“Jäger, ensure your finger nails are all trimmed right down to the quick. Also do not start this until the lady’s motor is already running and warned up. Down cold, as it were—too early—the effects can sometimes be of revulsion. Use her nipples as a judge. Of course, women’s nipples vary tremendously in shape and size, but the common point of observation is the change in the size of the nipples. I’ve known some women whose nipples in normal life are actually dimples, but always—always—when aroused the little buggers come out of their hiding places to stand up over-sized to proudly take their place in the world.”
Jäger laughed at this last comment, and nodded his head, as he too had observed the same phenomenon. Schneider thought Jäger too young to be told of the time in Peking when Schneider entertained a Chinese lady, whose nipples grew to two centimeters in length and moved like worms; Schneider was so dumbstruck at this that he quickly and politely moved to à chien—those two worms were very off putting.
That evening, after Louise had leisurely bathed and pampered herself, Schneider took her to the main dining room at the Willard, in part because the food was excellent, and in part to let Louise relive the afternoon’s adventure.
The waiters had cleared the table and the restaurant was mostly empty because of the upcoming national holiday.
“You see my dear, women are delicate flowers that need to be treated gently and carefully, else the petals be damaged. But inside all women there sleeps a tigress, and that tigress can be awoken, and when aroused she is a wild animal. What happened in my office, is I simply awoke your tigress. And once unleashed your tigress can roam for a very long time.”
“I have never experienced anything like that before. How long was mine—I was so crazy I lost track of time?”
Schneider replied, “A little over two minutes.”
“I thought I was going to die.”
“Yes, I know; that is why I stopped.”
“You mean it could have been longer?”
“Oh yes.”
Louise sighed.
“That is why you slept on the couch for an hour. Your body was in shock and needed time to recover.”
Louise said nothing, lost in thought.
“How can I thank you?”
“Thank me? Why the pleasure was all mine,” Schneider smiled.
“Schneider, it’s a curious thing, but the more men I have the more men I want. Is that the same with you with women?”
“Yes, but Louise you will find that it becomes addictive. But it’s a nice and entertaining addiction. And you are in the happy position of it being part of your job.”
Louise smiled slightly.
“You know I could do it again now, I am getting excited. Is that unhealthy?”
“No, it is completely normal. What I suggest is you go to the bar; I will take you there and then leave. When the detritus at the bar see me leave, they will swoop on you like eagles on a lost lamb.”
As promised, after dinner, Schneider took Louise to the bar of the Willard, but not before Louise had briefly adjourned to the ladies’ room to, as she said, “remove one unwanted undergarment.” So freed, she whispered her thanks to Schneider, and also that she was starting to “get wet there again.”
“I must be crazy.”
Schneider shook his head, “The more you get, the more you want. That is all. You are not crazy. You are simply healthy.”
Perhaps because of the holiday, in contrast to the restaurant, the bar was unusually crowded for a Wednesday night. Schneider assumed some were bachelors with nowhere to go, as well as some married officers who were escaping the boredom and tedium of suburban home life for a few hours. He ordered champagne for both of them. Peter was still on duty and smiled at Louise who returned his smile with a genuine one of her own.
After a decent interval, Schneider asked for his hat. Kissing her on the cheek, he whispered, “I will want a full report tomorrow.” Louise simply smiled.
As he had predicted, even before he had reached the front door, a red-faced and slightly drunk officer, and without being invited, sat down next to her.
“Say, what’s the idea of your boyfriend leaving you alone in a place like this with all us wolves?” he laughed.
Louise had the ability to force a smile that was indistinguishable from her genuine ones that she gave to Peter and Schneider.
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend, he’s my boss,” she answered, with just a tiny hint of breathlessness, to create the illusion of “my, your army uniform sweeps me off my feet.”
“Your boss, eh; then he should really know better. He should be protecting his most valuable troops. That’s what we officers always have to do. So what do you do? As you can see I am protecting the country against our enemies, whoever they are,” he laughed.
“Well, I am a reporter for a Chicago business newspaper,” she said.
“That’s interesting,” he lied without bothering to try to hide his lack of interest.
Schneider had explained to Louise that reporters were the perfect cover, as their job was to ask questions, and that a business reporter was the best of all, as questions about millions of gallons of sulphuric acid, or number of trains to San Francisco, or aircraft production, all seemed like reasonable questions that a hard-working business reporter would ask.
Louise quickly finished her drink, and the officer—he was a quartermaster as it turned out—snapped his fingers like a little Caesar and ordered her another without her asking.
Then she started her slow little pantomime routine she had honed with Schneider. First came the hair toss; next was running her hand through her hair—“even the most stupid man should pick up this signal of a woman in high heat,” Schneider had explained; then the brief gaze into the eyes—“only for half a second, otherwise he will think you are completely drunk, or a whore.”
Then, the most important of alclass="underline" “Then put your hand on his knee. Just tell him you are getting a little drunk.”
Truth be told, Louise was getting a little drunk and loved the feeling of teasing this nonentity.
The nonentity—like most men—was deluding himself that his wit, charm, and personality were winning over Louise. And Louise’s slow encouragement was only amplifying this delusion. In reality, he had no wit, no charm, and very little in the way of personality, but he did have a bulging briefcase at this feet which he would periodically and ostentatiously move.
“I am writing a piece for the paper on rubber production in Ohio; you know anything about that?”
Suddenly he was nervous, “You know, honey, we should not talk shop here.”
“OK, if you don’t know, then you don’t know.”
He moistened his lips, and said sotto voce, “Well, what’s in it for me?”
Louise said nothing but answered by lightly grazing his crotch with her hand.
“I want all your milk on my face. All of it.”
She could see he was in two minds, but as expected, lust won.
“Room 1511.”
He left carrying his bulging briefcase.
By now Louise could feel her own juices restarting.
After five minutes, she left and took the elevator. Knocking on the door, the officer, now relaxed, opened it.
She entered and he asked, “So what’s your name, honey?”
“Well by an amazing coincidence, my name actually is Honey, at least for tonight. And I am going to call you ‘Major Sir,’ if that is acceptable, Major Sir. And, Major Sir, I have been a very bad girl. A very naughty girl. I need to be punished for being bad. Can you do that to make me a better and pure girl again, Major Sir?”
He smiled. “Some brandy?”