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 pantomine 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.
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 ebulation. 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 traveled 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 totaled 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 neighborhood 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 parlor.
This was an unprecedented variation of the house regime, and I stared at her in surprise.
“Who is it?” I asked wonderingly.
“Don't sit there asking questions. Get up; comb your hair, put on a dressing gown and go downstairs.”
Plainly, Madame was not in the best of humor at having been obliged to get out of bed at this hour. There was something ominously mysterious about this matter. In my mind I endeavored to find an explanation. With chilling apprehension there came across my thoughts the suspicion that it was in some way connected with the reformatory. Maybe they had discovered how I was living and had come to get me! My face paled and I glanced toward Madame Lafronde. Her expression told me nothing.
“Is there anything wrong?” I whispered.
“You'll think there's something wrong if you ever have anyone call here again at this hour!”
“But…” I protested, “I have never made any morning appointments with anyone!”
“Oh, it's nothing serious. Here, slip this on,” she answered, holding my dressing gown for me. “Tidy yourself a bit and hurry up so I can get back to sleep.”
Nervously, I tied my short curls with a ribbon, dabbed a little powder on my face and followed her downstairs where, after motioning toward the parlor, she left me and retired in the direction of her own sleeping quarters.
Still wondering who in the world could have had the temerity to upset the house traditions by calling at this hour, I pushed aside the curtains and entered the room.
Standing with his back toward me, looking out of the window, was the figure of a man I did not at first recognize. I approached hesitatingly, and as he heard my footsteps, he turned and faced me.
For a moment I stood paralyzed, unable to move or utter a word.
It was Rene.
The letter I had written to his friend with seemingly fruitless results had in the end been the instrument of our reunion, for through the address I had given in the letter Rene had been able to locate me without loss of time or difficulty.
He had come directly to the house, and Madame, on being informed that I was his sister, had consented to call me without delay.
In a flash we were in each other's arms, both talking at once. For an hour I sat on his lap, listening to the story of his adventures and misadventures. Shamefacedly, he confessed that, as I had divined, a long period of hardship, during which he had suffered many vicissitudes and disappointments, had been the cause of his silence.
“But, darling!” I interposed reproachfully, “I could have helped you so easily. I have lots of money saved, if I had only known how to reach you I could have sent you some!”
Our conversation was interrupted by the maid, who had come in to clean the parlor.
“Come on up to my room, darling, we can talk there, and I'll have the girl send us up some coffee and cakes!”
With his arm about my waist we ascended the carpeted and padded stairs. Within my room I hastily gathered up such pieces of clothing as were lying carelessly about and straightened out my disordered bed while Rene gazed about in evident wonderment.
“Gee, this is a regular palace you're in, Sis,” he mused. “Just what kind of a place is it? That old dame wasn't going to let me see you until I told her you were my sister.”
“Oh, Rene, don't you know what kind of a place it is?” I asked, in surprise.
“Well… I've got an idea. If s a kind of sporting house, isn't it?”
“Yes, it is, Rene.”
“Gee, Sis, I'm sorry. I'll find some kind of work and get you out of it.”
“But I don't want to get out! I'm getting along fine; its easy, and I don't mind it at all! Really, I don't! Madame Lafronde is awfully good to me, Rene, and you'll be surprised when you see how much money I've got!”
“It's supposed to be a tough life for a girl, but gee, Sis, you look absolutely topping. Word of honor,” he added, standing in front of me and holding my arms, “you don't look a day older than you did when I went away. In fact…” he continued, eyeing me in a puzzled way, “you actually look younger!”
I laughed contentedly as he continued to look at me, perplexed.
“It's your hair, for one thing. Why did you cut it short? It's cute that way, but it makes you look like a kid!”
“That's what it's supposed to do,” I replied, giggling. “Some of our most valued patrons are freaks that can't get a hard-on unless they think they're fucking an infant. Look…” I added, raising the short crepe-de-chine slip I had on under my dressing gown so that he could see my hairless cunny, “more of my disguise!”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Rene, breathing harder, “it gives me a funny feeling to see it like that, Sis! Reminds me of when it really was that way. But how did you get the hair off so smooth?” he continued, touching me gingerly with his fingers.
“It's some paste I put on it. It makes the hair come out clear down to the roots. Do you like it that way?” I asked, eyeing him mischievously. “You used to think one wasn't much good until it had hair on it.”
“Gee, Sis, it looks good enough to eat! And your legs, why, Sis, you always did have pretty legs, but honest, they're perfect now; you're the best-looking girl I ever saw!”
What feminine heart wouldn't have thrilled at such sincere tribute as this?
“Oh, Rene, you old darling!” I murmured, half crying, half laughing as I put my arms around him and squeezed up to him. “I missed you so much! I never have had a fellow half as good as you! I've just lain awake nights remembering all the things we used to do! Sometimes when fellows were doing it to me I closed my eyes and made believe it was you, but nobody could ever make me feel the same as you did!”
Against my stomach as I clung to him I could feel the warm pressure of something hard and rigid which was pulsing with enough vigor to make its movements perceptible through our respective clothing. I slipped my hand down inside the waistband of his trousers and sought out the disturbing element. A shiver passed through me as my fingers closed around the turgid object and a vertigo of longing which demanded immediate satisfaction, overwhelmed me.
“Oh, Rene, darling, it feels so good to have this in my hand again! I'll bet it's been up inside lots of girls since I had it last, though. Are those Canadian girls very pretty, Rene?” I asked, the eternal feminine rising to the surface as in my imagination I pictured Rene with other girls.
“Some of them aren't so bad, but I never saw one that could hold a candle to you, Sis!” Rene replied uncomfortably.
“Come on, Rene!” I panted, “let's do it quick! Nobody is up yet, but as soon as the girls are awake, I'll have to introduce you to them!”
I flung myself on the bed, and in a jiffy the object for which I was palpitating with burning ardor was buried in my trembling flesh. With my arms entwined about Rene's neck I fluttered and moaned and received his thrusts in a regular frenzy of emotion. In it went, until I could feel his crisp hair pressed against my naked parts, and as if this penetration were not enough I hurled myself up against it and pressed with all my might so that it might reach the innermost depths of my being. Moaning, gasping, suspiring, and murmuring hysterical endearments, I clung to him, my arms clasped about his neck and my legs clenched over his strong back while my flanks quivered and strained to draw from his as quickly as possible the satisfying balm my body craved.
Hardly had I recovered from my first orgasm when there was a discreet knock at the door. While Rene hastily buttoned up his clothing I took from the maid a tray with coffee and toast. My hands were still trembling from the recent exhilaration, and my face was flushed and hot.
We lingered over our coffee for another hour, talking, laughing, reminding each other of little incidents which stood out prominently in our memories of the past.
“Do you remember when that little Marshall girl's mother caught you trying to do it with her in the coal shed?”
“I'll say I remember it! She gave me such a lacing with an old belt that I couldn't walk straight for a week. Do you remember how Mr. Peters used to send me out on fake errands so he could have you alone in the house and diddle you with his fingers?”
And so, immersed in reminiscences of the past, some laughable, some pathetic, some tragic, the time flew by, and the sound of movement and conversation elsewhere in the house reminded me that it was high noon.
“I'm going to call Hester to introduce you to her. She's the girl that was with me in that darned old reformatory. She's my best friend; if it hadn't been for her, I don't know what would have happened to me.”
I jumped up and went directly to Hester's room. Finding her awake and languidly engaged in combing her luxuriant hair I danced up to her.
“Oh, Hester, I've got the grandest surprise for you! Powder your nose and come quick to my room. There's somebody there waiting to see you! It's my brother Rene, come back from Canada! He came at nine o'clock this morning and Lafronde woke me up! I bet you'll fall in love with him when you see him; he's the handsomest fellow you ever saw!”
My excitement was contagious, and Hester rushed to make herself presentable. As soon as she was ready I led her to my room where Rene was waiting.
“This is Hester, my very dearest friend, Rene. Next to you, I love her more than anyone in the world!”
“Gee, I don't blame you for loving her, Sis!” exclaimed Rene, as he jumped to his feet and admiringly appraised Hester's dark beauty. “I could love her myself without half trying!”
“Well,” I said, judiciously, “she's the only girl in the world that would be good enough for you, and you're the only fellow in the world that would be good enough for her, so that leads to only one logical conclusion.”
Hester stayed with us until, despite my protestations to the contrary, she felt that we might wish to be alone, and with a promise to see Rene again before he left, she slipped out, closing the door behind her.
Rene wished to leave around one-thirty, and anxious to be as close to him as possible during the remainder of his visit, I again sat on his lap. Before long, new temptation began to assail me. Tentatively, I felt around inside his clothing with my hand until I found what I was searching for. It stiffened out magically under my fingers. For a few minutes I squeezed it, thrilling to the quick transformation and the significant throbbing which my touch had evoked.
“Once more… before you go?” I whispered, squeezing it tightly.
“Just what I was thinking myself!” he answered huskily.
“You lie underneath and let me get on top, like we used to do in the attic!” I suggested.
“Suits me, absolutely.”
And this is how it happened that Hester, returning to bid Rene good-bye as she had promised, on opening the door was confronted by a most poetic sight.
I, for greater freedom of movement, had thrown off the dressing gown and, crouched over Rene with my bottom in the air, was working frantically up and down on the pivotal point which projected from his middle.
“T-a-ah!” she gasped, ”… I didn't think… excuse me…!” and she closed the door and fled precipitately.
“I forgot to lock the door!” I murmured, guiltily.
“Not the first time, Sis!” he retorted.
“Well, it doesn't make any difference here,” I answered, resuming my efforts to attain the objective which had been uppermost in my mind up to the moment of interruption.
After Nature had taken her pleasant and satisfying course and the inward fires which consumed me had again been temporarily lulled with a copious shower of masculine sperm, Rene departed.
Hester had not returned, and so as soon as I had bidden him good-bye at the door, I returned to her room upstairs.
“Jessie!” she exclaimed, “you could have knocked me down with a feather!”
“Oh, that was nothing,” I answered lightly, thinking she had reference to opening the door without knocking. “It didn't startle your modesty, did it?”
“But… but… your own brother!” she whispered, in low, shocked tones.
For a moment I failed to grasp the import of her words. When comprehension dawned on me, I burst into laughter.
“Didn't you know, ha! ha! ha! Didn't I tell you, Rene isn't my real brother, he isn't any blood relation to me at all, he's only a stepbrother!”
A look of relief passed over Hester's face.
“Jesse, no! You never told me that before! You used to talk about him in the reformatory, but you never said he wasn't your real brother. Gosh! I never was so surprised in all my life as when I opened that door and saw you on top of him, naked! I could hardly believe my eyes!”
“We were just renewing an old love affair that started when he was eight and I was six!” I answered, laughing. “What did you think of him?”
“Well,” she replied, smiling, “let's go downstairs right now and tell Lafronde that we've just discovered we're lost sisters, so the next time he comes, he can be a brother to both of us!”