bag like this,” said she, standing in front of him. “Then you squeeze hard, but not the eggs. Just above-where it grows to his body. With the other hand you switch his feet and his legs and wherever else you happen to stroke.”
Kneeling down, I did as she had shown me. He stood erect, his hands folded across his chest. I took his bag in my left hand and squeezed until my fingers ached. At the same time I used the switch. His lance got stiffer at every stroke. It wobbled back and forth like a staff in the wind. Suddenly he 'went off!' It was so unexpected that I got the full discharge in my face. When he had rid himself, Zenzi stopped and sat down on the couch to rest. “Oh, Princess! Oh, my worthy Countess!” he sobbed. I remained seated on the floor, wiping my face, wondering what would happen next, still thinking that he would either poke one or the other of us. For a short time he stood motionless, as one in deep thought. Then he hastily put on his clothes. Walking to the corner of the room he deposited something on a chair, and, without one further glance at us, left the room. As soon as he had closed the door, Zenzi rushed to the chair, picked up two ten golden guldens. Dancing around the room, she gave me one, shouting: “That is great, don't you thing so?” I was dumbfounded, but of the same opinion.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A few days later a man in a velvet suit followed me. He looked like an Italian. He had black hair and, as was the custom of the Italians and the French, at that time, wore a goatee. I turned into a side street. It was only two o'clock in the afternoon. Remembering the vacant house, I went to it and waited in the hall. He came in at once and began to feel my titties.
“Well, how about it?” he asked. (They all ask about the same question.) I answered: “Shall I go first?” “Where to?” he asked. “Lantern Street; it is near here,” I said. “No,” he replied, “I don't want to go there with you.” I was prepared for this, so I answered smiling: “All right! Then we'll stay here.”
“Here?” He was surprised. “Why, yes,” I said. “We can go upstairs. Nobody lives here.” “No,” he laughed. “Then from “behind,'“ I continued. He shook his head. I thought perhaps that he wanted me to go through some performance like the one which Zenzi and I had practiced on the young man. “Do you want to be switched?” I asked. “My God, but you are blase,” he said. “But, no, not that either.” “Well, then, I don't know-I give up,” I said. “I want to make photographs of you,” he said.
“Photos?” “Yes-nude pictures in all poses.” I laughed. I never had been photographed. I hoped that I would get some nice pictures of myself. We finally arrived at our destination. He lived in a new cottage hidden in an old garden. We entered the gate, passed through a lawn and garden, then arrived at the house. It contained several rooms and a studio. We were received by a small, stout woman. She was blonde, which made her appear stouter, and had dark rings under her eyes. She was dressed in a bath robe. Giving me a friendly nod, she remarked to the man: “She will be just right.”
The photographer said: “Let us hurry and take advantage of the light.” She said: “Shall I get Albert?” “Certainly! We can't do anything without him.” She was about to leave, but he stopped her, saying: “I will get him myself. You two get ready.” He disappeared through the garden. The woman now looked at me and remarked: “He is afraid that I might be alone with Albert.” Then she led me through the house directly to the studio, which, with its glass room and high windows, impressed me very favorably. After removing a chest which hid a door through which we entered a small room, lit by one window, she ordered me to undress, which I did and she took off her bathrobe, to my surprise. “You Mme. take off everything, except your shoes and stockings,” said she. “Those you may keep on.” Standing before me in her shirt, she waited until I was undressed, then she stepped closer and looked me over. “How old are you?” she asked. “Nearly fourteen.” “Has my husband told you what he wants of you?” “Yes.” “Well, then,” she said, taking off her shirt, “the rest you will see for yourself.” “Will he photograph you too?” I asked, astonished. She laughed. “Certainly. Heretofore he has photographed only me because we have not been able to find another woman who would do. In the first place, it is too great a risk, and moreover, they are too expensive.” “What do I get?” I inquired. “Don't worry,” she said, “you will be satisfied.” I liked her friendly manner. '1 am not worrying,” I smiled. “He would not have engaged you, but he has an order for which he must have a young girl like yourself,” she said. “Why, you are still young yourself,” I said to compliment her. “Oh, yes-for such large titties, they are still solid,” she replied, lifting in her hands the objects in question. “They are nice,” I acknowledged. “Just feel them,” she said. I felt them; they were really good and solid. “Only my stomach is too big,” she went on. “Oh, no,” I assured her. “And my legs,” she said, slapping her thighs. “Much too fat.” Then, laughing, she added: “When Albert sees me like this he gets very passionate.” “I believe it,” I replied. “But then my husband gets angry,” she laughed. “But, if Albert could not get stiff, we could not take pictures, so it all works out in the end.” Now I began to realize what I was to do. Just then her husband returned. He called us and we entered the studio. I saw a young man, about eighteen years old; he might have been an errand or stable boy. He was sun-burned and had small ears and a red nose. He was fairly well dressed, slight though muscular in build. I liked his looks very much. The photographer, whose name was Mr. Capuzzi, sent the young man, whom I learned was Albert, into the dressing-room. “Hurry up,” he called. Then he started to examine me. “Not bad at all,” he remarked to his wife. “Don't you agree?” “Yes,” she answered, “she's just what you need.” “And her titties are still way up,” he remarked. “They are not completely developed yet,” she said. “No hips, of course,” he continued, “and just a few hairs.” But he was satisfied and he assured me that I would also be. Then he arranged his camera. I watched curiously as Mr. Capuzzi put his head under the black cloth. Just then Albert came out of the dressing room naked. I could not help looking at his shaft which stood straight out. Mrs. Capuzzi laughed loudly, and said: “He is actually standing again!” Capuzzi shouted: “Be quiet!”
Albert was well-built. I admired his broad chest, his muscular arms and legs, and, above all, his immense engine as it stood erect from the hair-cushion surrounding it. Capuzzi said: “Now we will begin.” Then, pushing a small, carpeted bench without sides into place, he ordered: “first you, Melani; then Albert and you-what is your name?” “Pepi,” I answered. “Well, then, Pepi-Albert you sit in the middle. Now Melani on his right and Pepi on his left.”
We hurried to our places. “Now each take hold of his shaft,” called our director. We took hold. “Albert,” said Capuzzi, “you must do something, too. Put your arms around their shoulders-no, wait a minute-that's better.” He disappeared under the black cloth, and then called out; “Don't move, Melani. Look up, Albert. Turn up your eyes!” We obeyed his orders. Melani and I holding Albert's shaft so that only the head was visible. “One, two, three, four, five, six-” Capuzzi counted. “Done!” We all jumped up. “A new pose,” Capuzzi now exclaimed. “Which one?” asked the woman.
“Lie down, Albert,” Capuzzi told him. Albert situated himself on the narrow bench, his feet hanging down on the sides.
“Melani, you stand over him,” said Capuzzi, putting a pillow on each side. She stepped on the pillow, the bench between her knees.
“Now stoop over him!” called Capuzzi. “No, not like that.”
She stooped over, bracing her arms. Her breasts hung right over Albert's face. “Now, Albert, take the breast in your hand,” said Capuzzi. Albert put his hands on her breast and began playing with the nipple. “He is getting me excited again!” called Mrs. Capuzzi.
“Albert!” shouted the photographer. “Keep your hand still, or I will get after you!” Albert quietly held her breast in his hand, but now it was Melani who moved about, rubbing against Albert's hands. “Now, see-!” said Albert. “You are playing with yourself!”
“Melani!” yelled the photographer angrily. “Well, yes-” she said. “When I am all 'worked up,' I can't help it.” “Pepi!” Capuzzi called to me, “now you put his shaft in Melani, but don't let go of it!” I took Albert's staff, holding it up, while with the other hand I sought for Melani's 'opening.' But she beat me to it, grabbing the enormous device and stuffing it wildly inside her.
“Oh,” she said, “the torture is beginning again!” “Don't put it in so far, Melani!” called out the photographer. “I must be able to see Pepi's hand!” “How's that?” she replied, raising her hips.
“There-that is all right!” “But, no!” she cried. 'That way he will slip out!” And she lowered herself to get further in.
“No! No! The devil-!” thundered her husband. She drew back again. Capuzzi ran to her and gave her a rousing slap on her ass. “You are letting him poke you, aren't you, you wench! But you can't fool me!” “We are poking
