I had been with Madame Lafronde about three months when the patronage of Mr. Thomas, another well-to-do but also middle-aged gentleman was steered my way by the astute old lady.
Things had run along in a pleasant manner; I had gotten along very well with Madame Lafronde. She seemed to take a genuine interest in my welfare, and some of the girls who had at first treated me with a certain coolness, doubtless inspired by the fear that patrons might be tempted from them by my juvenile coquetteries, had been won over and were now cordial and friendly.
Mr. Thomas was too much a man of the world to be at all deceived on the matter of my alleged innocence, but beyond passing a few halfcomical, half-cynical observations, he did not dwell on the subject.
Although this gentleman was fairly well along in years, he was hale and robust and had no physical deficiencies. My relations with Mr.
Thomas were so entirely normal, or so purely ethical, if I may use the term, that there is little to tell which would be of interest.
Like Mr. Heely, he was a single man, but there the similarity ended. He had engaged my companionship for one quite specific purpose, and between times regaled me with piquant accounts of amorous adventures during his younger days in Ceylon. With apparently no qualms of conscience to disturb him, he told me of having fucked little native girls of eight, nine and ten years of age, of having two or three of them in bed with him at the same time, and of other salacious combinations.
I say he regaled me with these stories "between times" because it was his regular and unvarying procedure to do it to me twice on each of his visits. He was entitled, by virtue of an exorbitant fee paid for my companionship, to pass the entire night, but he never stayed after the termination of the second act. He arrived generally around ten o'clock, spent an hour amusing himself in the parlour, and then came upstairs, where I was waiting for him. He was always prepared for an immediate encounter with a hard-on which belied his years, the potency of which was probably contributed to by aphrodisiacal sights, conversations, and liquor in the parlour.
When the first episode was concluded an hour would be passed in conversation, stories and banter while I sat on his lap naked. As he talked, his hands roved over my body, caressing my legs, thighs, and breasts, and lingering on my hairless cunny where the tantalizing touches kindled fevers in my organism while his own recovered its original potency. When he was ready for the second round we repaired again to the bed and I lay on my back with legs clamped around his middle and wriggled my bottom until I coaxed his second spend from him, whereupon he was ready to cry quits, and I was free for the rest of the night.
This man frequently disconcerted me with some outlandish story, told so seriously that I never failed to be taken in. While in charge of a plantation he had taken a baby, left to the vicissitudes of life through orphanage, and with no facilities other than those available in isolated bachelor quarters, had endeavoured to care for it and attend to its requirements.
What a kind-hearted man, I thought, much impressed with the patience and benevolence the act implied, and passed some observation to this effect.
"She was a pretty little thing," he concluded, puffing meditatively at his cigar.
"Ah… it was a girl," I murmured.
"Yes. She had the most beautiful skin, a soft, olive tint. It was like silk to the touch. And her bubbies, not any bigger than orange halves, but as firm and…"
"How old was that baby?" I interrupted.
"Oh, she was eleven or twelve, I guess."
"It was indeed noble of you to have cared for her so tenderly, Mr.
Thomas," I answered with heavy sarcasm. "I presume dressing and undressing her, bathing her and so on must have signified quite a sacrifice of time and labour for you. Possibly you even had to share your bed with her?"
"Unfortunately, there was only one bed in the place. And I couldn't let the poor little thing sleep on the floor, of course."
"Of course not!"
Next on the list came Mr. Castle. This gentleman had a complex for strange and unusual postures in sexual intercourse, and also an itch to experiment along lines somewhat contrary to the plans of Nature.
Only the fact that he was both liberal and possessed of unfailing good humour made association with him supportable. Had it been possible to offend him, my angry reactions to some of his droll impudence's would quickly have terminated our relationship.
No sooner was the door closed behind us on the occasion of his first bedroom visit than I was startled to find myself suddenly seized from behind and tumbled forward so that while the weight of my body fell upon my hands and wrists, my legs were caught and held under his arms.
In this undignified position, with my short skirts fluttering about my face and head, and with my bare bottom and all there was between my legs exposed, I struggled and protested angrily, but to no avail, for with imperturbable aplomb, while still imprisoning my kicking legs under his strong arms, he unfastened the front of his trousers and in an instant I felt his cock poking against my inverted cunny.
I tried to evade its thrusts as I sputtered angry protests, but he had me in such a position that I was quite helpless and in another moment I felt it going in, in this upside down fashion. The whole thing was finished and over almost before I was conscious of the pain which his cock, pressing against the side of my womb in this unnatural position, caused me.
He was what is termed in professional circles a "fast shooter," one of those men whose orgiastic reaction is so rapid as to require but a few thrusts. In the midst of my kicking and squealing I felt the hot gushes followed by the wet, sticky trickle of semen down over my stomach. A second later he released me and sank down on the bed, shaking with laughter while I, after regaining my feet, stood before him, my face flushed with indignation, protesting such cavalier treatment.
"Excuse me, Sister," he gasped finally between gusts of laughter. "I'm sorry I was so rude. It's a weakness I have… I just can't resist temptation!"
"Well, why are you laughing about it, then?" I demanded, only halfappeased by the doubtful apology.
"Ha, ha, ha! If you only knew how funny you looked, standing on your head, with your cute little cunny upside down!"
"Oh!" I gasped, my indignation mounting anew, but before I could formulate a sufficiently withering retort, he continued:
"There was something… something… ah, yes; how is it your cunny hasn't any fur? I've seen them shaved off before, but they're like a man's chin, you can feel the bristles even after a close shave. Your pussy felt as smooth as silk. Let's take a peek at it, Sister!"
I was still palpitating with anger, but under such ludicrous circumstances it could not last long and finally I smiled in spite of myself.
"You're a very abrupt person," I said. "Since you believe in caveman tactics, it's a wonder you bother about asking me to let you see it."
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than he acted on the suggestion. His hand closed over my wrist and I was jerked none too gently to the bed and tumbled over on my back. Again I raged helplessly while, shaking with irrepressible laughter, he adroitly subjected my wrists by holding them in one hand, and with the other pulled up my dress.
Apparently unfamiliar with the properties of depilatory agents, his visual and tactile examination seemed to convince him that the denuded condition was a natural one, which greatly intrigued his interest. While I continued to rage futilely, he felt and squeezed the naked lips and surrounding parts, and still not content, decided to have some more fun with me.
No one except a woman who has suffered the indignity can comprehend the conflict of emotions undergone in being jacked-off forcibly against her wishes. It is quite one thing to submit to the manipulation when it is desired, and another to be forced.
As the ball of the clown's finger rotated against my clitoris the treacherous little organ stiffened up in response, contrary to my wishes and despite all the mental influence I could bring to bear on it. When I breathed curses and demands for instant release it pulsed with increasing vigour under the friction, with the inevitable result that my resistance was suddenly stifled and my angry exclamations quite involuntarily changed into surprising moans.
The orgasm diminished my anger somewhat but I still felt resentful and complained bitterly of having been treated in such an outrageous manner.
"It was just the same as a rape!" I protested.
"Rape? Rape?" And again he burst into laughter. "That's a new one on me, Sister! I never knew before that a girl could be raped by a finger!"
"Well," I answered, my natural good humour beginning to assert itself,
"it amounts to the same thing. When you make a girl do something against her wishes, it's rape, even if you do it with your finger!"
It was impossible to stay angry with this comical buffoon, and being further mollified by a gift of respectable denomination, I found myself looking forward to his next call, if not with longing, at least with curiosity.
The next eccentricity he manifested was a desire to try an inexhaustible number of unusual and strange positions. Because of the rapidity with which orgasm overtook him, the only way he could avoid ejaculation and prolong these experiments was to take his cock out of me after making a few quick movements. Naturally, this was very tantalizing, for it made me hot without satisfying me, but I had to stand it as best I could.
Obligingly following his instructions I stood on the floor, bent over, my hands resting on my knees, and let him do it to me from behind. I lay doubled up in a ball on the bed with my knees crooked forward against my chest while he knelt in front of me, I sat spiked on his lap in a rocking chair, I lay on my back on a table with my legs over his shoulders and went through other equally strained and arduous exercises wondering all the while why a man should want to take such roundabout and complicated roads to reach a place which was accessible by shorter and easier routes. All these strenuous gymnastics just to make a few drops of semen come out of his testicles, a result I could have attained for him in ten seconds if left to my own devices.
But it wasn't until a subsequent visit that I found I had more objectionable things still to contend with.
This time he had me on my hands and knees on the bed and was kneeling behind me. This is the position known as "dog fashion" in the social circles of prostitution, and inasmuch as it projects a woman's cunt out quite prominently, she has to be careful that the man does not injure her by too deep a penetration, especially if he has a large cock.
I felt his cock pushing against me, but it was aimed too high, and was prodding my bottom instead of my cunny. At first I thought that this was just an accident and putting my hand behind me I shoved it downward and got it headed in the right direction. But after two or three vague pushes, it slipped out and again I felt it punching against my bottom, this time in such a determined manner that it almost got its head inside.
Again I reached behind me to push it away, but he resisted the effort, and leaning over my back, whispered:
"Don't push it away. Let it go in for just a moment!"
"I will not!" I exclaimed, and jerked free from his embrace.
"There, there!" he answered, soothingly, "I was just teasing you, Sis!
Come on and lets finish. I have to get away early tonight."
Rather reluctantly, and on the alert for a new attack on the unguarded spot, I again braced myself on my hands and knees, but this time he let Nature take her course in normal channels.
From this time on the man was unable to resist the temptation to try to do it to me in the bottom on every occasion which presented itself.
Determinedly I resisted blandishments, coaxings, and even treacherous efforts to catch me unawares, but it got on my nerves and brought choleric protestations to my lips. In justice to Mr. Castle, I must say that he took my angry rebuffs and blunt refusals to gratify his unnatural whim in good spirit and unfailing pleasant humour.
It was then I intimated to Madame Lafronde that it would not hurt my feelings were his affections tactfully transferred to some other girl, but I was ashamed to tell her the exact reason.
"Why don't you want him?" she insisted.
"Well, I finally said, "he has crazy ideas. The first night I had an appointment with him he stood me on my head and did it to me upside down!"
"What!" she expostulated. "Is that the only reason you dislike him?"
Abashed, I made a clean breast.
"No, it isn't! If you must know, I'll tell you! He never gives me a moment's peace from wanting to do it to me in the bottom!"
I expected that this revelation would bring a decided expression of indignation from Madame Lafronde and that she would now be willing to concede that Mr. Castle was indeed a most objectionable client.
But, after gazing at me a moment, she began to laugh heartily.
"And is that all that is wrong with him?"
"Isn't that enough?" I responded stiffly.
"My word, girl," answered the old lady, "there is no pleasant road to success in anything, not even in whoring. You're going to meet men far more difficult to deal with than this Mr. Castle, so you must now learn how to get what you want from them and how to evade what you don't want by using diplomacy. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I don't know about that, I never did much cooking, but you can take my word for it that the way to his purse is through his cock.
And his purse will stay open just as long as you keep his cock in a good humour and no longer!"
I was not too dense or too stubborn to comprehend the wisdom of her philosophy and I did indeed learn eventually that more could be accomplished by cunning and diplomacy than by angry words.
"Sometime," I murmured to Mr. Castle one night as I deftly evaded a sly attempt on my bottom, "sometime, I'm going to let you do that, just to see what it feels like… but not tonight!"