Murmuring words of endearment and adoration his lips gradually ascended to my knees, whereupon he turned his face upward and begged in supplicating words:
"Oh, my Fairy Princess! Give me your permission to raise the hem of this robe so that your slave may cool his burning lips on the sweet freshness of your divine limbs."
This was too much for me.
"Go ahead and cool them, Sweetie!" I giggled with a democratic sociability quite out of keeping with the regal estate he had delegated to me.
Ignoring the flippancy of my answer, he turned the edge of my dress up, not high enough to reveal the absence of the interior garment already referred to, but just high enough to expose two or three inches of bare flesh above the tops of my hose. Upon this isolated flesh he pressed more moist kisses clasping my knee meanwhile to his breast.
"Beautiful Princess!" he sighed ecstatically, and then in humble, imploring tones, "will Your Highness deign to repose upon the couch and let this faithful slave quench his thirst at the sweet spring of life?"
It was too ridiculous and I laughed hysterically, but supposing that he was now ready to "quench his thirst" in the customary manner, I let him lead me to the bed and lay down, still laughing.
Disregarding my risibility he slowly and with exaggerated deference, raised my dress and folded it back. He gazed for a long moment at my denuded cunny which was now in plain sight, and then, before I guessed his intention, leaned down and placed his mouth on it.
Whether this was just a little frisking preparatory to an orthodox fuck I had no means of knowing at the moment, but in any event it was a pleasant variation, and I was agreeably surprised. I had been "Frenched" on a few occasions even before entering Madame Lafronde's bordello, and sometimes Mr. Hayden would tickle my clitoris with the tip of his tongue for a few moments when Hester and I were with him. I was peculiarly sensitive to the caress and sometimes felt an inordinate longing for it, but with the exception of Mr. Hayden, none of my clients had ever taken the notion, and I, naturally, would never suggest it.
Consequently, when I felt this man's mouth on my cunny, and perceived the play of his tongue over the sensitive parts, I shivered delightedly, my clitoris stiffened up, and I relaxed my body to better enjoy the enervating caress.
It continued, actively, expertly. I felt my clitoris, now swollen and erected, clenched between his lips. A ravishing suction was being applied to it, and my sexual organism responded by throbbing excitedly with a mounting fever of lascivious ebullition. Heavens, it did feel good. If it were kept up a moment or two longer, something would surely happen.
I tensed my body, lifted myself up slightly on my elbows, and glanced downward to my companion. Unobserved by me he had opened the front of his trousers, and was frigging himself violently. I sank back with a groan, my ovaries yielded to the intoxicating incitation, and in a second I was suspiring in the ecstasy of orgasm.
No sooner had my sexual forces expended themselves than a feeling of revulsion came over me. I do not know to just what extent other women are similarly affected in this particular, but for several moments following ejaculation, the slightest touch upon my cunny causes me a disagreeable sensation. It passes quickly, but during those few moments I cannot stand even the softest touch or caress. As the last tremors or orgasm died away I put my hand on his head and gently but firmly pushed him away.
Yielding to the gesture, he released my clitoris from between his clenched lips. His face slid down a little and his lips attached themselves to the flesh on the inside of one of my thighs just below my cunny. This did not bother me, though I expected a discoloration would result from the strong suction he applied to the flesh as he continued meanwhile to masturbate himself vigorously.
The orgasm I had just experienced left me too languid to pay much attention to just what he was doing, though I was watching him through half-closed eyes. Suddenly, through his own lively handling, the jets of semen began streaking from his cock and flew all over my legs. And in the same moment, his teeth penetrated the flesh of my thigh where he had been sucking it.
Between pain and surprise I let out a shriek and sprang from the bed in a single bound. With mixed emotions of fright and anger I looked at him, uncertain as to whether I should fly from the room or demand an explanation of his brutality. He was lying on the bed, gasping and weltering in his own pollution, seemingly indifferent to my outraged feelings.
I raised my dress to examine the wound. It was less serious than I had first imagined, being quite superficial in character. He had bitten into a tiny fold of flesh, just deep enough to draw blood, which fact was attested to by several ruby drops which were slowly trickling down the inside of my thigh. When I saw that I was not wounded as badly as I had first supposed, anger dissipated fright, and I turned on him wrathfully.
"What kind of a crazy fool are you, biting me like that?"
He looked at me stupidly for a moment and then his gaze travelled downward to where the little red drops were visible between my legs.
A look of contrition passed over his face. He flung himself at my feet, and clasping my knees to his breast, begged me piteously to forgive him. To my amazement his eyes were filled with tears.
"But why did you do that to me?" I insisted reproachfully.
"Sweet Princess," he moaned, "I did it unconsciously. Strike me, beat me, kick me, do what you will with me in punishment, but do not be angry with your slave!"
What could one do with such a lunatic?
"Well," I said, finally, "I'll forgive you, but don't ever do that again!"
When he had departed I gazed wide-eyed at the material evidence of Madame Lafronde's sage philosophy, for without bothering to count them, he had flung upon my dresser a little sheaf of bank notes which totalled an amount in excess of anything I had previously received.
After I had counted the money, I examined again the tiny laceration in the white flesh of my thigh. It had stopped bleeding and no longer pained. Money can indeed cure many ails and ills. It was an obsession the man was prey to, but lured on by the irresistible magic of gold, I risked further mistreatment and got it, and today, on the inner surfaces of my thighs just below my cunny, are several tiny white scars, each punctuating a moment of insanity during which the teeth of a sadist bit into my flesh while with his own hand he lashed his sexual fury into its final torment of expression.
During the later period of my incarceration in the reformatory, and for over five months of the time I was on Madame Lafronde's staff, I had no word of my foster brother Rene. Letters sent to the last address he had given me in Canada came back unclaimed. His silence worried me greatly. I did not know but what some grave misfortune had overtaken him, but I suspected that, unable to send me any money, he was ashamed to write.
While thinking about him one day I recalled that in our old neighbourhood dwelt a boyfriend to whom Rene was greatly attached, and it occurred to me to write this boy, or young man as he now was, if still alive, on the chance that he might have had some news of Rene.
I acted on this impulse, but the response, which came by return post was negative. He had not received any letters from Rene since the period which embraced that in which I had been in communication with him, and he likewise commented on the fact that a letter he had sent to the address last supplied him by Rene had come back to him unclaimed. Thus, my contentment and material success were marred by the preoccupation that something had happened to Rene, whose image was deeply impressed in my heart.
Accustomed to sleep until around midday or later, I was surprised one morning to be aroused from my slumbers by Madame Lafronde at the unusual hour of nine. When I was sufficiently awake to sit up in bed and ask what was wanted, she rather grumpily informed me that there was a visitor waiting for me in the parlour.