moment!” “And, what if he should?” I asked. Albert sobered up and said: “Don't even think about it. He would be likely to kill the both of us. He is stronger than I am.”
“Unbelievable,” I said. “Wait!” said Albert. “Wait until you see him naked!” “How?” “Well, sometimes he has his wife photograph him.” “So? I jolly well hope that he will have me do that some day.” “Do you know,” Albert went on, “how often he pokes his wife's every day?” “No. How often?” “At least seven or eight times a day!” “Well, she ought to have enough,” I said. “Yes, but it is a regular habit with her.” We were now called into the studio again. “A new pose,” said Capuzzi. He was in his undershirt and drawers. His face was red and so were lovely Melani's ears. She laughed, satisfied. Her eyes shone. “Oh, my,” she said. Those two have been 'doing it' too!” Taking hold of Albert's limber shaft, she showed it to her husband. Then, coming closer to me, she whispered: “Was it good?” “Well, what shall we do now?” said Capuzzi. “It looks like Albert's shaft won't stand any more.” At that he took off his clothes and I marveled at his enormous chest, all covered with hair; his muscular arms and the terrible tool which hung down from his belly. He came towards me, but Melani called: “Halt! Nothing doing! Make your pose with Albert. It would be too bad to waste another plate.” “We have already made that pose with Albert.” “But I don't want you to pose with that girl! Leave her alone,” she said emphatically. “Foolish!” he said. “If I allow you to pose with Albert I surely should be allowed to pose with Pepi!”
“No!” she said. “You will get hot and passionate!” “No thought of it,” he defended himself. “If I should get hot, I would simply poke you once more.” This seemed to suit her. “But only the position,” she warned. I had to lie on the bench, spreading my legs far apart so that he could get in between them. “Now!” he called to his wife, inserting the head of his enormous engine into my cleft. “Not so far!” Melani called. “Not so far!” Her warning was not necessary. I could not have taken more than he already had in. Even now the device was quite springy from just having male the preliminary assault, and I soon had the pleasure of feeling it grow bigger and bigger-filling me completely! This was the consequence of the so-called “position.” “Done!” called Mrs. Capuzzi.
Her husband released me and began making another pose. He sat on a stool and had me sit on his lap, with my back towards him. I was facing the camera. Beaching under through my arms, he put his hands on my breasts and his shaft inside me. I could not resist moving up and down, but he whispered: “Not now!” “Done!” called his wife from behind the camera. We were to make another pose, but, it was necessary to use Albert, who, after so many rough trials, was unable to rise to the task. The enterprise had to be postponed until some future time. Capuzzi engaged me to be on hand two days later. Then he paid me ten guldens and dismissed me for the time being.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I went towards town. At the crossroads I met my friend Zenzi. Together we went to the dark house on Lantern Street. I was anxious to show her the money which I had just earned and to tell her of my experience with the photographer. My description of the different poses caused her to get excited. “Well, of all things-!” she said, dropping onto the couch. “From your talk I am all 'worked up!' If only I could be poked right now!” I was of the same mind. I crawled beside her on the couch. She lay there, her eyes shining and her titties trembling. She was entirely different from the way I had hitherto seen her at home-not at all the same, meek Zenzi.
For some time we played with each other's titties. Then, as I was all ready to get on top of her, she pushed me away, saying: “Oh, that is no good!” She called to the kitchen: “Mrs. Bock, is Karl there?” The old lady opened the door and said: “Yes, he is here-what do you want of him?” “Just call him,” said Zenzi.
“But what do you want?” she inquired. “Don't ask any questions,” said Zenzi in a rough tone. I had never before heard her talk like this. I was only beginning to learn her true character.
The old lady disappeared. “Who is Karl?” I asked Zenzi.
“He is the old woman's grandson,” she informed me. Then, taking something from her pocket, she again lay down on the couch. “And what do you want of him?” I asked. “I want him to poke me,” she answered. The door opened and a boy of about seventeen entered. He was good-looking and a trifle pale, with sharp features. He was smoking a cigarette and grinning. “Hello Karl! Here is a gulden-I want you to poke me,” Zenzi said. He leisurely walked to the couch, took the gulden, examined it, then put it in his pocket. Then he began playing with her titties, all the while looking at me as if wondering who I was. “Don't stand there like a dummy!” Zenzi said. He unbuttoned his trousers. Zenzi winked at him. “Look at that shaft! Did you ever see anything like that before?” Karl grinned. I sat up to get a better look, and-God be my witness-I had never seen anything like it. It reached beyond his navel. The heal itself was as big as most organs that I had seen! “Well?” asked Zenzi, “Isn't that worth a gulden?” Karl hurled himself on top of her, throwing away his cigarette at the same time. Zenzi moved around under him and said: “Well -come on, now!” “Oh, put it in yourself,” he grumbled. Zenzi immediately put it in, beginning to wiggle and calling: “My dear Karl, oh, poke me good-not so fast-! Oh, I am coming-my dear Karl-I love you-I would like to be with you in bed poking! Oh, you dearest thing!” “To hell with you! he hissed, keeping up his regular motion. “Then why do you poke me?” she asked. “Because you pay me. I would poke my grandmother if she gave me a gulden-” he answered. Zenzi worked with all her might. I got so passionate looking at them that I began to wonder whether I had better not give him a gulden too, but I decided not to. When he had finished, he wanted to go. “Stay here!” begged Zenzi. “No!” he answered her roughly. “Why don't you want to stay with me a while?” “Because I am sick of your ways-good bye!” he answered and was gone.
Zenzi grabbed a glass and hurled it after him, shouting: “You miserable cur!” The glass struck the door and fell into pieces.
Zenzi cried; “He is the only one that I love-the rowdy! I will never let him poke me again!” Astonished, I asked: “But how about Rudolph?” “Oh, please, don't mention his name!” “But you must love Rudolph. You do all that he wants you to do for him.”
“With Rudolph it is different. He is old enough to be my father! And furthermore-I do not love him,” she said. “Yes, but you tell Rudolph that he 'does it' best of all,” I said. “What doesn't one say when one has a shaft stuck into her? What haven't I heard you tell your father when he was on top of you and you were about to 'go off?” she answered. I said: “That is true!” “I have been with Rudolph eight years,” she said. “Why, you are only fifteen now,” I replied. “Yes, that is just it. My mother was his sweetheart, and, when she died of consumption, I was left. He took me with him.”
“As his sweetheart?” I asked. “No; at first I slept on the floor in his room. I was thankful because I was afraid of the Orphan Asylum.” “But why?” “I don't know. Mother always was crying while she was in the hospital-If I die, my poor child will have to go to the Orphan Asylum'.” “Where did you stay while your mother was in the hospital?” “With Rudolph. Mother lived with him before she got sick.” “And your father?” “I don't remember him; I was only two years old when he died.” We sat on the couch, still naked. Zenzi seemed to be quieted down and also relieved that she could unburden her troubles and at the same time confide in me.
Continuing her story, she said: “Rudolph promised mother on her death bed that he would always look after me. So, for several months I slept on the floor. Rudolph slept in the bed. Finally he told me to get into bed with him, saying: It is not necessary for you to sleep on the floor any more.' When I got into bed with him, he raised my shirt and played with my 'kitten,' fondling me all over.” “Did you like that?” I asked. “Oh, yes! You know that I liked it. I knew what it meant. I had often heard him and my mother 'doing the same thing' during the night.” “That's very much like my own situation,” I observed. “The first night he did nothing but fondle me,” Zenzi went on, ignoring my comment. “The next night he had me play with his shaft. At that time he told me: “Zenzi, now you are my sweetheart. But you must not tell anybody. I will always take good care of you.'
“I was pleased at this. I felt proud that I already had a sweetheart. And I was happy that I was to be provided for, because, even as a child, I often had gone hungry. Moreover, I was afraid to sleep on the floor alone after mother was gone, but I was not afraid any more when I slept with Rudolph. I would have done anything that he wanted. “Even if it were distasteful?” I asked. “Certainly. I was afraid that he would throw me out and that the police would take me to the Orphan Asylum where the children had to kneel on hard peas and pray all the time.” “Of course,” I said, “it is far better to have a nice warm bed to sleep in and a nice warm shaft in your hand!”
“Or in your belly-ha, ha, ha!” said Zenzi. “Well, I don't think that you got 'it' in your belly right away, did you?” I asked.
“No, not right away; at first Rudolph just put his tool in my hand, saying: This is what a man puts into a woman.'“ “'In where did you say he puts it?”” I asked. “In there-!' he said, and showed me where the heavenly
