The days slipped into weeks, the weeks imperceptibly, into months, and almost before I realized it, a year had gone by. Barring the few disagreeable incidents of a minor nature such as those I have described, the time had been passed on the whole both pleasantly and profitably.
Miraculously, I had escaped all three of the afflictions whose menacing shadows are ever close at the heels of those who traffic with their sexual favours: syphilis, gonorrhoea and pregnancy, the Three Horsemen of the Prostitute's Apocalypse.
My health was good, and I had gained in weight, having added several pounds of flesh which improved my figure even though at the cost of some of the juvenile slimness which in the beginning had been such a valuable asset. Nevertheless, I had for some time been observing a gradual change in my physical orgasm which was becoming more and more pronounced, and the condition was one which is not common in the walk of life I frequented.
I will speak plainly. Sexual sensibility, which is that capacity to respond easily and actively to erotic excitation, diminish rapidly in the majority of professional prostitutes who are obliged to exercise their sexual functions with a frequency far in excess of the provisions of Nature. The sexual act becomes a mere routine in which pleasure or orgasm is only simulated to satisfy the customer's ego.
They moan and sigh and murmur passionate endearments, but if their minds could be read, the hollow mockery would be apparent, for one thought only occupies them: a wish to be finished and rid of the man as quickly as possible.
This is the rule which should have applied to me, but didn't.
Desires which should have been appeased by all too frequent gratification were quieted but for a moment, and almost at once flamed anew with increased insistence. And the tendency was growing. Strange as it may seem, sometimes after having had orgasm effected as many as half a dozen times in a single afternoon and evening, I was obliged to masturbate before being able to sleep.
Pathologically and physically, I was oversexed, designed, seemingly, by Mother Nature herself to be a whore.
Now in this propitious moment there entered into the horizon of my life, for the first time, a really sinister influence. And though in that influence I myself sensed a spirit of perversity I was drawn toward it like a moth to the candle. Knowing that the destiny it signified was evil, I had no wish to resist it.
Montague Austin-what memories that name evokes. Memories of passion, cruelty, horror, blended with the cloying and intoxicating poison of a transcendental lust which knew no law other than that of gratifying its own frenzy.
I was supposed to have been infatuated with the man, but I never loved him, nor thought I did. No, I did not love him, but I did love the mad transports, the exquisite torment of lust which he, as no other man before or since, had the power to awaken in me. As an addict to the scented dreams of opium, so did I become an addict to Montague Austin. He was to me a fatal drug which held me a willing victim in its embrace.
For the first time, in broaching the subject of a new patron to me, Madame Lafronde manifested a doubt as to the expediency of putting my youth and inexperience to the test which she clearly thought an alliance with Montague Austin would signify.
I had seen the man but once; he was not a regular habituate of Madame Lafronde's house, but her facilities for gathering information were such that within less than twenty-four hours his social position, resources, and such portions of his history as were available on such inquiry were known to her. All the information, excepting that which related to his economic situation, was unfavourable. She summed up her opinion in the one expressive word-rotter. But he had money, and money covers an otherwise inexcusable number of objectionable qualities. Possibly by the exercise of tact and vigilance I could handle him.
As for myself, I was the last person in the world to doubt my own capabilities, so Madame Lafronde finally and with patent misgivings, yielded to my complacent and optimistic self-assurance.
Now let us glance briefly at the man himself.
He was, at the time our paths crossed, thirty-four years of age. The younger son of a titled British aristocrat, he had inherited both money and social position. The social position had been forfeited by dissolute escapades, the money dissipated in part, but enough remained to qualify him still as a rich man. He was married, but according to rumour his profligate ways had brought about an irreconcilable estrangement with his consort.
At first glance one would have marked Montague Austin as an extremely good-looking man. But a less cursory observation would not have failed to disclose signs of a cynical and somewhat cruel character in his darkly handsome face and narrow mouth. A little above average height and signally favoured with regard to other physical characteristics, he was in truth a figure to intrigue feminine imagination.
In my brocade jacket, high-heeled slippers, and with my grenadier's cap tilted at a jaunty angle I was going through my customary antics one night when I suddenly felt myself clasped from behind, and turning, looked into the cynically smiling face of a man I had not previously seen among our parlour guests. I paused, waiting for him to release me, but instead, he swung me around, dropped an arm under my hips, and hoisted me, cigarette tray and all, into the air.
"There is a tide in the affairs of men," he quoted, "which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Baby, you're my tidal wave, the one I've been waiting for all my life!"
He got off this declaration with such well-simulated solemnity and impressiveness that all within hearing laughed, nor could I myself restrain a smile.
"I think you're the tidal wave," I retorted, "since I find myself quite swept off my feet. If you'll be so kind as to set me down, maybe I'll let you buy a packet of fags from me!"
"Lord love me!" he exclaimed tragically, "she peddles fags while Rome is burning! I perish for a kiss, and she offers nicotine!"
"Oh, all right!" I giggled, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Now be a nice man and let me down!"
He set me down on the floor, but still held me a prisoner with an arm under mine.
Yielding to his solicitation I unhooked the cigarette tray, placed it on a table, accompanied him to a secluded corner of the room, and let him take me upon his knee.
Dropping his bantering attitude he immediately became serious and asked for a room appointment. A shiver passed over me as his fingers boldly played with the nipples of my breasts. I glanced into his eyes but hastily lowered my gaze as something of the lustful obsession which was later to dominate me came into being. Sensing the absurdity of telling this man any fairy stories, I explained frankly that I was not permitted to make any appointments except through the intervention of Madame Lafronde.
"Ah, I see," he answered, taking in the situation instantly, "you're a special attraction. So much the better, I'll see her immediately, and I suppose there's no use of taking up any of your time until I do."
"Any of the other girls can make, room appointments." I preferred.
"Thanks for the information," he answered dryly, "but you've wrecked their chances. I couldn't even get a hard-on with any of them now."
"I've got a friend here," I murmured, looking around for Hester. "That's her over there by the door, the girl with the dark hair. She can give any man a hard-on. Shall I introduce you to her?"
"No thanks," he answered with but a brief glance in the direction I had indicated. "It's you or nobody now. When can I talk to your madam?"
"I'll tell her you want to speak to her, but I'm afraid it won't do any good."
"Possibly she can be persuaded. What's your name, baby?"
"Jessie." I replied.
"That's a nice name. Mine is Austin, Montague Austin, Monty to you.
Skip along and tell the old lady I want to speak to her privately."
The result of his interview with Madame Lafronde I have already made known. Inasmuch as I had now become quite a parlour attraction, having in addition to my earlier accomplishments learned a number of naughty songs and suggestive dances, she was loathe to concede any of the earlier hours of the night, but an understanding was reached where Montague Austin, or Monty as I shall henceforth refer to him, was to enjoy exclusive prerogatives over my person one night each week after the hour of twelve.
A feeling of lascivious exhilaration was welling within me as I groomed myself for our first rendezvous. I had lately noticed that the craving for more frequently repeated orgasm was growing on me. It seemed that no matter how often I had it, the longing was never completely satisfied. Even the two or three patrons I had who were sexually potent now left me with the irritated feelings of a woman whose passions have been inflamed and then abandoned in a smouldering state.
The effeminate Wainwright, who still came regularly, caused me almost frantic torture with his licking, and sucking, and despite the preoccupation and the watchfulness I was obliged to observe to keep him from biting my legs, he left me in such a state that I nearly always masturbated as soon as he had gone.
It was a little after eleven-thirty. I had slipped out of the parlour, abandoning for the night my role of cigarette girl, and was making my toilette, preparatory to Mr. Austin's promised call.
"How nice it would be," I thought, as I fluffed violet talc over my body,
"if this Austin would suck me French style and then fuck me about three times afterwards." My nerves tingled at the luscious vision thus evoked and a warm feeling crept through my body. The little scarlet tips of my bubbies swelled up and in the upper part of my cunny I could feel something else getting hard, too.
A few moments after twelve there was a discreet knock at my door and the maid appeared, inquiring whether I was ready to receive Mr.
Austin. At this moment I was standing before the mirror considering the dress I had tentatively chosen for the occasion, having yielded to an impulse to use one of the short black silk frocks which Daddy Heeley had bought me. Just why it had occurred to me to put on this juvenile costume on the present occasion I could not say; some vague intuition probably, but as it turned out, a fortunate one as far as the effect on my new patron was concerned, though until the arrival of the maid I was still debating, undecided whether to wear it or change to something else more in keeping with the circumstances.
"All right, Maggie," I answered, "you may bring him up."
I tied my short curls back in a cluster with a band of ribbon, sprayed them lightly with my favorite perfume, and was just adding a final touch of powder to my face when footsteps at the door announced the presence of my caller.
The door opened to admit him, closed again, and the steps of the maid receded down the hallway.
Mr. Austin paused in evident surprise as he took in the scene which confronted him, then his face lit up approvingly.
"Are you the same girl I was talking to downstairs last night?"
"You mean that bold little hussy who runs around with a cigarette tray, showing her legs to everyone?" I answered jocularly. "No, I'm her twin sister. She's off tonight, and asked me to entertain you in her place."
"Well!" I'm quite pleased with the substitution. You're much more attractive than your twin sister!"
"I'm glad you're not disappointed, Mr. Austin!"
"Not Mr. Austin; just Monty from now on, if you please!"
"Very well, Mr. Austin… I mean… Monty!" I agreed demurely.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries Mr. Austin proved again, as he had done previously, that he was a man who went promptly and without any unnecessary circumlocutions after whatever he wanted.
With just the same directness as that employed to overcome Madame Lafronde's reluctance, he proceeded to take immediate advantage, of the opportunity which was now his.
Abruptly he gathered me up in his arms and carried me to the bed.
Seating himself on the edge he bent over me and his hand began to rummage under my clothing. With just the proper simulation of embarrassment I offered to undress.
"Not yet," he answered, "you're too pretty a picture just as you are." But a moment later his questing hand encountered panties which, if not exactly finger-proof, were at least something of an obstacle to easy exploration. He fumbled with them for a moment, then flipped my dress up and on his own initiative set about to unfasten and remove the panties.
I laughed nervously as he pulled them down over my legs. Already I was on fire. My sensibilities were reacting to the brutally frank sexual influence which the man exerted, and covertly I glanced toward his lap. The cloth down the inside of one of his trouser legs was distended over an elongated swelling. It looked enormous. As though drawn by some inner force I placed my hand upon it. It throbbed to my touch and I squeezed it through the clothing which concealed it.
Whether the thoughts that occupied my mind while I had been preparing for his visit were due to a premonition or mere coincidence I cannot say, but the wish I had expressed in thought was converted into a reality.
My dress was up, my cambric panties had been pulled down over my legs and cast aside.
Monty, on the side of the bed, leaning over my knees and supporting his weight on a hand which rested on the bed between my open legs had caught his first glimpse of my naked cunny. His eyes glistened and a faint flush crept over his cheeks. With one sudden movement his face was between my thighs and his mouth nuzzling my cunny. A warm, soft tongue penetrated it, tapping, touching, caressing, and then moved upward. The hot glow of the caress thrilled my senses and I relaxed in languorous abandon to the delicious ravishment.
His lips clenched my clitoris; it pulsed in response to the tugging incitation so vigorously that I was obliged to draw away to avoid orgasm then and there. I was torn between two impulses; I wanted to let it "come" and at the same time I wanted the delightful ecstasy to last as long as possible.
The problem was not resolved by me, however, but by Monty, who raised up, ripped his trousers open and sprang upon the bed between my trembling legs.
Hard, rigid and hot I could feel it in there, distending my flesh to the limit of endurance, inspiring me with a wild desire to work on it rapidly, violently, until it poured out the balm which the fever within me craved. For an interval he remained poised above me, motionless, looking down into my face. His body did not move but within me I could feel the muscular contractions of the turgid thing which penetrated me. They followed each other with regular precision and each time I perceived that tantalizing twitch my ovaries threatened to release their own flood of pleasure tears.
"Oh!" I moaned finally, and unable to resist the urge, moved my hips in pleading incitation. "You've got me in such a state! Please do something!"
"All right! Come on!"
And in a second that rigid shaft was plunging in and out in a mad dance of lust.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" I gasped, and as though incited by my fervour, the turgid arm drove home in shorter, harder strokes.
Higher and higher mounted the swirling tides, lifting me upon their crest, no longer resisting, but an eager, willing sacrifice, panting to yield up the store of passion with which I was surcharged.
I perceived the approach of the crisis, that delicious prelude in which one trembles on the brink of ecstasy, in which the senses seem to hesitate for one sweet moment before the breathless plunge.
And in that critical moment the throbbing weapon which was working such havoc within my body suddenly ceased its movement and was held in rigid inactivity.
Above me I saw a face which smiled sardonically down into mine and vaguely I comprehended that he had stopped his movements with the deliberate intention of forestalling my orgasm in the last moment. But he had stopped too late, the tide had risen too high to recede and with but a momentary hesitation, it swept onward and carried me, gasping, writhing and swooning in its embrace.
When the, languid spell which always overcomes me after a hard orgasm had passed, I found him still crouched above me and his cock, as stiff and rigid as it had been at first, still inside me.
"Why did you stop just as I was coming?" I complained weakly. "You nearly made it go back on me!"
"That's what I was trying to do," he replied cynically, "but you put it over anyway. You know the old saying, baby, you can't eat your cake and have it, too. I like to enjoy the cake awhile before eating it."
"That's all very well," I rejoined, "but when there's plenty more cake in the pantry, there's no use being stingy with it."
"So!" he said, smiling, "there's plenty more in the pantry, is there? I'm glad to hear it. But tell me this, does the second piece ever taste as good as the first?"
"And how!" I exclaimed fervently. "The second piece tastes better than the first, and the third better than the second. The more I eat, the better I like it!"
He burst into laughter.
"You sound like you really mean it. I'd imagine that after a few months in a place like this you'd be so fed up on cake it would almost choke you. You're a cute youngster. You're wasting your talents here. What's the story? Innocence and inexperience taken advantage of by some bounder, I suppose?" he added quizzically.
"I'm here for two reasons," I answered calmly. "The first one is to earn money and the second one is because I like to do what I have to do to earn it."
"Well, bless my soul!" he gasped. "What refreshing frankness! And you really weren't seduced by a villain?"
"Seduced, nothing! I was the, one that did the seducing."
"Good for you! You're a girl after my own heart! You and I are going to get along famously, Tessie!"
"Not Tessie… Jessie!"
"Ah, yes; Jessie, Pardon me. Well, since you really like cake, how about another piece?"
"I'm ready whenever you are!"
"What do you say we get undressed, and really make a night of it? I didn't expect to stay all night, but I've changed my mind."
"That suits me, Mr. Austin. I'm yours… till tomorrow do us part!"
"Not Mr. Austin… Monty, if you please."
"All right… Monty!" I repeated, giggling.
Whereupon we untangled our respective anatomies, scrambled off the bed, and proceeded to disrobe.
That is, Monty stripped, but when I had gotten down to my hose and slippers he suggested that I retain these last articles of apparel for the moment. Odd, I thought, how so many men who get pleasure from the sight of a girl's otherwise naked body were so alike in preferring that she keep on the hose and slippers, and I murmured something to this effect to my new playmate.
"Very easily explained, my dear little girl," he replied. "Complete nudity may be as suggestive of cold chastity as obscenity, whereas, nudity supplemented by a pretty pair of silk-clad legs and neat slippers is the perfectly balanced picture of aesthetic lewdness."
"But suppose one's legs and feet are pretty enough to look good without stockings? Everybody says I have pretty legs!"
"It's not a question of beauty, but of eroticism. I'll make a clearer illustration. Suppose we take two girls, each equally pretty. One of them stands before us entirely naked. The other is dressed, but she raises her dress and holds it up so we can see her pussy. Which of the two is the most exciting sexually?"
"The one holding up her dress," I answered without hesitation.
"Right. And that's the answer to your question. You look naughtier with your hose and slippers than you would completely nude."
My attention was now distracted from the matter of my own nudity to that of my companion. His body was well formed and in admirable athletic trim. Smooth, round muscles rippled under the clear white skin, a pleasing contrast indeed to some of my other paunchy, flabby patrons. But most impressive of all was the rigid weapon which, during the conversation and undressing, continued to maintain its virile integrity, standing out straight and proud from his middle. I glanced at it admiringly.
"How did you ever get that big thing into me without hurting me?" I commented, as I considered its formidable proportions.
"It carries its own anaesthetic, baby."
"It looks strong enough to hold me up without bending."
"Baby, it's invincible. I could put you on it and whirl you around like a pinwheel."
"I'll take the starch out of it and make it melt down fast enough."
"That's a big order. You may lose a lot of starch yourself trying."
"Ha!" I scoffed, "I wager it will be curled up fast asleep in an hour's time."
A prediction which, as things transpired, turned out to be about one hundred percent wrong.
I returned to the bed and Monty, following me, placed himself on his knees between my outstretched legs. Gripping the cheeks of my bottom in his strong hands as he sank down upon me, he pushed home the lethal shaft.
Our previous encounter had hardly more than whetted my appetite, so, as soon as I felt his cock well inside, I raised my legs, hooked them over his back, and without loss of time began to work against him.
Apparently satisfied with my initiative, he remained still and let me proceed unhindered.
Grinding my loins against him I could feel his pubic hair compressed against my cunny. Moving my bottom from side to side, then shifting into undulating, circular movements, I sought to capture a second instalment of the cloying sweetness with which Mother Nature rewards the efforts of those who labour diligently in her garden.
The first warning of the approaching crisis was manifested by the muscular quivering of my thighs, and Monty, still squeezing the cheeks of my bottom, commenced to raise and lower himself upon me with slow, deliberate thrusts. Now the length of the hot thing was entirely buried within me, distending my flesh to the utmost; I could feel it pressing my womb. Now, it was coming out, slowly, slowly, out until naught but the very tip lay cuddled against the quivering lips of my cunny.
A pause, a teasing agony of expectation, and it was going in again, in, in, until the crisp hair at the base was again pressed against my clitoris.
Orgasm was creeping upon me, I could feel it coming, and in a frenzy of impatience, I launched my hips upward to meet the thrusts, but, instead of continuing its trajectory, it remained poised midway in its course. My orgasm was trembling in the balance. In desperation I brought it to its fulfilment with a supreme effort and fell back, half fainting.
"What is that, Mister, a system?" I panted when I could speak. "You played that same trick on me the other time!"
An hour later the suspicion was beginning to dawn on me that, in the realms of erotic prowess, I had met my master. Two hours later, I knew it for a certainty. I had experienced nearly a dozen orgasms while my partner's cock was still stiff and rigid as it had been at the start. On each occasion he had succeeded in making me have an ejaculation without himself rendering any accounting to Nature. It lacked but a few minutes to three.
"You look a bit fagged, baby," he said smiling quizzically. "Think you can stand one more piece of cake?"
"Yes!" I replied valiantly, although in truth I was beginning to feel like a squeezed-out sponge. For once in my life I had about had my fill.
This time he rolled me over on my side and with his stomach against my back and his legs pressed against mine, he put it into me from behind, spoon fashion.
I thought to turn the tables on him and, by lying perfectly still, oblige him to work himself into a spending heat. But it was unnecessary. He was done playing with me and went right to work on his own accord.
Before long the pressure of his arms tightened about me and I tensed by body against the harder plunges as a hot flood was loosed inside me with such force that I could distinguish each separate gush as it flung itself against my womb.
I held rigid for a moment in my determination not to let myself go, but the feel of that hot stuff spurting inside me worked havoc with my intentions and about the time the fourth or fifth jet hit me, the brake slipped and I was off again!
The aftermath of this last orgasm was a feeling of extreme lassitude and I was entirely agreeable when my companion, having apparently no further immediate designs upon my person, suggested that we turn out the light and sleep. I dragged myself from the bed, attended to the customary hygienic requirements, divested myself of my slippers and hose, put on a silk shift, slipped back into bed beside him, and in probably less than ten minutes was deep in sleep.