He burst into laughter.
'You sound like you really mean it. I'd imagine that after a few months in a place like this you'd be so fed up on cake it would almost choke you. You're a cute youngster. You're wasting your talents here. What's the story? Innocence and inexperience taken advantage of by some bounder, I suppose?' he added quizzically.
'I'm here for two reasons,' I answered calmly. 'The first one is to earn money and the second one is because I like to do what I have to do to earn it.'
'Well, bless my soul!' he gasped. 'What refreshing frankness! And you really weren't seduced by a villain?'
'Seduced, nothing! I was the, one that did the seducing.'
'Good for you! You're a girl after my own heart! You and I are going to get along famously, Tessie!'
'Not Tessie… Jessie!'
'Ah, yes; Jessie, Pardon me. Well, since you really like cake, how about another piece?'
'I'm ready whenever you are!'
'What do you say we get undressed, and really make a night of it? I didn't expect to stay all night, but I've changed my mind.'
'That suits me, Mr. Austin. I'm yours… till tomorrow do us part!'
'Not Mr. Austin… Monty, if you please.'
'All right… Monty!' I repeated, giggling.
Whereupon we untangled our respective anatomies, scrambled off the bed, and proceeded to disrobe.
That is, Monty stripped, but when I had gotten down to my hose and slippers he suggested that I retain these last articles of apparel for the moment. Odd, I thought, how so many men who get pleasure from the sight of a girl's otherwise naked body were so alike in preferring that she keep on the hose and slippers, and I murmured something to this effect to my new playmate.
'Very easily explained, my dear little girl,' he replied. 'Complete nudity may be as suggestive of cold chastity as obscenity, whereas, nudity supplemented by a pretty pair of silk-clad legs and neat slippers is the perfectly balanced picture of aesthetic lewdness.'
'But suppose one's legs and feet are pretty enough to look good without stockings? Everybody says I have pretty legs!'
'It's not a question of beauty, but of eroticism. I'll make a clearer illustration. Suppose we take two girls, each equally pretty. One of them stands before us entirely naked. The other is dressed, but she raises her dress and holds it up so we can see her pussy. Which of the two is the most exciting sexually?'
'The one holding up her dress,' I answered without hesitation.
'Right. And that's the answer to your question. You look naughtier with your hose and slippers than you would completely nude.'
My attention was now distracted from the matter of my own nudity to that of my companion. His body was well formed and in admirable athletic trim. Smooth, round muscles rippled under the clear white skin, a pleasing contrast indeed to some of my other paunchy, flabby patrons. But most impressive of all was the rigid weapon which, during the conversation and undressing, continued to maintain its virile integrity, standing out straight and proud from his middle. I glanced at it admiringly.
'How did you ever get that big thing into me without hurting me?' I commented, as I considered its formidable proportions.
'It carries its own anaesthetic, baby.'
'It looks strong enough to hold me up without bending.'
'Baby, it's invincible. I could put you on it and whirl you around like a pinwheel.'
'I'll take the starch out of it and make it melt down fast enough.'
'That's a big order. You may lose a lot of starch yourself trying.'
'Ha!' I scoffed, 'I wager it will be curled up fast asleep in an hour's time.'
A prediction which, as things transpired, turned out to be about one hundred percent wrong.
I returned to the bed and Monty, following me, placed himself on his knees between my outstretched legs. Gripping the cheeks of my bottom in his strong hands as he sank down upon me, he pushed home the lethal shaft.
Our previous encounter had hardly more than whetted my appetite, so, as soon as I felt his cock well inside, I raised my legs, hooked them over his back, and without loss of time began to work against him.
Apparently satisfied with my initiative, he remained still and let me proceed unhindered.
Grinding my loins against him I could feel his pubic hair compressed against my cunny. Moving my bottom from side to side, then shifting into undulating, circular movements, I sought to capture a second instalment of the cloying sweetness with which Mother Nature rewards the efforts of those who labour diligently in her garden.
The first warning of the approaching crisis was manifested by the muscular quivering of my thighs, and Monty, still squeezing the cheeks of my bottom, commenced to raise and lower himself upon me with slow, deliberate thrusts. Now the length of the hot thing was entirely buried within me, distending my flesh to the utmost; I could feel it pressing my womb. Now, it was coming out, slowly, slowly, out until naught but the very tip lay cuddled against the quivering lips of my cunny.
A pause, a teasing agony of expectation, and it was going in again, in, in, until the crisp hair at the base was again pressed against my clitoris.
Orgasm was creeping upon me, I could feel it coming, and in a frenzy of impatience, I launched my hips upward to meet the thrusts, but, instead of continuing its trajectory, it remained poised midway in its course. My orgasm was trembling in the balance. In desperation I brought it to its fulfilment with a supreme effort and fell back, half fainting.
'What is that, Mister, a system?' I panted when I could speak. 'You played that same trick on me the other time!'
An hour later the suspicion was beginning to dawn on me that, in the realms of erotic prowess, I had met my master. Two hours later, I knew it for a certainty. I had experienced nearly a dozen orgasms while my partner's cock was still stiff and rigid as it had been at the start. On each occasion he had succeeded in making me have an ejaculation without himself rendering any accounting to Nature. It lacked but a few minutes to three.
'You look a bit fagged, baby,' he said smiling quizzically. 'Think you can stand one more piece of cake?'
'Yes!' I replied valiantly, although in truth I was beginning to feel like a squeezed-out sponge. For once in my life I had about had my fill.
This time he rolled me over on my side and with his stomach against my back and his legs pressed against mine, he put it into me from behind, spoon fashion.
I thought to turn the tables on him and, by lying perfectly still, oblige him to work himself into a spending heat. But it was unnecessary. He was done playing with me and went right to work on his own accord.
Before long the pressure of his arms tightened about me and I tensed by body against the harder plunges as a hot flood was loosed inside me with such force that I could distinguish each separate gush as it flung itself against my womb.
I held rigid for a moment in my determination not to let myself go, but the feel of that hot stuff spurting inside me worked havoc with my intentions and about the time the fourth or fifth jet hit me, the brake slipped and I was off again!
The aftermath of this last orgasm was a feeling of extreme lassitude and I was entirely agreeable when my companion, having apparently no further immediate designs upon my person, suggested that we turn out the light and sleep. I dragged myself from the bed, attended to the customary hygienic requirements, divested myself of my slippers and hose, put on a silk shift, slipped back into bed beside him, and in probably less than ten minutes was deep in sleep.
CHAPTER 11
I slept profoundly, dreamlessly, but not for long.
Something was pressing against my face, brushing my lips, with an irritating persistence which defied my
