightly caressed my bottom lip with her index and middle fingers.



“Tough day at the office,” I breathed as I ushered Donna inside my apartment. I was impressed. She had only known me thirty seconds, and she had already shown me more attention than Angelina had in an entire hour.



“What do you do?” she frowned, concerned.



“I’m in the Army.”



“Oh.” Her face immediately softened and her smile returned. She was obviously satisfied I wasn’t some dangerous thug.



When I offered her a drink, she opted for a beer, and called back to base while I poured out a couple of glasses.



With the clock started, she took one of the beers from me and held it up. “To new friends.”



“To new friends,” I smiled back at her, clinking my glass against hers.



We held each other’s gaze as we drank. When I lowered my glass, Donna wrinkled her nose. Placing her drink on the kitchen bench, she stepped over, pressing her lithe form against me, then wiped the foam from my top lip with her finger. I was transfixed as she seductively sucked her finger into her mouth, then licked her lips.



I nearly dropped my beer.



Her eyes twinkled and her smile turned playful. She reached up again, this time touching her finger underneath my chin and pushing my mouth closed, making us both laugh.



“Would you like to get everything sorted out so we can relax and get to know each other?”



“Great idea,” I smiled, reaching into my pocket for my Mastercard. Then I realised it was still in my jeans in the dirty clothes basket. Blushing, I bounded down the hall to retrieve it. When I returned, I saw that Donna was holding a flimsy carbon copy slip, the kind used in old fashioned imprint machines. “No EFTPOS?”



“I’m old school,” she smiled. “I’m really sorry, but do you have a pen?” She picked up her beer and followed me down to the study.



I grabbed a pen from the desk and turned to see her surveying the group of three framed photos on the opposite wall. The one on the left was an overhead shot of my patrol in a rigid inflatable boat, pulling alongside a submarine. The middle frame was a patrol photo from East Timor, with the six of us in khaki camouflage and weapons, posing in front of a Blackhawk helicopter. And the last one was Fang and I in our black fire suits on top of the Olympic stadium a few hours before the Opening Ceremony, and my moment of truth.

Donna touched my face in each of the framed pictures, making a cute, humming sound each time her finger made contact with the glass. Then the black granite bust of Plato wearing my sandy beret in the corner caught her attention. She ran her fingers over the chiselled features of his face, then looked at me over her naked shoulder, her expression serious. “You’re in the Special Air Service?”



I nodded. I was actually part of 152 Signals Squadron, which was permanently seconded to the Regiment. But I was beret-qualified and fully integrated into the patrols, so for all intents and purposes.



“It’s so horrible what happened last week, in New York…the World Trade Center.” She searched my face for several, long seconds. “They’re saying on the TV that the Americans are going to Afghanistan. And the Prime Minister wants us to go too.”



I gave her my best thousand yard stare. Obviously I couldn’t tell her anything. But the Prime Minister had been in Washington DC when it had happened, and it was no secret he wanted in. It’s just that eleven days on, the deal hadn’t quite been done yet.



She touched my forearm, then whispered, “When do you go?”



“Tomorrow,” I whispered back. Fuck it. I needed a new poker face anyway.



Donna’s shoulders slumped as she let the softest whine escape her lips. She squeezed my arm. And her big blue eyes stared up at me, into me.



“You’re really wearing that dress.” My voice caught slightly.



She kept her eyes locked on mine a few seconds longer. Then the twinkle returned as she let me change the subject. The corners of her lips turning up. “You like it?” She stepped back and gave me a twirl. Then giggling, “I’ll take that as a yes.”



Taking the pen, she glided around the desk and sat down. She watched me as I sat across from her. Placing my credit card on the blotter, she carefully lay the carbon copy slip over it, then rapidly rubbed the shaft of the pen across the raised numbers of the card.



“Nice,” I laughed.



She laughed back, and we chatted about EFTPOS machines and how coveted they were by the other girls at the brothel. Then Donna cocked her head and asked me about Angelina.



“Angelina,” I mocked, holding up my fingers in air quotes. “She’s…nineteen.”



Donna snorted a laugh, knowing exactly what I meant. “My name’s actually Donna. No, really,” she protested with a smile in response to my raised eyebrow. “Doing this job, I find it easier if I’m…me. I don’t like the way it feels, you know, being somebody else.”



“Yeah,” I breathed, reaching over the desk and taking her hand.



“So what were you doing before I got here?” she returned her attention to the carbon copy.



“I was just watching Friends. I taped it on Monday.”



“Oh, I missed it,.” She looked up at me with excitement. “What happened?”



“It was a good one,” I laughed, telling her about the episode. “Monica’s cousin came to stay with her. It was Denise Richards. Chandler kept staring at her, with a Barry White song playing in his head. You know, the slow motion hair thing?” I acted out the action, loving the way Donna was hanging on every word.



“So Monica sends her over to stay with Ross. And he’s on the couch with her, talking himself into making a move, until finally, he just pounces on her!”



“Oh my God! Isn’t she his cousin too?” Donna laughed.



“Yeah,” I chuckled. “When she asks him what he was doing, he’s just staring at her, thinking, ‘say something, anything.’ And then, ‘Oh my God. This is the longest anyone has not said something ever.’” Donna laughed along with my animated explanation. “Then he finally says, ‘I haven’t had sex in a really long time.’”



“Oh, no!”



“I know, right?. Then he thinks to himself again, ‘yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said anything.’”



Donna grinned at me warmly, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. Then finished filling out the carbon copy, she slid it across for me to sign. She peeled it apart, handing me my copy and throwing the carbon into the bin under the desk.



“Come on.” She held out her hand as she rose to her feet.



Taking my hand in hers, she led me into my bedroom, bringing my hand to the small of her back as she went. Once inside, she turned, taking the last few steps backwards as she looked up at me. Donna took my other hand, holding them both in hers between us.



Then she craned up, planting her warm lips softly against mine. It was such a sweet kiss. She pulled away briefly, then sank back in. The tip of her tongue flicked along my top lip, before finding its way past my teeth.



I sucked gently at Donna’s tongue, cradling the underside of it with my own. It was such a wonderfully warm, wet kiss. Then I chased her tongue back into her mouth, allowing her to suck mine. It took every last ounce of will power not to paw at her breasts while we kissed, but there was something so much more tender about holding each other’s hands. I dared not let go.



When Donna pulled back, she tilted her head and licked the excess saliva from her lips as her smile spread. “Do you want to help me out of my dress?” She bit her lip and turned her back to me.



I held her narrow shoulders, reflexively kneading her muscles. Her soft moans were music to my ears. But still, as beautiful as she was in that white dress, I had to get it off her. Undoing the hook between her shoulder blades, I got hold of the zip and pulled it slowly down to the base of her spine, exposing a sharp triangle of tanned flesh as I went.



She turned, holding the front of her dress to her chest. Then with a smile, she lowered her hands, revealing her beautiful teardrop handfuls. Her nipples tightened into gorgeous, pointed nubs. Donna allowed me to bask in the vision a moment before slipping the white material past the flare of her hips, letting the dress splash to the carpet. The only thing she was wearing, was a tiny pair of white, satin panties.



She watched me closely, studying my reaction. Donna stepped forward, taking my face in her hands, and kissed me again. Her hands slid down, unfastening the buttons on my shirt. When she got the last one undone, she brushed it off my shoulders and ran her palms down my sides until her fingers were hooked into my pants.



My hands shadowed hers, caressing down her naked back. When I reached the waistband of her G-string, I burrowed my fingers beneath the elastic and found the soft flesh of her ass. I swallowed her moans into my mouth, and brought my hands around to her hips, pushing her panties past her curves.



She had my cargos undone and was slowly wanking my cock in my boxers. “I want you to give me a massage,” she purred.



She handed me a bottle of moisturiser from her handbag and pulled her panties off the rest of the way. Throwing back the striped doona, she lay down on the crisp, white sheets on her tummy. “Come on. I was sunbaking today, and I really need the moisturiser.”



Shoving my pants down my legs, I straddled Donna’s thighs and squeezed a big squirt of lotion onto her back, causing her to gasp from the cold. I chuckled to myself as I rubbed my hands across her slender back.



“Do you like my tattoo?” she moaned.



“I’ve got to be honest with you. I’m staring at your ass right now. I haven’t even noticed it.”



Donna slapped my thigh with a giggle, then pointed to the freshly inked whale’s tail on the small of her back. “Right there.”



“Yeah, I’m still staring at your ass,” I laughed.



With a fresh application of moisturiser, I began working her hips and ass, perhaps a little more than I needed to. But I suppose that was the point. My fingers made shiny depressions in her lubricated flesh. Her skin was beautifully soft, I thought, but nowhere near as taut as Angelina’s, some ten years her junior. But Donna’s tan was much nicer, contrasting boldly with the white sheets upon which she lay.



“Mmm, you were at Swanbourne today?” I smiled.



“Yeah. How did you know?”



I planted a kiss on her ass. “You don’t have any tan lines.” The nude beach just outside the Barracks was a constant source of amusement among the blokes.



The massage moved to her front as Donna rolled over onto her back. I must have used every last drop of lotion in the bottle, and caressed every last millimetre of her body. My mouth soon followed my hands, kissing my way from her lips, down to her breasts, before finally plunging my tongue deep into her sodden pussy.



With her soft thighs over my shoulders, I hungrily devoured her plump labia, protruding from beneath her dark blonde muff. I enjoyed her taste, much more pungent than Angelina. And I loved that she let me stir her creamy depths with my fingers as I worked her clit with my tongue.



Donna moaned loudly, rolling her hips up to meet my lips and probing fingers. She ran her fingers through my hair, holding my head tightly to her sex. She was close, twitching and bucking as she tried to hold back the tide. Until she couldn’t anymore, finding her release with a deep, guttural groan.



I felt a flood of wetness with Donna’s orgasm. A fast trickle of her fluid spilled from her vagina, dribbling down my hand and into the crack of her ass. I had to taste it, lapping at her opening and revelling in the tangy earthiness of her sex.



“Are you okay?” I looked into her blurry eyes when I’d had my fill.



“Yes,” she breathed, pulling me up by the face to kiss me. “I can taste my pussy on your lips.”



Still kissing me, Donna plucked a condom from her handbag and sat up with me kneeling between her legs. She got it on me with frightening efficiency, never once taking her mouth from mine. Then she lay back down, holding my gaze and offering herself to me.



I pressed the covered head of my cock to her entrance, rubbing it up and down her slit. But once again, the desensitising effect of the condom took its toll. I actually started to soften, completely incongruous with how much I wanted her at that moment. It was futile trying to feed my failing member into her. And of course, the more I tried to fight it, the worse it became.



“Oh fuck,” I sighed, throwing my head back, defeated.



“Hey, it’s okay.” Donna sat up, stroking my face. “You’ve got a lot going on. Just relax.” She kissed me, then propped herself up onto my lap before pushing me backwards.



I collapsed back onto the bed, my head falling over the edge. Feeling Donna’s nimble fingers peeling off the condom, I lifted my head in time to see her take my semierect penis into her mouth. The wet warmth of her mouth immediately revived my flagging cock. My eyes were locked with hers as she bobbed up and down on me.



Donna’s pretty pink lips slid along my shaft, leaving a glistening sheen of her saliva in the muted light of the bedside lamp. She swirled her tongue around my swollen head on the upstroke, then effortlessly took me all the way into her throat on the down.



I laid my hand on hers, resting on the crease where the top of my thigh met my waist. “Oh Donna,” I gasped. “I’m going to come.”



Her eyes twinkled at the news. She kept my cock in her mouth, sucking hard on the head and swirling her tongue while she pumped my shaft with her other hand. The tempo of her breathing increased as she blew me. Her cute, little moans and grunts became louder. She obviously wanted me to come in her mouth.



The realisation shoved me over the edge. I was swept away by the immense tingle that gushed out of my cock in thick, heaving spasms. My head lolled back over the edge of the bed and I began to lose my vision, unable to lock my focus on anything on the empty ceiling above.



Donna gulped down my cum with each spurt, furiously jacking my shaft until my orgasm subsided. She released my cock, kissing the purple head and licking up the last drops of semen that oozed from the tip. Then holding me at the base, she proceeded to lick the full length of my hardness like an ice cream cone, the pink of her lips curled up in a devilish smile.



“Oh my God, I love your abs,” she mumbled, kissing her way up my stomach and feeling every firm contour with her hands.



I snorted a laugh. “I actually used to be fat before I joined the Army.”



“Obviously nothing a million sit-ups can’t fix,” she joked.



“It’s actually closer to four hundred thousand.” There’s a lot of time to think, nestled in behind the scope of a sniper rifle.



Donna stopped kissing my stomach. Tucking wayward strands of her peroxide bob behind her ear, she looked quizzically into my eyes.



“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”



Donna huffed a laugh, then resumed enjoying my torso with her mouth. She sent electric jolts through my nipples on her way up my body. Her wet folds were leaving a cool, slick trail on my thighs and stomach as she dragged herself up my body. The sound of her snuffling at my ear tickled, until she took the lobe into her warm mouth.



I don’t know how long we kissed, facing the wrong way on the bed with her on top of me. It felt like forever, but nowhere near long enough. Her soft breasts flattened against my chest, the hard, little nubs poking me. My hands slowly glided back and forth between the firm muscles in her back and the softness of her ass. Incredibly, I became hard again.



I rolled over on top of her and felt her hand wrap around my shaft. Donna rubbed the wet petals of her slit with the head of my cock, then pulled me towards her. I resisted, conscious I wasn’t wearing a condom.



“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m clean. I get tested every month.”



My entire body flushed with warmth, causing my cheek and lip to throb once more. Never in my life had I had such an offer.



“I want to feel you,” Donna said gently, looking deep into my eyes. “I want you to feel me.”



Fuck it, I thought. I released the brake and sank into her in one, long, slow movement. I was home. What struck me most, above the brilliant warmth and tight grip of her pussy, was how wet she felt. I could feel every last soaking sensation.



When we weren’t noisily kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths, we stared into each other’s eyes as I gently rocked in and out of her. She held me close, her hands sliding across my back. Donna rolled her hips to meet every thrust, taking as much of me as she could inside her. Her moans grew louder, and quickened with my pace.



I felt her heels lock over my ass as I pumped her molten core. The sensation of my pubic bone grinding into her clit sent her over the edge, and her eyes glazed over as she gripped me in a tight, squealing spasm. I kissed her deeply, lost in the slippery squelching of our sex.



“Come for me,” she gasped into my mouth.



I opened my eyes while still kissing her. Hers were open, big and bright, watching me. The closeness, the connection I felt with her, tipped me over the edge. I cried out, trying to hold it back. Wanting to prolong every last nanosecond.



“I want you to come inside me.”



I was gone. Roaring with ecstasy, I exploded deep inside Donna’s pussy, flooding her unprotected womb with my spunk. When the paralysing jolts eventually released me, I collapsed on top of her, melting into her soft, sweaty form.



“Are you all right?” I breathed into her cheek, clumsily kissing at her face.



“Mmm…oh, yes.” Her ankles unlocked, allowing her knees to slide down and hook over my thighs. “How do you feel?”



“Perfect.” I kissed her warmly, feeling myself slip from between her legs.



As I rolled off her, Donna clung to me, nestling into the crook of my armpit, with her head on my chest. She threw her leg over me, pressing her cum-slicked lips to my thigh. Her fingers explored my chest, tracing little circles and tugging playfully at the dark hairs.



I kissed the top of her head, inhaling the peach and coconut scent of her shampoo. I brushed her soft hair with my fingertips. Holding her other hand, our fingers interlocked on my chest, and I felt her snuggle in a little tighter. I was in heaven.



Too soon, the trill ring of the phone ripped me from my bliss, announcing the end of the hour. I think it quite honestly broke my heart a little. Somehow releasing Donna, I sat up, kicking my feet off the bed, and answered it.



“Can you please hang on a second?” I said to the Langtrees receptionist after we had chatted a minute. I turned to Donna, who was lying back on one elbow watching me. “Would you like to stay the rest of the night?”



Donna’s beautiful blue eyes burst to life, and she nodded a big smile, before biting her bottom lip.



It was fifteen hundred dollars to keep her until morning, and I was only too happy to pay it. Hell, I would have paid ten times that. We got all the arrangements for the extension sorted out quite quickly, with Donna doing another stone rubbing of my credit card onto a spare carbon copy slip. I enjoyed the jiggle of her breasts as she did it, and the hardening of her nipples as she caught me perving.



“Do you want something to drink?” I blushed, trying to redirect her scornful, but amused gaze.



She followed me out to the kitchen for a cold beer, casually drinking it from the bottle. We stood there, naked, drinking, and staring at each other. Her inner thighs were shiny with my smeared cum, but she was hardly leaking everywhere. Still, she blushed under my inspection, and self-consciously closed the distance between us and threw her arms around my shoulders to avoid my scrutiny.



As we kissed, I held my cold bottle away from her skin, caressing her with only one hand. She wasn’t as successful, with the cold glass of hers raising goose bumps all over my body when it made contact with my shoulder blade. While I didn’t flinch, she noticed. And with an impish grin, she touched the freezing bottle to my back again.



I gave her no reaction whatsoever. A cold beer bottle was no match for five years of special forces training, especially when I was expecting it. Enjoying her disappointed pout as long as I dared, I tipped my own bottle up, pouring a long, icy trickle between her shoulders.



Donna squealed, her whole body tensing at the shock of the beer running down her naked back. Her nipples hardened against my chest, and she released a long, moaning sigh. When she opened her eyes, her bright blue orbs pleaded with me to continue the tease.



Taking her wrist and leading her back into the bedroom, I relieved her of her bottle and bent her over the bed until she was propping herself up on the mattress. With my heart thundering, I poured another long stream of icy cold beer between her shoulder blades. It foamed into a thick white stripe down the centre of her back, before dipping into the crack of her gorgeous ass. I was possessed. And without thinking, I dove between her cheeks.



I lapped at her bubbling cunt, tasting the rich flavour of our sex breaking through the bitterness of the beer. Following the foaming trail, I worked my way up her smooth perineum until I was licking at the perfect, puckered knot of her asshole. It was just so wonderfully dirty.



Digging my fingers into Donna’s hips, I forced my way past the tight muscles of her star until I was fucking her ass with my tongue. It honestly wasn’t the nicest thing I’d ever tasted, but I reasoned that I’d eaten much worse on the Lucky Dip during Selection. Besides, there was something so incredibly intimate about licking this woman’s asshole. It was almost primal, like the way dogs sniff at each other.



My cock was raging, and I shoved it into her battered cunt, pounding into her like an animal. She grunted with every thrust, crawling up onto the bed until she was on all fours. Following her, I dug my thumb into her ass as I fucked her, causing her to squeal. Then pulling myself from her holes, I positioned my helmet head at her greedy anus. She looked over her shoulder at me and our eyes met. Then I flushed again as she pushed her hips back against me.



Donna’s sphincter was a tight ring, slowly rolling up and down the full length of my shaft as I fucked her ass with every inch I had. My knuckles were white, digging into the soft, tanned flesh of her hips. I took my time with every stroke, driving into her with slow, deliberate force.

The photographer had told Zelena that there might be an opportunity to do some pornography, which would pay more money, with one or more men or another woman and for her to think about whether she wanted to do that.



She had never thought about “doing things” with another woman so the next time she was over at Bella’s apartment she talked to her about it.



“Have you ever been with another woman?” She asked Bella, talking in their own language.



“Well, yes, that’s part of the game. Sometimes a man will hire you to be with his wife while he watches, or sometimes he’ll want to join you and his wife. Sometimes a woman will hire you to have sex with her. You’ve never been with another woman, have you Zelly?”



Zelena was surprised, and a little shocked that her friend spoke so casually of having sex with a woman.



“No, never. How can you do things like that? Are you a lesbian?”



Bella laughed. “My dear innocent friend. No, I’m not a lesbian, but it’s rather nice to feel a woman’s touch sometimes. Would you like to know what it’s like?”



She leaned toward Zelena and kissed her on the lips. Zelena sat stiffly while her friend kissed her more ardently, pushing her lips open with her tongue, then her hand pushed under her sweater and started to feel her breast through her bra.



Zelena couldn’t believe the feeling she was starting to have, that warm tingly feeling, just as if she were with a man. She couldn’t help herself, and started to return Bella’s kiss, and when Bella asked her to take off her clothes she readily complied.



Soon the two girls were both naked, kissing and fondling each others bodies. The feel of Bella’s breast in her hand made Zelly very hot, and she loved the reaction she felt when she took Bella’s nipple in her mouth and sucked on it.



Bella groaned with passion and her fingers found their way between Zelly’s legs, touching her clitoris and slipping into her wet hole. Zelena opened her legs and Bella slid down to kiss her labia and started licking her vagina.



The pleasure she was starting to feel made Zelena’s heart pound and she felt herself pushing her hips toward Bella’s mouth. She felt as if she was on the verge of an orgasm, but never quite reached it although when Bella touched a sensitive spot her hips jerked spasmodically.



Bella stopped what she was doing and asked Zelena:



“Do you like that Zelly?”



Zelena paused. She didn’t want Bella to think she was enjoying it so much. “I think so, yes.”



Bella’s head went down between her legs again, licking, licking, but now she started to push her hips toward Zelena, who got the message and slipping her hand between Bella’s legs. She felt soft smooth inner thigh; the light covering of pubic hair; the half open outer labia; the soft, wet inner lips.



She starting kissing, kissing Bella’s thighs, her labia, and smelled the odor of sex from her vagina, while Bella continued kissing and licking her. Did she dare return this kiss, this kiss of the deepest love? In spite of the odor her tongue flicked out and touched Bella’s labia, then again, penetrating slightly. When she repeated it again she touched her clitoris, and she felt Bella give a jerk.



Even though she felt repelled, she couldn’t help herself and parting Bella’s lips with her fingers and started to lick, lick, lick. Bella groaned but kept on licking too. Zelena hadn’t ever seen another woman’s vagina, let alone touched it, but now she felt incredibly hot, being licked and licking.



It was an extraordinary feeling and soon she felt an orgasm sweep through her body like a fiery explosion. It started between her legs where Bella was licking her clitoris so wonderfully, and exploded in her throat, making her gasp and sob.



“Oh God! Oh God!” She sobbed. “Bella, Bella my love.”



Bella slowed and stopped. “Are you okay Zelly?”



Zelena said nothing at first, then “Better than okay, Bella.” She murmured, eyes shut. “I’ve never had a feeling like that. I want it again.”



The two girls went on licking each other, until they’d each had at least one orgasm, until Zelena felt Bella stop. She felt the other woman’s fingers exploring her vagina, stretching it, and pushing two, three, finally four fingers into her until it started to hurt, but felt exciting too.



“You have a nice tight little cunt, Zelly.” Bella told her. “Do you like it when I push my hand into it?”



“Yes, but it hurts a little. Yours is nice too, still soft and pink, but it’s a little big. It stretches open quite a long way.”



“Yes, I’ve had one of the other girls fist me. Some day you should try that, it feels soooo good.”



“Fist, what’s fist?”



“That’s when someone puts their hand into you. Some day you’ll have to try it. But now let’s get up. We’ll do this again some time soon.”



Zelena got up reluctantly, and started dressing. They heard one of the other girls come in, and when they came out Zsazsa was warming up some soup to eat.



“You two been having fun?” she asked



“Yes, I’ve been showing Zelly how girls can have fun without a man.”



“Do you like that Zelly?”



“Yes.” Zelena answered shyly.



“Don’t worry, we all have a go to break up the monotony, darling. You and I will have to do it some time.”



Bella made a pot of tea and she and Zelena were just sitting down in the living when the doorbell rang. Bella went to the door and peered through the peep hole, then opened the door. It was a customer whom she called Dick. She introduced Dick to Zelena.



“Who’s this? I haven’t met Zelena before.”



“Zelly’s a friend from my country, in fact from the same village.”



“Is she working?” Dick asked.



“No, Zelly’s new and hasn’t started working yet.”



“Can I be her first?” He continued.



“Well, I don’t know. How about it Zelly, would you like to start today?” She smiled.



“Well, ah, I don’t know. I hadn’t expected……”



“Well, would you like to try it?” Bella asked her. When she still hesitated Bella went on. “Why don’t we go back to the bedroom and I’ll tell you a few things you should know. Is that okay with you Dick? And how about you Zsazsa, do you mind if Zelly starts today?”



They both, so Bella took Zelly back to her bedroom to explain a few things to her. First, most important, always use a condom, she told her. Then, get the money first, even with someone you know. Always check his cock for disease and she’d show Zelly how to do that. Her pussy should be shaved, but there was no time for that, Dick would understand.



She lent Zelena stockings and garter belt because that was what Dick liked, and a skirt instead of her jeans. Zelena didn’t use much make-up so Bella helped her with that and as soon as Zelena was ready they went back to the living room.



Zelena was nervous and excited. She’d never been with a strange man and besides, this was her first experience getting paid for sex. On top of that she was still feeling the warm glow from the experience she and Bella had just shared. she stepped into the living room Dick was excited at the subtle but marked change in her appearance. He enjoyed visiting these girls because, unlike other prostitutes, they were so natural and so pleasant. There wasn’t a rush to get it over, but they would entertain a man for as long as he wanted before going back and getting down to business.



“My you look lovely Zelly. I don’t know if I can afford you. How much will that be?”



Bella jumped right in as Zelena hesitated. “Well it would normally be the usual fee, but since you are her first she wants an extra 50 pounds.”



Zelena was startled at the figure Bella quoted but kept her composure and Dick said “Of course. I wouldn’t have expected to pay anything less.” But, even though he could afford it, he wished that these lovely girls would charge less for half an hour. He knew that if he could last an hour or even two the fee would be the same but he was lucky to last half an hour.



They went into Bella’s bedroom and she showed Zelena how to check a man’s penis for disease, which Dick didn’t mind because here was one lovely girl fondling his penis in front of another.



When they were alone Dick took Zelena in his arms and kissed her, something some other girls didn’t allow. They sat on the bed and he slipped her sweater off to get to her breasts and she started to feel warm and tingly between her legs as he kissed and sucked her nipples.



“Take off your knickers.” He told her, and he slipped his hand between her legs.



This girl was perfect Dick thought as Zelena lay back on the bed and opened her legs for him. She wasn’t shaved, how lovely, how natural. It was like being on a date with a compliant girl. And she made those little noises, sighs and gasps, as his fingers explored her vagina and found her clitoris.



When he put his face down between her legs she spread wider and he smelled her female odor with just enough perfume. He licked and she moaned. Perfect: perfect taste; perfect smell; perfect sounds.



For Zelena too it was perfect. This strange man’s tongue on her private, intimate parts was setting her on fire. She was no longer a prostitute but a woman enjoying wonderful sex. She wanted his cock in her, fucking her. And when he finally entered her she moaned with sheer delight.



She had fumbled a little in rolling the condom on to his penis, but her unprofessional way only endeared her to him. Now she spread wide for him. She didn’t much like the feeling of the rubber condom, but this was the first man outside her family who had fucked her and she was excited.



Dick wanted this to last forever, he was getting so much pleasure from this sweet innocent little prostitute, but when after a few minutes he felt her shudder as she had an orgasm he couldn’t stop, but shot his load of sperm into the condom.



Dick and Zelena held each other for a few minutes then separated. Zelena both loved and hated separating from a man after sex: she loved the feeling of his penis as it slipped through and out of her vagina, and tightened it to heighten the feeling, but there was a certain sadness in knowing that it was over.



Dick kissed her again, then got up to find his clothes. This sex had been particularly good, because it was so physically enjoyable, but also knowing that he was her first customer, and that he’d introduced her to prostitution. This made it more sinful, and he enjoyed the part of visiting prostitutes that made it seem sinful.



For her part Zelena too enjoyed knowing that she was now a prostitute, or as she liked to call herself, an escort. She wondered what the priest in the village would think when he found out, because she knew that soon the whole village would know.

( just a small story wrote for fun to pass the time, and ponder life from the other side of the street.)







They called me a whore.



They said I was a slut.



That I was a destroyer of happy homes.



How happy could their homes have been when their husband was spending his hard earned money to pay me to give him a blowjob? To bend me over and take me as hard as his small dick self could.



Doesn’t sound very happy.



It started when I was just out of school. There had been a rumor at school, the whole time I was there, that I was a slut. That I would do anything in anyway that it could be done.



I don’t know who started it.



Fact was I was a virgin till well after the prom gown went back to the rental place.



The one my Auntie works at. That’s how I got the dress.



We were poor. They also said that about me. I can’t say that I ever went hungry, or that I didn’t have a floor under my feet, a roof over my head or a pillow to sleep on. No I had those. Food, floor, roof, pillow. Really what more do you truly need when you’re a child?



Mom and Dad? Yea I had those too.



Dad I almost never saw. He worked nightshift at a plant that made electric motors. He was a coil winder. He worked overtime whenever he could get it, which was often, so…not really there for most of my young life. Oh he was there for Christmas and birthdays but to just sit and talk to…No.



Mom? Well lets say if it didn’t happen in front of her she didn’t care about it. In fact if it didn’t happen either on General Hospital or the Guiding Light she could really and truly not give a damn about it.



And I wasn’t cast for those shows.



So there I was a whore in name if not in fact and up walks the captain of the football team. The man ‘Most Likely to Succeed’ from my whole damn senior class. I hadn’t seen him since we walked with cap and gown to get our little roll of vellum.



His name was William. William Corbin. He was going to college on a football scholarship.



I was putting in applications at “Would you like fries with that” type places.



He was having to decide on what school would pay him the most under the table.



I was wondering if I could manage to buss tables.



At first I thought that he was waving to someone else, then I realized it was me. I waved back.



So up he walked. The guy that most of the cheerleaders masturbated thinking about. He walked up with this goofy grin.



And offers me twenty bucks for a blowjob!



I had been two second from jacking his jaw around to the back of his head when it hit me. Hit me harder in fact than I had been about to hit him.



Why not?



I mean seriously…why not? Half the girls I went to school with would have begged him to let them do it and here he was asking me to do it for money. For money!



Well okay I’ll admit twenty bucks isn’t that much but hey twenty bucks is twenty bucks. Right?



So… sure. Why not. I mean I had never given head before but I figured if the bubble headed blond bimbets from the ‘soon to be sorority sisters’ could manage too do it… how the fuck hard could it be.



Anyway I followed him over to where he had his van parked. We crawled in the back and he asked if I would take my top off while I did it.



“Sure, five extra.”



And the dumb fucker paid it. He was willing to pay five-dollar just to see a girl that’s barely a B cup.



Anyway back to the cock sucking…or cocksucker either way you want to look at it.



I unzip him and slip his pants down a bit. I rolled back a pair of tighty whites and out pops Mr. Happy.



Okay I’ve seen a cock before. I mean pictures of them I’ve watched Internet porn over at a friend’s house. I’m wasn’t totally innocent. I must say though that the one thing all those images failed to bring across…the fact that they smell.



But you know. It was not all that bad after I got use to it. I mean sure it wasn’t roses and vanilla but there is a masculine scent to one that’s not… terrible. Why else do they sell ‘Musk’ cologne and perfumes?



We’re attracted too it.



To me? Well his smelled like money. Okay, well pee and money.



Leaning forward I decided to do it like a Band-Aid. Quick so it doesn’t hurt too much. I opened wide and down he went. Then when the gagging stopped I decided to try it a bit slower.



Funny, I knew it was going to be hard. I mean it’s called a hard-on after all. I guess…I didn’t really put two and two together to get four. Anyway I started to just try different things to see what worked best. Licking sucking, even nibbling. He started protesting like hell when I did that.



Fuck him! I’m the one getting paid to suck this cock. He can shut the fuck up and just moan.



Which was about all he’s did from the very first gag. That and tell me how good I was at it.



Really? Really? Okay… anyway…. yea.



So somewhere about five minutes into this, up and down bobbing, his hand comes to rest on my head. The fingers strong, the palm a hot place in my hair. He was moaning, begging, all but crying like a baby over me doing so little of a thing.



Yes that was a pun about the size of his penis. It’s a good thing he can throw a football cause he would never make it in porn.



Up, down, round and a round. You know if you’re really not into the sex your doing it’s kind of boring. Oh well they don’t call this a ‘Blow Fun Vacation’ after all.



Then his hand tightened on my head and…



Bleeck!



Okay…maybe need to ask thirty next time. Runny egg whites that taste sort of bleachy not on the top of my list.



He’s then thanking me like I’ve just saved the President from assassination. He pays me, says he will be seeing me just as soon as he can get more money together.



Oh and could he maybe fuck me next time?



“Sure, but that’s a hundred.” I say smiling as I put the twins back up.



“Really? Mind if I lets some friends of mine know about you?” he asks.



“Why would I mind?” I winked at him and get out the van.



So anyway that’s how my first summer after high school began. With me going to buy a soda to get the taste out my mouth and then to the local clinic to get on the pill.



If I had know that I was in for a two-hour lecture about STDs I would have just gone and gotten condoms.



Which would have been a waste. He brought one with him. So did his friends.



So they called me a whore? The girls I went to school with.



They’re pregnant. With two already under foot they can’t take care of. They have a huge house to have to clean. They have a ‘loving husband’ that goes out drinking with his friends every night and watches sports channel while he bitching about the dinner they had to cook.



They called me a whore and a slut?



Their ‘loving husband’ wants to fuck them so much that they finally get tired of sex and stop letting him. Bored and frustrated they turn to soap operas and romance novels to find the Mr. Perfect they thought their husband was going to be.



And the horny husband grabs up his wallet and comes to find…me.



Happy home wrecker?



Well…if they want to call it that then yea…. I guess I’ve wrecked a few.



I mean after all…by the end of that first summer I was making about five grand a month fucking their husbands and boyfriends



That’s a lot of jumbo flat screen Blue Ray compatible high definition TVs they will never get to sit in front of and watch As The World Turns, or Housewives of Atlanta on.



So call me a whore.



See if I fucking care.



Oh by the way…tell your husband thank you for the diamond earrings he got me. They looked so nice with the new dress I just bought…with your oldest son’s graduation money.



I hope you had a happy life…cunt.

Dear readers, in the first installment, Bunkie got to fly to Amsterdam for an education not to be had at an American university. There he met Veronika, a girl his own age that gave him an eye opening night of adventure. It’s a pretty good read, according to the feedback, so catch up on that one if you haven’t already done so. During that first tryst, Bunkie briefly met another girl named Galena. We’ll pick up the story evolving from that chance encounter.



As always, all my stories have a germ of truth to them, either in the setting or events that happened. It tends to keep a story from becoming far fetched or unbelievable. I always relish your comments and constructive criticisms and of course thank you for reading my work. –puppop




I Acclimation



Pieter and I puttered down the darkened boulevards. Mostly all the bicyclists were safely home, the good burghers turning down their beds and making plans for the weekend. I asked Pieter if he had waited outside all the time I was upstairs. He hadn’t, instead meeting some friends for dinner and running an errand or two. The car couldn’t be used on the weekend, since it belonged to the government. Bicycles would be the order of the day for Saturday and Sunday. As I absorbed this, he finally asked if I had enjoyed myself.



“It was a lot more than I expected Pieter. ” I relaxed into the seat and looked out the window at the low clouds and mist.”But I didn’t quite know what to expect. Thank you for picking out such a good hostess. There’s no way things would have worked as well without your help. I had a great time. I mean, I’m worn out, Lord!”



Pieter just grinned and tapped his thumb on the steering wheel.



I asked, “How did you know of Veronika, or is it a secret?”



“I met her by my office not too long ago. She had come to the Ministry for her work visa and I chatted her up. She’s a sweet girl. I was pretty sure you two would go well together.” He geared down for a red light. “She and her roommate are from Estonia. They escaped from a pretty tough regime.”



“I met Galena. She stopped by for a minute.”



“I haven’t met her. Are you going to see her?”



“That’s the plan. Tomorrow night I’ll be with her, as long as I can get there.”



“We’ll make it work.” Pieter put the car in gear and we moved on. “You’ll need to get by the currency exchange and we’ll have to get you a bike. Taxis aren’t cheap, plus there’s more to learn here than just girls.”



We laughed. Arriving at Pieter’s at last, I said my good nights and thanks and wearily shuffled off to bed. As I drifted off, I heard a police car in the distance. It might have been some other sort of emergency vehicle but the sing song siren sounded so utterly foreign. I wasn’t in Jersey anymore. Saturday spelled new promises for a young man with unique opportunities.



II Meeting up with Galena



The wind had picked up during the night and blew away the fog. I watched signal flags on a tugboat fluttering in the breeze. I had parked my rented bike near an old stone quay where it was reputed that Henry Hudson had sailed for the New World. Lunch was an excellent sandwich and brew from a restaurant that had been there for four hundred years and the tables were worn down on the edges from half a millennia’s worth of arms and elbows. I had gone and exchanged dollars for guilders and was starting to learn what things cost.



It was strange to be in a foreign country, even one as benevolent as Holland, but it was the start of a lifelong love for the Netherlands and all things Dutch. It was a clean, unassuming, and as I found out, a very tolerant country. I had ridden through a stop sign, only to have a whistle blown at me by a foot cop who explained to me that bicyclists weren’t exempt from any traffic laws. He was really nice about it. He even smiled and waved as I pedaled off.



It was cool in the breeze and I was glad I had on a heavy cable knit over my jeans and boots. I had my Red Sox ball cap pulled low over my hair and I felt clear eyed and fit as a fiddle. With a map in my back pocket, I played tourist, bumping over the cobblestones by the Royal palace and watched the ebb and flow of tourists at some of the museums. Everything seemed old, but well cared for. I was fascinated by the colorful houseboats, the flowers and all the tiny little shops that sold everything from rare books to trinkets and electronics. The narrow shopping district was crowded with people from everywhere imaginable. They clustered around street musicians and portrait painters at the corners just like in New York. But as the day drew on, the ranks of visitors thinned as I made my way back to my evening ‘school’.



At the door of my previous evening’s tryst, I was uncertain which bell to ring. There was a line of them mounted in brass with a number associated with each. As I stood there, the door opened and a British sailor emerged. We nodded and I caught the door before it could close. At the well of the third floor, I knocked on the middle door, which I recalled would be Galena’s room. After a moment, I heard her, asking a question in Dutch. I simply said my name and hoped she wasn’t entertaining.



My fears were ill founded. The door flew open and there she was. It was my first meeting with her face to face standing up. Laughing and murmuring,”Ah Bunkie, Bunkie, come,” she pulled me inside. We walked down a little hall which opened into her room to the right. She turned to me and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. Close up, her features seemed Slavic with higher than usual cheekbones and a slight tilt to her eyes, which were deep brown with flecks of gold. Her hair cascaded down to mid back and smelled of lavender. Her wide smile created dimples in her cheeks, all aglow in good health. She was wearing a tight burgundy turtleneck over equally tight bell bottom jeans and lace up boots completed the ensemble. Her breasts were unfettered, naturally sloping apart and her waist flared pleasingly out to a round thick butt. In other words, she was my idea of a full,on the tall size girl.



She gestured to an old brocade covered chair by the window, which was open. I heard people on the street below us, including a woman asking directions to the shopping district in Italian. Half thinking, I muttered the answer in Italian, having just wandered through the district earlier. Galena had turned to unpacking her valise on the bed when she heard me. “Aha, you speak Italian?”



I nodded, “Some, but I’m not fluent.”



She replied in broken Italian herself, “I learned some in school and some from an old boyfriend. This is marvelous that we can speak together, no?”



“It solves a big problem.” I was relieved. I’d been wondering how in the world we’d communicate and then quite by accident, this discovery. I wanted to lean out the window and thank the lady below for her perfect timing. But then again, everything happens for a reason. As Galena floated a sheet over the naked mattress, I told her as best I could how Italian men would visit my uncle’s social club when I was little and how they’d pay me a dime for every sentence I would learn in Italian. “Of course, I’ve forgotten a lot of what I learned” I concluded.



She came over and took my hand. “Perhaps we’ll get to practice that and maybe some other things too? I heard from a little mouse that you are a good learner and work very hard to please the instructor.” She chuckled. “Now this instructor has had no dinner. Have you dined?”



I shook my head. “Shall we do so? I’ve seen many places for food.”



She grinned and grabbed a short jean jacket that didn’t have the first chance of buttoning over her deep chest.



On the street she easily matched my stride as we walked around dawdlers and gawkers, some of which turned to gawk at Galena. Her hair rose and fell with each step and she took my hand when we crossed the avenue. She pulled me into a little diner I hadn’t noticed and we grabbed a window booth. We were flushed from the brisk walk and our attempts to understand each other, which made for some hilarious discussions. The waiter didn’t speak English, so I let Galena order for me, which she did in rapid Dutch.



“What am I having tonight?” I asked as the waiter left.



“Bacon and ice cream” came the mirthful reply.



“I’d heard that was the usual dinner fare for Estonians these days” I said, leaning back in my seat.



“Wait until we have strawberries over escargot for dessert” she replied, not missing a beat.



Taking my hand, a mischievous glint appeared in those up swept eyes. “Maybe later we’ll have a wonderful Estonian and American layer cake- if you eat all your dinner.”We laughed as shadows overtook the buildings and the streetlights started coming to life.



The dinner proved to be good solid sustenance and we left with full bellies and smiling faces. Galena helped me to understand the bill and how much to tip. During the course of our repast I learned that she wanted to save up and buy a motor trawler, much to my surprise. Her father had fished until the Soviet authorities had confiscated his boat. Galena loved the sea and it was her goal to captain her own rig. I had visions of her at the helm during a treacherous storm in the North Sea. It seemed suitably romantic to me as well as reminding me of my uncle’s words concerning the equality of women. I was in the company of an adventurous soul, especially for 1971.



We repaired to her den of inequity. As we marched along, I watched her magnificent hips swinging in time with her arms, breasts rising and falling with her long strides. Such a beauty and she was mine- at least tonight.



III Feathering the Nest



A breeze carried the sound of a ship’s lonesome horn through the open window of Galena’s rented walk up. She’d placed some candles on a table, which she lit while I drew the curtains closed. A thin light still came from under the door and I heard what might have been Moroccan music emanating from somewhere in the building.



“Do you thirst” she asked over her shoulder as she brought a glass from the sink in the corner.



“Only for you” I replied.



A chuckle, then, “This can be accomplished, my new friend and student.” A hint to cover expenses, dutifully met and guilders disappeared into a jean pocket. “Now, I have a little treat” She pulled out another water glass, a paperclip and a foil wrapped object the size of a pencil eraser. “This is from Lebanon, another country I hope to visit someday. But for now…” Unwrapping the foil, she produced a small medium dark sticky ball which she impaled on the bent paperclip. “Matches, please” she intoned and striking one, held it to the tarry substance. When it began to burn, she blew the fire out and covered it with the overturned glass. The glass filled with smoke. “Now, do as I do my student.” She tipped one edge of the glass up and sucked in the smoke, then reset it. “Wait until it fills anew, then you do as I did. Take it in slow, so you do not choke.”



I complied as best I could with her directions as a sickly sweet aroma wafted up from the scarred table. Galena exhaled, “We do this once more, yes, and it will be finished.”



“Is this hashish?” I asked, staring curiously at the glass.



“Yes. You will like it in only a few moments. It makes love play more, ah, intense one might say.” She grappled for more words. “It expands my nerves and when I am with a man I wish to enjoy, the rewards are, can I say, more plentiful.” She tipped the glass again, deftly sucking in the imprisoned smoke. I followed, finishing what was left. “If you will close the window I will put on my, uh, instructors’ gown.” A wink and a grin, her merriment barely contained.



I got up,closed the window and gazed out. The street tonight was busier than last, with a lot more men perusing the girls in the lower windows. Now I could hear the Moroccan music more clearly. In fact it seemed to come from the other side of the wall. I started thinking about Arabian nights, and then Barbara Eden in the ‘I Dream of Jeanie’ show and belly dancers, silk tents and scimitars, Ali Baba and old Disney cartoons in Technicolor. I realized the window stool was painted a pleasing shade of aqua. That’s when I discovered my mind was shifting to a different plane. The music I was hearing seemed more insistent, throbbing bongos and balalaikas.



Turning towards the room, it seemed dimmer, lit by the two fluttering candles. In front of the bedstead stood Galena.



She wore a long translucent gown held together in the front by a simple sash. She stood in sequined slippers and her flowing hair was pinned up in loose gathers only to cascade like auburn waterfalls over her shoulders. In the fading light her eyes seemed almost spectral and mystic, her pupils reflecting the tiny flames of the candles. Wordlessly, she held out her hand. Telepathically understood, we would be communicating without anymore language barriers.



IV Intimate Galena



She swayed gently to the hidden music as she removed my clothing. I stood before her bare chested as her long fingers traced my muscles and tendons. Warm caressing palms against my nipples, squeezing my biceps, she seemed lost in her own time of discovery. Her pointed tongue licked the corner of her mouth and her luminous eyes looked deep into mine as she undid my jeans, gently pulling the zipper down, anticipating further discovery. I stood mute, hands at my side watchful as my houri took a deep breath and released my tumescence. “Ahhh” she breathed, nodding. Her other hand drew my head down to her lips, feathering my cheek with her fingertips as her tongue sought and gained entrance to mine.



Of their own accord, my hands went to her waist, the ruffled silk warm with the promise of womanhood beneath. She breathed deep, pushing down on my waistband and I complying, became naked at last. The music intensified and we swayed in time tightly and as one, my maleness between us, encased in her stomach’s hollow. Wandering hands pulled my loins tightly to her, kneading my buttocks. I found her swaying hips soft, firmness just below, flexing, releasing, pushing into me yet still we kissed more urgently. Pulling away, I released her sash, parting the gown, her flushed skin hot on my own.



A true moment suspended in time, the cleft note wherein the spark reigns supreme, before the flame ignites, that split second before lightning rends a darkened sky and a moonlit torrent enters Stygian depths. Eternity became reality, of souls united, the mortal casings became no longer impediments but extensions of two minds collective, intertwining and blatantly expressing human desires with the illicit promise of Eros’ lust impending. I traveled in the kiss. I lost myself into the glories of her embrace. There was no future, just an unstoppable now. Dimly I was aware of my escalating need, but also of the treasure held in my arms, her questing mouth in mine, the pounding in my temples. Behold, my framed mental remembrance of Galena, a portrait even to be carried from one lifetime to the next, a gift of the Goddesses.



I decided I liked hash a lot.



We breathed to each other, the kiss broken. “I am lost in you Galena.”



Answering smiled whisper, “You are stoned. Sit before you fall.” The low cot was against the back of my calves. I sat as Galena towered over me. She leaned forward, her gown falling forward framing my shoulders. Within were her magnificent breasts, the unbound fruit of her womanhood only inches from my eyes, the nipples flushed and dark and past the pouting belly, the long sable fur encompassing her sex. As my hands came up to caress, she took each in turn, binding them behind me with her gown’s sash. I looked up at her questioningly. Her silent reply- a challenging smile below dancing eyes.Her hands to my shoulders, she shifted a breast to my lips.



I licked the slight saltiness from her as the aureole ridged and hardened and her nipple distended. I took more in my mouth, then closing onto her nipple, watching her face above. Her hand went behind my head, pulling me tighter as I began to suck her engorged nubbin until it stood proud and firm in my mouth. Galena sighed and nodded, her fingers combing through my hair. She pushed my head into her heavy orb, then released. She made as if to bite. “Like a grape” she whispered. I nibbled and sucked, nibbled and sucked, then licked her expanse before resuming anew. Her hand fled my neck, still holding my shoulder with the other and quested for my maleness, rigid against my belly. With fingertips, she drew little circles on the tip then barely squeezing. I felt my sac contract and slickness issued unbidden, only to be rubbed, glistening the end.



Shifting, her other breast replaced the first for my ministrations, the nipple already hard and needful. Galena’s long fingers continued their tarantella, exciting my swollen need, making it difficult to concentrate on my ‘lesson’. Her fingers slid to the back of my cocks head to the sensitive spot, slicking it with my own contributions and then sliding down the shaft, closing gently as she reached the base, pausing, pulling up, and allowing the skin to slide past her moistened palm on the journey’s return to the tip. This she did slowly, languidly, almost carelessly. Then bunching her fingers around the head, she squeezed anew with a gentle tug, urging out still more clear droplets.



It made me delirious. My hips began to jerk as her torture continued. It was never enough to build to release. No matter how I shoved or moaned, her caress continued. If my attention to her breasts wandered, so too would her hand, only to return when I resumed. I was beginning to ache when she reached to my scrotum, squeezed, and leaving several fingers there, jacked my base firmly and rapidly. My surprise was absolute, as if a bright light had come on. My knees flexed, my belly tingled as my orgasm suddenly became imminent.



Galena’s hands left me and standing, she shrugged off her gown, tossing it on the pillow. I moaned, wishing to grasp myself and finish what she’d begun. I needed perhaps one more stoke for release! She shifted and placing one foot up on the cot, brought me face to face with the lush soft fur of her pudenda, the exotic aroma of feminine arousal wafting into my nostrils. She tipped my head back, rubbing her silkiness across my face back and forth. Her other hand cupped her swollen breast, tightly pinching her nipple, head thrown back, lost in her own world.



Shifting her hips forward forced my lips to her crevice, the labia slack and open, where the pronounced inner lips hung glistening, her clit elongated. I took my first tentative lick, the salty tanginess my first taste of woman, her smell an inviting elixir to explore, kiss and worship. Gently I sucked in an inner lip, kissing, licking the folds and hearing her sigh above in a moment’s contentment. I ran my tongue down the folds as she tilted her pelvis more, giving me unfettered access to her secrets until I arrived at her entrance. Without hesitation, I plunged my tongue into Galena’s needful hole and felt contractions tightening around my searching licks in and out. My face grew wet with her need, yet I ignored her firm clit rising past its hood resting against my nose. Sucking in her lips together, I suckled back to the top of her furrow even as Galena tried to push my head back down. I wiped my face in her hairs and looked up at her face. Her eyes were narrowed, nostrils flared as she breathed.



I could take no more bondage and loosed the sash from my hands. Grabbing her magnificent ass, I swung her down onto the bed, head to the pillow, knees akimbo, her glorious pussy open and exposed. Her clit, unattended stood out from her freshly sucked lips, her hole ringed in fresh droplets of need, a whitish cream oozing downwards. Leaning over sideways I brought my mouth just short of her rubbery stub and planted the lightest of kisses on its very end. Galena’s hips jerked one, then again. She moaned something I couldn’t understand, pushing my head hard against her, grinding.

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