Apparently unfamiliar with the properties of depilatory agents, his visual and tactile examination seemed to convince him that the denuded condition was a natural one, which greatly intrigued his interest. While I continued to rage futilely, he felt and squeezed the naked lips and surrounding parts, and still not content, decided to have some more fun with me.
No one except a woman who has suffered the indignity can comprehend the conflict of emotions undergone in being jacked-off forcibly against her wishes. It is quite one thing to submit to the manipulation when it is desired, and another to be forced.
As the ball of the clown's finger rotated against my clitoris the treacherous little organ stiffened up in response, contrary to my wishes and despite all the mental influence I could bring to bear on it. When I breathed curses and demands for instant release it pulsed with increasing vigour under the friction, with the inevitable result that my resistance was suddenly stifled and my angry exclamations quite involuntarily changed into surprising moans.
The orgasm diminished my anger somewhat but I still felt resentful and complained bitterly of having been treated in such an outrageous manner.
"It was just the same as a rape!" I protested.
"Rape? Rape?" And again he burst into laughter. "That's a new one on me, Sister! I never knew before that a girl could be raped by a finger!"
"Well," I answered, my natural good humour beginning to assert itself,
"it amounts to the same thing. When you make a girl do something against her wishes, it's rape, even if you do it with your finger!"
It was impossible to stay angry with this comical buffoon, and being further mollified by a gift of respectable denomination, I found myself looking forward to his next call, if not with longing, at least with curiosity.
The next eccentricity he manifested was a desire to try an inexhaustible number of unusual and strange positions. Because of the rapidity with which orgasm overtook him, the only way he could avoid ejaculation and prolong these experiments was to take his cock out of me after making a few quick movements. Naturally, this was very tantalizing, for it made me hot without satisfying me, but I had to stand it as best I could.
Obligingly following his instructions I stood on the floor, bent over, my hands resting on my knees, and let him do it to me from behind. I lay doubled up in a ball on the bed with my knees crooked forward against my chest while he knelt in front of me, I sat spiked on his lap in a rocking chair, I lay on my back on a table with my legs over his shoulders and went through other equally strained and arduous exercises wondering all the while why a man should want to take such roundabout and complicated roads to reach a place which was accessible by shorter and easier routes. All these strenuous gymnastics just to make a few drops of semen come out of his testicles, a result I could have attained for him in ten seconds if left to my own devices.
But it wasn't until a subsequent visit that I found I had more objectionable things still to contend with.
This time he had me on my hands and knees on the bed and was kneeling behind me. This is the position known as "dog fashion" in the social circles of prostitution, and inasmuch as it projects a woman's cunt out quite prominently, she has to be careful that the man does not injure her by too deep a penetration, especially if he has a large cock.
I felt his cock pushing against me, but it was aimed too high, and was prodding my bottom instead of my cunny. At first I thought that this was just an accident and putting my hand behind me I shoved it downward and got it headed in the right direction. But after two or three vague pushes, it slipped out and again I felt it punching against my bottom, this time in such a determined manner that it almost got its head inside.
Again I reached behind me to push it away, but he resisted the effort, and leaning over my back, whispered:
"Don't push it away. Let it go in for just a moment!"
"I will not!" I exclaimed, and jerked free from his embrace.
"There, there!" he answered, soothingly, "I was just teasing you, Sis!
Come on and lets finish. I have to get away early tonight."
Rather reluctantly, and on the alert for a new attack on the unguarded spot, I again braced myself on my hands and knees, but this time he let Nature take her course in normal channels.
From this time on the man was unable to resist the temptation to try to do it to me in the bottom on every occasion which presented itself.
Determinedly I resisted blandishments, coaxings, and even treacherous efforts to catch me unawares, but it got on my nerves and brought choleric protestations to my lips. In justice to Mr. Castle, I must say that he took my angry rebuffs and blunt refusals to gratify his unnatural whim in good spirit and unfailing pleasant humour.
It was then I intimated to Madame Lafronde that it would not hurt my feelings were his affections tactfully transferred to some other girl, but I was ashamed to tell her the exact reason.
"Why don't you want him?" she insisted.
"Well, I finally said, "he has crazy ideas. The first night I had an appointment with him he stood me on my head and did it to me upside down!"
"What!" she expostulated. "Is that the only reason you dislike him?"
Abashed, I made a clean breast.
"No, it isn't! If you must know, I'll tell you! He never gives me a moment's peace from wanting to do it to me in the bottom!"
I expected that this revelation would bring a decided expression of indignation from Madame Lafronde and that she would now be willing to concede that Mr. Castle was indeed a most objectionable client.
But, after gazing at me a moment, she began to laugh heartily.
"And is that all that is wrong with him?"
"Isn't that enough?" I responded stiffly.
"My word, girl," answered the old lady, "there is no pleasant road to success in anything, not even in whoring. You're going to meet men far more difficult to deal with than this Mr. Castle, so you must now learn how to get what you want from them and how to evade what you don't want by using diplomacy. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I don't know about that, I never did much cooking, but you can take my word for it that the way to his purse is through his cock.
And his purse will stay open just as long as you keep his cock in a good humour and no longer!"
I was not too dense or too stubborn to comprehend the wisdom of her philosophy and I did indeed learn eventually that more could be accomplished by cunning and diplomacy than by angry words.
"Sometime," I murmured to Mr. Castle one night as I deftly evaded a sly attempt on my bottom, "sometime, I'm going to let you do that, just to see what it feels like… but not tonight!"
CHAPTER 9
When Mr. Wainwright was added to my list of regulars I found need of all the philosophy I could muster. He was a suave, dapper little man, rather handsome in an effeminate way, but very nervous and emotional. He was not, I think, over twenty-eight or thirty.
There was nothing special in his appearance to suggest the possibility of any weird abnormality, yet here is what happened: As soon as we were alone in the seclusion of my room he went through a pantomime of courting me in the most exaggerated manner. Words of gallantry, adoration, and vows of eternal loyalty poured from his lips as he knelt before me, kissing first my hands, then my feet and legs.
In accordance with my usual custom when receiving new admirers for the first time, I was fully clothed excepting one single garment which for convenience sake I left off, inasmuch as its absence would not be noted until the moment when its presence would be of no moment.
Taken aback by this man's strange performance, and indeed not being sure that he wasn't simply trying to be funny, I remained silent.