Mr. Heely was all tenderness and solicitude as he hovered over me, nor was it difficult to assure him that I now felt immensely relieved and was certain of a peaceful sleep and rest.
Needless to say, the "treatments" were incorporated regularly as a preventative of further nocturnal disquiet, and thus, by the simple expedient of inducing the kind-hearted man to think he was safeguarding my health and morals by masturbating me once a week, I found a way to warm the blood in his aged veins and recompense him in a small way for his generosity.
CHAPTER 8
I had been with Madame Lafronde about three months when the patronage of Mr. Thomas, another well-to-do but also middle-aged gentleman was steered my way by the astute old lady.
Things had run along in a pleasant manner; I had gotten along very well with Madame Lafronde. She seemed to take a genuine interest in my welfare, and some of the girls who had at first treated me with a certain coolness, doubtless inspired by the fear that patrons might be tempted from them by my juvenile coquetteries, had been won over and were now cordial and friendly.
Mr. Thomas was too much a man of the world to be at all deceived on the matter of my alleged innocence, but beyond passing a few halfcomical, half-cynical observations, he did not dwell on the subject.
Although this gentleman was fairly well along in years, he was hale and robust and had no physical deficiencies. My relations with Mr.
Thomas were so entirely normal, or so purely ethical, if I may use the term, that there is little to tell which would be of interest.
Like Mr. Heely, he was a single man, but there the similarity ended. He had engaged my companionship for one quite specific purpose, and between times regaled me with piquant accounts of amorous adventures during his younger days in Ceylon. With apparently no qualms of conscience to disturb him, he told me of having fucked little native girls of eight, nine and ten years of age, of having two or three of them in bed with him at the same time, and of other salacious combinations.
I say he regaled me with these stories "between times" because it was his regular and unvarying procedure to do it to me twice on each of his visits. He was entitled, by virtue of an exorbitant fee paid for my companionship, to pass the entire night, but he never stayed after the termination of the second act. He arrived generally around ten o'clock, spent an hour amusing himself in the parlour, and then came upstairs, where I was waiting for him. He was always prepared for an immediate encounter with a hard-on which belied his years, the potency of which was probably contributed to by aphrodisiacal sights, conversations, and liquor in the parlour.
When the first episode was concluded an hour would be passed in conversation, stories and banter while I sat on his lap naked. As he talked, his hands roved over my body, caressing my legs, thighs, and breasts, and lingering on my hairless cunny where the tantalizing touches kindled fevers in my organism while his own recovered its original potency. When he was ready for the second round we repaired again to the bed and I lay on my back with legs clamped around his middle and wriggled my bottom until I coaxed his second spend from him, whereupon he was ready to cry quits, and I was free for the rest of the night.
This man frequently disconcerted me with some outlandish story, told so seriously that I never failed to be taken in. While in charge of a plantation he had taken a baby, left to the vicissitudes of life through orphanage, and with no facilities other than those available in isolated bachelor quarters, had endeavoured to care for it and attend to its requirements.
What a kind-hearted man, I thought, much impressed with the patience and benevolence the act implied, and passed some observation to this effect.
"She was a pretty little thing," he concluded, puffing meditatively at his cigar.
"Ah… it was a girl," I murmured.
"Yes. She had the most beautiful skin, a soft, olive tint. It was like silk to the touch. And her bubbies, not any bigger than orange halves, but as firm and…"
"How old was that baby?" I interrupted.
"Oh, she was eleven or twelve, I guess."
"It was indeed noble of you to have cared for her so tenderly, Mr.
Thomas," I answered with heavy sarcasm. "I presume dressing and undressing her, bathing her and so on must have signified quite a sacrifice of time and labour for you. Possibly you even had to share your bed with her?"
"Unfortunately, there was only one bed in the place. And I couldn't let the poor little thing sleep on the floor, of course."
"Of course not!"
Next on the list came Mr. Castle. This gentleman had a complex for strange and unusual postures in sexual intercourse, and also an itch to experiment along lines somewhat contrary to the plans of Nature.
Only the fact that he was both liberal and possessed of unfailing good humour made association with him supportable. Had it been possible to offend him, my angry reactions to some of his droll impudence's would quickly have terminated our relationship.
No sooner was the door closed behind us on the occasion of his first bedroom visit than I was startled to find myself suddenly seized from behind and tumbled forward so that while the weight of my body fell upon my hands and wrists, my legs were caught and held under his arms.
In this undignified position, with my short skirts fluttering about my face and head, and with my bare bottom and all there was between my legs exposed, I struggled and protested angrily, but to no avail, for with imperturbable aplomb, while still imprisoning my kicking legs under his strong arms, he unfastened the front of his trousers and in an instant I felt his cock poking against my inverted cunny.
I tried to evade its thrusts as I sputtered angry protests, but he had me in such a position that I was quite helpless and in another moment I felt it going in, in this upside down fashion. The whole thing was finished and over almost before I was conscious of the pain which his cock, pressing against the side of my womb in this unnatural position, caused me.
He was what is termed in professional circles a "fast shooter," one of those men whose orgiastic reaction is so rapid as to require but a few thrusts. In the midst of my kicking and squealing I felt the hot gushes followed by the wet, sticky trickle of semen down over my stomach. A second later he released me and sank down on the bed, shaking with laughter while I, after regaining my feet, stood before him, my face flushed with indignation, protesting such cavalier treatment.
"Excuse me, Sister," he gasped finally between gusts of laughter. "I'm sorry I was so rude. It's a weakness I have… I just can't resist temptation!"
"Well, why are you laughing about it, then?" I demanded, only halfappeased by the doubtful apology.
"Ha, ha, ha! If you only knew how funny you looked, standing on your head, with your cute little cunny upside down!"
"Oh!" I gasped, my indignation mounting anew, but before I could formulate a sufficiently withering retort, he continued:
"There was something… something… ah, yes; how is it your cunny hasn't any fur? I've seen them shaved off before, but they're like a man's chin, you can feel the bristles even after a close shave. Your pussy felt as smooth as silk. Let's take a peek at it, Sister!"
I was still palpitating with anger, but under such ludicrous circumstances it could not last long and finally I smiled in spite of myself.
"You're a very abrupt person," I said. "Since you believe in caveman tactics, it's a wonder you bother about asking me to let you see it."
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than he acted on the suggestion. His hand closed over my wrist and I was jerked none too gently to the bed and tumbled over on my back. Again I raged helplessly while, shaking with irrepressible laughter, he adroitly subjected my wrists by holding them in one hand, and with the other pulled up my dress.