“Come here,” the older woman says. “Take your uniform off. That’s good. Show us your cock, now. So, what do you think, my dear?”
The object emerging from the salmon-coloured silk pants is just like the man himself: short and massive. Sitting on the edge of the bed, the woman takes hold of the purple glans between two fingers, just as earlier she had been handling the strawberries. With her nail she gently pulls on the cock’s crumpled surplus skin and the shaft begins to grow. Short but very thick, no more than fifteen centimetres long, but so thick she has to use both hands to circle it. The prone young girl sees it all as if in a cloud; the painting on the wall is the focus of her attention, but another part of her is also aware that she is about to be breached by this almost unreal object. The mushroom head is dark purple, the blue-black veins bulge, the hard brown shaft is pointing towards her, emerging from dirty pink boxer shorts – the whole thing seems more animal than human.
“Fuck her now,” the older woman orders.
The domestic positions himself between the girl’s thighs, spreads them wide, and places her feet high up on his shoulders, his thick shiny cock lurking at her entrance. He gradually forces himself in. Slowly, his cock plunges in, her diameter expanding obscenely as if it were literally sucking in this monstrous cock, and she finally feels its head butting her inner walls as the silk of his pants and the rough touch of his pubic hair rub against her thighs. She comes immediately – the tension was too strong, the expectation too intense.
Now the domestic methodically plows inside her with brute force, and she cries out repeatedly, the inebriation of her orgasm blending with the alcohol vapours, thrusting her ever higher on the scales of sheer pleasure. She can’t help crying, throwing her body forward, impaling herself even deeper, opening herself wider. At the same time, she feels ashamed to be enjoying this weird cock so much, and the shame doubles her pleasure, as if her being whored in this improvised way gives her latitude to scream as no other man has made her scream before, to give herself like she has never given herself before.
Prompted by the woman, still sitting close to her, the domestic withdraws from her and, with two sharp movements of his wrist, jerks himself off, long, creamy jets streaming across the now for ever soiled black dress, thick snail trails of sperm jetting from his bursting cock and landing all the way up to her neck.
The woman dismisses him with a single gesture.
Once again, she leans over towards the still breathless girl, who is on the brink of tears as her orphaned cunt still gapes open, mumbling under her breath like a fish out of water, begging for the return of the cock that stretched her so, and she kisses her. The taste of her tongue is sharp, warm, and clever.
She then guides the girl to the nearby bathroom and undresses her. “Arms up,” she says, as if to a child. Helping her out of the long, soiled sheath of the dress, pulling it over her head, and then the blissful feel of water running unendingly down her neck, her back, her breasts.
Then she brings her back to the large bed of crumpled satin, her body so deathly pale against the green surface, and dries her, methodically mapping every contour of her body, drying behind her ears even and between her splayed toes…
The woman indicates the silk dress, now all crumpled up at the foot of the bed. “Won’t be much use again,” she says.
From a dresser, she pulls out a maid’s outfit, almost the same as… what was her name? Nora? was wearing earlier. A straight black skirt, a black shirt, and a white apron with an embroidered pocket. Before she is allowed to slip the uniform on, the older woman helps her roll on a pair of hold-up opaque black stockings and, finally, hands her a pair of small, dainty, zippered boots.
The woman quickly separates her hair into thick plaits and arranges a faultless chignon, with just three or four hairpins, almost a work of art.
Inside the apron’s pocket, there is a key.
“It’s a pass,” the ageless woman explains. “It allows you access to every room on this floor or the next. Come, girl. It’s all up to you now. You must prove to us that we can trust you.” And with a gentle slap on her butt, she dismisses her from the room.
In the corridor, the young girl hesitates. Should she walk down again? With the pass, she opens the next door, number three.
It is empty.
On the wall there is a painting depicting a city scene with three young women wearing fancy hats, all holding each other by the arm, all totally naked. Somewhere behind them, another woman seen from the back is walking away, same hat, same nudity. She appears to be following a soldier whose silhouette can be glimpsed in the distance. The three women are aligned by height, from left to right. Curiously, the shortest one sports the heavier breasts, the next one’s are pear shaped, well proportioned, and the tallest woman’s are barely the size of two small apples, high on her chest, tiny.
“The tarots,” she says to herself.
She leaves the room just as another identically dressed maid comes running.
“Ah, there you are, hurry. Number twenty has called again.”
Off they go; she follows instinctively, entranced by the madness of the place, down the corridor, up a spiral staircase, then through another passageway where they come across two other maids, one of whom is Nora, the only one whose name she actually knows, standing outside the door marked twenty.
“What took you so long?” Nora asks.
She knocks on the door and turns the handle while doing so, just as a loud “Come in!” reaches their ears. Inside are four men playing cards, with a fifth man watching them – the grey-haired man from the train, the commander.
The girl barely has time to register the fact that these are the same four men, one of whom is black, the tarot players from the Paris-Nice TGV train – was it just this past afternoon? – when the grey-eyed man calls to them: “Come, girls, come!”
Flabbergasted, she watches as her three companions go to kneel before three of the men and, without even being asked, burrow inside their respective trousers and quickly gobble up the still soft cocks they discover there.
“Come here, young one,” the man insists.
And now she finds herself on her knees by the black man, but the cock surging through his fly is already hard. It’s like a long ebony stick, shining like polished wood under the light of the room’s lamps, its skin taut like bark, an endless mast whose girth is fortunately moderate, so she doesn’t have to dislocate her jaw to take it all into her mouth. However, the cock soon reaches the very back of her mouth and brings tears to her eyes, a sudden burst of nausea she represses as she moves her lips back down to the cock’s head. But soon she finds the right rhythm, the adequate depth.
“Keep at it,” says a voice.
The man exudes an animal smell, strong, tenacious. It occurs to her that she could well be sucking a horse or a wild beast. With the hand that is not holding on to his cards – none of the men has stopped playing – he occasionally applies pressure to her neck, precisely communicating the changes in rhythm he wants her to follow. He holds her by the chignon, forcing her to first slow down and savour every one of the centimetres she swallows and then relinquishes her; then he makes her speed up and suck faster and faster, as if he were about to ejaculate in ten seconds, each time assaulting the very back of her throat, fiercer every time.
All of a sudden, there is a clap of hands. The black man pulls her away and slides his cock out of her mouth. Fascinated, she looks at the glazed, obsidian member. He pulls her up, flips her round and throws her down on the table, pulling her skirt up at the same time. She is face down on the table, as are her three companions, heads aligned next to each other; her cheek touches Nora’s. The black man bends over her and with no word forces himself inside her. His saliva-coated cock plunges deep into her asshole, quickly reaching the bottom, and never before has she felt so deeply impaled. Like an iron bar reaching for her heart, then retreating, before digging into her again. Never has she been fucked in the ass so hard, so deep as by this harder than hard ebony-coloured cock, this iron cock, this cock from hell.