a little and Michael felt his cock retreat from its delicious, warm haven. Then, with a little gasp of ecstasy, she returned all of him to her bower.
Michael took a deep breath, and then he began to join his rhythm to that of his newfound mistress. The naked beauty on top of him began to wriggle, undulate and squirm. She arched herself, only to sink back down on him with ever-quickening movements. His rigid ramrod burrowed savagely into the convulsing channel behind her moistening quim.
Michael began to pant. He could feel the wild spasms of his little Madcap. His fingers dug deeper into the satiny bottom globes, regulating her movements now, guessing from the weavings and contractions of her voluptuous bare backside the precise tempo of her self-impalement.
“Give… my darling Madcap… give,” he almost shouted. “Don't worry about my keeping up with you. I am ready anytime… yes… now, now! Aaah!!!”
He felt the torrential, explosive power in his loins break past his power of self-control while, at the same moment, Julia, her eyes rolling, humid and glazed, uttered hoarse and wordless cries of incredible rapture. She ground herself against him, her nails dug hard in his back as his fingers kneaded her buttocks. The quake seized them both and nearly threw them to the floor. Entwined, mouth crushing against mouth and tongues slithering together, they lay motionless together for an eternity. Only the faint sound of tiny, sobbing breaths escaped them.
Finally they got up. Julia, threw a huge Persian scarf around her shoulders, which covered her completely. Michael began to put on his clothes.
“Who you are, my dearest Madcap, I do not know. I do know that I have just felt within my grasp the heavenly moments I have always waited for. You do not have to tell me, ever if you don't want to, what your name is. What could a name tell me that I do not know about you already? But please, my dear Madcap, assure me again that I have your solid promise. Will you visit me at my studio? Shall we have breakfast together? And can I say that I hope to see you soon?”
“My dear friend, I always keep my word. I shall see you the day after tomorrow.”
Michael left, his heart filled with song and joy. Julia went to the suite she always occupied when she visited Charmettes. She, too, discovered that her heart was no longer empty. She could barely count the hours till she would be together again with her divine artist.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
While Julia was exploring the ways of love with Michael Lompret, her sister was busily engaged with Maxim de Berny. She had taken up much of her time, ably assisted by Dorothy, to furnish the place in such a way as to give enough hints to Maxim how she expected to be loved. The tremendous screwing he had given her at Madame Lucy's party was still vivid in her memory. She had loved every moment of it, once his enormous tool had found its way into her belly, but the fear of getting with child prevented her from wanting it that way again.
Thus, Maxim had to be taught. He had never recognized her, and therefore Florentine had completely reorganized her little boudoir.
When Dorothy let the young man enter, the room indicated with statuettes and pictures what many people do not dare say openly. It said that love was not merely a raw and quick way of male satisfaction. It is that there was more to lovemaking than to just screw away on top of each other and then roll away sleepily and satisfied. It implied that there was another way of giving a certain Lady Evergreen the greatest pleasure and ecstasy in a manner which some people call sinful and sick.
But Florentine had told herself with the utmost logic that the entire affair was not for the satisfaction of a certain Maxim de Berny, but for the greatest pleasure of a widow Vaudrez. What she did in that house in Paris was strictly for her own satisfaction.
“Why,” she had asked herself, “should I endure all sorts of caresses and lovemaking I don't like, and hardly ever receive what I crave? In that case,” she continued her justifying monologue of so many sleepless nights, “I might as well get married again, and then I won't have to be afraid of any embarrassing mishaps. If Maxim does not want to follow my wishes, the sphinx will have to remain a sphinx to him, and I shall have to look for another lover. I wonder what Julia is up to. She asked me so suddenly and without any warning to leave Charmettes. Oh, well, I'm glad that the new reception room here is completed, and tomorrow we can exchange our experiences again.”
It was almost as important to Florentine to relive her experiences by telling them to Julia to the last detail, as it was to have the experience. Sometimes Julia worried about her beautiful blonde sister, hoping fervently that the virile Maxim de Berny would succeed in breaking down Florentine's basic coldness. If she had known what Dorothy's advice would be, she would surely have given her trusted maid a severe tongue lashing.
As it was, Dorothy guided Maxim into the little reception room where the two women intended to have him cool his heels for a while. It was a small room, the walls covered with soft green silk. Strings of gilded flowers connected the eight corners. A long, oriental couch covered with the same green silk was built along the walls. A crystal and porcelain chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling threw its clear light on the statuary grouped around the room, and the pictures hanging from the wall. A smaller heater in the middle of the room wafted an aromatic smell.
“Madame offers her excuses for being tardy.” Dorothy said, “and begs his Lordship to wait for her.” She left Maxim alone. Soon, he began to get bored, and looked around.
“This room must have been decorated by one of the best interior decorators of Paris. That's a lead I must follow. There aren't many of them, and there are also very few gorgeous blondes. Now it's simply child's play to find out who she is. But what the devil is this. Am I supposed to find out for myself who she is, or are those articles brought together for some other purpose? They surely don't belong in a boarding school for girls! This here must be Venus. She is making love to Mars. But I have never seen a statue like this. There is another nymph, or goddess, helping her! Poor Mars. And this statue is almost remarkably alive. The goddess seems to be secretly in love with herself, contemplating her own voluptuous charms. And this one! Oh, oh! That has nothing to do with classical mythology. She is beautiful and alone. But she does not seem to mind because she is very busy making love to herself. Priestess and victim at the same time? It's terrible, my dear little girl, to do these beautiful things all by your lonely self. You should ask some nice little boy to help you. But to look at the face of this little girl, it seems that the sculptor caught her at the right moment. An expression like that means only one thing. She's coming! God, I wish I had been that happy sculptor! Lady Evergreen has quite a collection. It seems to me that this daughter of Eve ignores the Laws of Moses. At least it does not seem to me that she is overly concerned about the terrible punishments with which the good Lord threatens those who eat of the forbidden fruit. There is another lady, in an almost life-size painting who is having her cunt treated in such a way as procreation surely never intended. Well, anyhow, she has an accomplice who seems to enjoy it tremendously. The woman is very beautiful, and the way she has her white thighs clamped around the neck of her lover, it almost makes me horny to look at it. Come on, my dear boy, stretch out your lecherous tongue a little further. I know out of experience that the job is very demanding. But it's also terribly exciting, and you can be assured of great rewards. The expression of utter abandon and happiness on this woman's face is a work of art. I wonder who the painter is. That man isn't very good looking. Come to think of it, only the women in this curious collection are delectable and beautiful. I wonder if Lady Evergreen is about ready to receive me.”
During this monologue, Maxim had investigated and admired every statuette, painting and etching. He now walked back to the couch and began to leaf through an album which was put on one of the little end tables. It was filled with erotic picture. However, every single one of them portrayed lesbian scenes. He began to think.
“Now what,” he asked himself, “would be the purpose of this long waiting, and this homosexual exhibition. Why am I supposed to sit among undoubtedly the most expensive collection of lesbian curiosa in all of Paris?”
And suddenly, in a flash, it came to him. He was leafing through an album with exquisite engravings. There was a couple, engaged in about every position of lovemaking one could think of. Only one position was missing. The one in which a man could get a woman with child!
And under the last engraving, written in a woman's style, it said, “Surely there are enough possibilities to express one's love, and to reach the highest peaks of ecstasy without using that one.”
“Only a real ass needs more explanation,” Count de Berny said to himself, “and I surely must have been one
