I continued to feign illness, and invited him to have dinner with me the following night. Again I flirted with him, growing less and less careful about hiding my charms. But a peep at my knee, a dexterous swish of my skirt which revealed a patch of white thigh, or a scant view of one nude breast failed to thaw out the man.
This was Saturday night. As he left me, I made him promise to call early the following day. He must have dinner and lunch with me, I said. About noon, he arrived. He suggested a ride, but I declined; I wanted a different sort of ride than the one he proposed.
We spent hours talking, and it was late in the afternoon before I succeeded in getting his mind on something else. I finally turned to the subject of women, and this we discussed at great length. He spoke of the different nationalities, pointing out the good and bad points.
"You are very beautiful,” he said, “though I favor the French women."
"Why?” I asked. It was a direct question.
"Because,” he said, “the French, as a whole, are the most beautiful in the world. Their habits are more correct, and they are best fitted to wear the conventional dress of the country."
He said many more things about the French women, all complimentary.
"You are mistaken about their dress,” I said by way of getting to the point. “I have seen other women wearing dress the French women would never dare to wear; their bodies are hardly suited for the extreme in decollete dresses."
"You speak as though you are well versed on the subject."
"I am,” I said. “I myself have worn dresses no French woman would dare wear. Not only their breasts, but their legs, too, are hardly suited to the extreme in undress."
I saw him give a start at this broad statement. We argued back and forth, and finally I said, “I have many gowns here with me, and I will wager you that a German woman-myself, if you please-can wear the ultra in undress and still look acceptable."
This seemed to have the desired result, for he said, “You are making a rash wager, my dear young lady."
"I am ready to prove my statement,” I said, smiling into his eyes.
For several moments he remained quiet, as though he was trying to gain courage to put the next question. “I am willing to lose considerable money to back up my statement that a French woman is more daring in dress than any other on earth."
"Tell me how you know this, and perhaps I shall take you up on it."
"Very well,” he said. “I called upon on a French girl one time, and, strangely enough, the same conversation came up. Just in a joking way I wagered her that she dare not don a costume consisting of less covering than one I had seen but a few days previous, and the daring girl took me up-and won my wager."
"And what did her costume consist of?” I asked, feeling sure I had him on the right track.
"That,” he said, “would be unfair. I didn't tell her what the other had worn, and it would not be fair were I to tell you. Remember, it was you who started this, and it is I who am willing to back my contention with money.” He was leaning forward now, expectantly.
"You sound sincere,” I said, laughing.
"I was never more so in my life,” he parried.
"I am inclined to take you up,” I said, laughing again, “just to take the conceit out of you.” Inwardly I was thrilled. I had given this man considerable opportunity to enjoy my caresses, but he had failed to rise to the lure. I wondered just what it would take to move him. Instead of answering my jibe, he drew from his pocket a large billfold, and from it he took what appeared to be a considerable amount of money. This he lay upon a small stand. Rising, I went to the stand and picked up the money.
"I am inclined to take your wager,” I said, “but unfortunately I haven't near that amount of money with me. However…"
"Your word is good enough for me,” he interrupted. “You understand the conditions surrounding this wager?"
I smiled. “Your wager, as I understand it, is that I dare not appear here before you in as daring a costume as your French friend-is that correct?” When he nodded, I went on. “As you say, this is most unusual, but I have brought it upon myself. So there's nothing for it but to prove my contention by appearing here before you in what I choose to term ‘ultra undress.’ Is that correct?"
Again he nodded. “There is one condition under which I shall go through with it,” I said. “That is, that you will never mention this affair to anyone. May I have your promise to that?"
Again he nodded. “I am a gentleman in every respect,” he said.
Smiling, I turned and walked from the room. With wildly beating heart I slipped out of my already scant covering. Naked, I sprayed myself with a dainty perfume, turned and walked back to the curtain which separated the two rooms. I peeped between them. Sir Ethelred stood gazing at a picture above the mantle. With a quick movement I swished the curtains apart and stepped into the room.
I saw him gasp. Then, without further ado, he stepped to the tiny table and picked up the money. With a smile on his face he turned and handed me the cash saying, “There isn't the slightest question as to who has won this wager,” he said, “and I take back what I said about women other than French. You are the most beautiful one I have ever seen."
I saw his eyes sweep over me. I turned, allowing him to view me from every angle, scattering the money as I did so. Stopping before him, I said, “Your French friend-was she generous enough to invite you to remain with her, after she had won her wager?"
He came to me and took me in his arms. “What do you mean?” he asked.
For answer, I raised my lips to his in a clinging kiss. Leading me to a broad couch, he kissed my face, neck, shoulders, and titties-and after he fucked me, he dropped to his knees between mine and “Frenched” me. He, my dear, was the first man who ever did that to me; men usually tongue their women only before they fuck them. But Sir Ethelred was different. He was an Epicurean. Leading him to my bedroom, I asked him to strip off his clothes. The sight of his naked body lent further lust to my already overwrought body. I sprang upon him, kissed him all over, and ended by taking his cock into my mouth and sucking him off.
There were no secrets between us after that. He asked me to tell him my story, and I omitted nothing. He, in turn, confessed that he had on several occasions taken good-looking young men to his bed and that he loved it. He remained with me all night and proved in many ways that he was something of a ladies’ man.
The following morning, he insisted upon my keeping my winnings, but I refused. “If I accepted your money,” I told him, “you would always remember me as a whore, and I'm not that. I take my pleasure for the pure love of it."
This so delighted him that he proposed a series of parties, and for one solid week, we indulged in one orgy after the other.
He told me of the shocking orgies which were forever taking place throughout Rome and promised to arrange that I might witness them.
One talks of Paris and the gay and exciting things that happen there, but they are nothing as compared to those of Rome. Through peepholes, one might witness scenes never dreamed of in Paris, but I won't tire you with a description of them here; they are far too shocking for even me to relate.
After a week with Sir Ethelred, I left Italy and crossed back into Hungary, and here I spent a happy month. Here, as I have already told, the elite were vying with each other in every sort of vile and erotic entertainment. A description of one will give you an idea of the sort of entertainment they fostered. During my previous visit to Budapest, I had been acquainted with many members of the “upper set,” and I hadn't been in the city a day before I was being sought by members of this selfsame group. The evening after I arrived in Budapest, I was invited to a great banquet given in the home of one Madam Sylvia Tugwell. Sylvia, though in her early thirties, was the mother of a very beautiful daughter, and was noted for the spectacular parties she was forever giving.