was transfixing her. With each of her downward lunges my hand was compressed between the two bodies, and each time it was compressed my own clitoris throbbed in sympathy.
Hester began to moan softly. A delicate color crept into her pretty cheeks, and her movements became more vigorous. As I perceived the more forceful pressure of her moist cunny crushing down upon my fist, and the strong, regular pulsations in the hard flesh about which my fingers were clenched, the fires of reawakened lust again blazed within me. My sexual potency was back in full force.
In this opportune moment Mr. Hayden murmured something to Hester. Instantly she ceded the post of honor, slipped forward, and again crouched over his face. A second later I was on the throne she had vacated, and with my arms embracing her from behind, was quivering in response to the throbbing of the rigid shaft which penetrated me and filled me with its soul-stirring warmth.
To the accompaniment of Hester's low moans as a vigorous and active tongue teased her organism into expression I gasped out my own ecstasy and clung to her, half-fainting, while jet after jet of the hot balsam of life flung itself against my womb.
I was no longer a novice. I had graduated from the chippy stage of harlotry and was a full-fledged practitioner of the oldest profession. I was now a professional prostitute.
Mr. Hayden came regularly, adhering faithfully to his program of impartiality, and his visits were interludes in which both Hester and I forgot the sordid, commercialized circumstances under which we were prostituting our bodies and enjoyed ourselves like healthy, robust young animals.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next patron to whom my companionship was pledged by the astute Madame Lafronde was Mr. Heely. Mr. Heely had been until now what was termed an occasional parlor visitor. He drank little and had never taken a girl upstairs, but he was very liberal with gratuities and it was suspected that he was more than well-to-do. He was a man somewhat between fifty-five and sixty, very courtly and dignified, a gentleman of the old school.
Until my advent in the bordello he had, on the occasion of his rather infrequent visits, confined himself to sitting quietly in a corner, a silent onlooker as a rule, sipping an occasional peculiar combination of liquor which was mixed in accordance with his own instructions. Sometimes he would engage a girl in conversation and after he had departed the subject of the conversation would be reported with considerable amusement. The nice old gentleman could find nothing more interesting to discuss with a half-naked girl than politics, economics and postwar social problems!
Nevertheless, the rewards which were falling to girls who were alert enough to accord him courteous hearing were sufficiently generous to have attracted Madame Lafronde's unerring eye, and she had him tabulated for future attention.
Now I had observed a more than casual interest in Mr. Heely's attitude toward me in the course of my ambulations about the salon, and had perceived the covert squeeze he always gave my hand as he pressed a liberal tip into it after selecting the single cigar he invariably tucked away in his pocket. Consequently, it was with no great surprise that on being called downstairs early one evening to the little private room which Madame Lafronde reserved for confidential business, I found Mr. Heely with her and learned that I was the subject of the interview.
“Dear Mr. Heely has taken a fancy to you, child. If it were anyone but him, I would positively not consider the matter for a moment. But Mr. Heely is an honorable gentleman, my child. He knows your… ah… untarnished condition, my dear, and he will be quite contented to… ah… enjoy your companionship without encroaching on your… ah… virginal integrity. In fact, my dear, Mr. Heely doesn't care for the sophisticated type, and it was exactly your… ah… so apparent maidenly innocence which intrigued his… ah… admiration. Hereafter, my dear, you will be at liberty to receive Mr. Heely any evening he wishes to call on you. You may let him select one night each week.”
Mr. Heely bowed courteously.
“But I hope my attentions will not be distasteful to Miss Jessie,” he interposed gently. “Perhaps we should consult her first before coming to any definite understanding. I assure her, and you also, Madame, that I will be most considerate in my demands, and will endeavor to reward each of you in a suitable manner for your kindness. Do you think you could care for me as a good friend?” he added anxiously, turning to me.
Madame Lafronde's peculiar words had filled me with amazement. I did not know what to make of the conversation. Mr. Heely was watching me with an intent, almost supplicating look on his face. I glanced uncertainly at Madame Lafronde. As I did so, the lid of her left eye descended slowly. Her face was solemn, impassive.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered, “I'm sure I could care for you. Very much indeed, Sir.”
The alliance was pledged over three tiny glasses of wine and it was agreed that the following evening I was to be at Mr. Heely's disposition and thereafter the same night each week.
As soon as the interview was concluded I rushed upstairs to find Hester. Into her attentive ear I poured the details of the mysterious contract. My mystification was so genuine that she nearly burst with laughter.
“But what does he want with me, what does he expect me to do?” I begged.
“The old fool has taken it for gospel truth that you're only fifteen years old and that you've never had a cock in you,” she answered finally, wiping her eyes. “He'll be a regular gold mine. I had one like that once. He preached religion to me and sucked me off between sermons. I'll bet all you'll have to do with that man will be to let him go down on you. Those old fellows always want to do that. You'll have to pretend it's the first time, act ashamed, take on, cry about it afterwards a little and, baby, will he fill your stocking with bank notes!”
How different people were in real life to what they seemed, I reflected, as the picture which Hester's words evoked passed before my mind's eye. That dignified, cultured, respectable, elderly gentleman going down on me! It was too bizarre, too preposterous. It didn't seem possible.
Hester broke in on the train of thoughts which were passing through my head.
“Really, darling, you're lucky. Imagine having something like that supposed Italian count wished on you.”
“I heard Lafronde tell Rhoda she could chase him if he got too rough with her.”
This count, real or alleged, constituted something of a house scandal. He had the whipping mania, and though Rhoda submitted to him voluntarily, the pain he inflicted on her caused her to shriek in a way which alarmed everyone within hearing.
“I think she's half in love with the crazy brute. Do you know what he does to her? He puts her across his knees just like a baby, and whips her on the bare bottom with one of her slippers. He keeps her bottom black and blue.”
“What in the world does he do it for? What possible pleasure can he possibly get from hurting her?”
“Oh, what do any of them do funny things for? It gives him a hard-on, I suppose. Imagine having a man whip you like that and then wanting to fuck you afterwards.”
Madame Lafronde opened the door and came in.
“You'll have to get up early tomorrow morning and go shopping with me,” she said. “Mr. Heely has given some very specific instructions about your wearing apparel. Your present mode of dress is not in keeping with his ideas as to what nice girls should wear. And…” she continued dryly, glancing at a penciled list in her hand, “he has provided the funds necessary to renovate your wardrobe.”
As a result of the shopping expedition which was duly effected the following day, I found myself in possession of some new clothes which, though of the finest and most expensive material, were so incongruously at variance with the ambient in which they were to be worn that I could only look at them with amazement.
There were three black silk dresses with cream-colored lace cuffs and bodices, all of the same general type, but varying in minor details of style and trimming. They were very beautiful, but of a style suitable for extremely young misses, and reached barely to my knees. Underwear there was in profusion, but instead of the slithery, diaphanous tinted silk I would have selected, it was of the finest English linen and cambric; slips, petticoats, and panties with little bands of lace around their edges, and all snow-white. There were two pair of little, round-toed, low-heeled patent leather pumps, and a long narrow box filled with black silk hose.
As we unpacked the purchases Madame Lafronde said:
