Sexus (The Rosy Crucifixion, book 1)

didn't give a shit what the words meant, since I had no intention of making a serious study of Japanese. What I was more interested in was his technique of picking up white women. To hear him, it was all very simple. Of course, many of the girls were recommended from one Jap to another. And many of these same girls must have made a specialty of Japs, knowing that they were clean and generous. Hump for the Japs, that's what they were, and a profitable business it was. There was class to the Japs. They had cars of their own, dressed well, ate in good restaurants, and so on. Now a Chink was different. Chinks were white-slavers. But a Jap you could trust. And so on. I could follow their reasoning perfectly. What they appreciated most were the little gifts the Japs made them. Americans never thought of giving gifts, not usually. A guy had to be a sap to piss away his money on a gift for a whore.

I don't know why my mind reverted to the amiable Mr. T. It's a devil of a long ride to the Bronx, and if you let your mind go you can write a book between Borough Hall and Tremont. Besides, despite the exhaustive bout with Maude, one of those slow, creepy erections was coming on. It's a commonplace observation but true just the same—the more you fuck, the more you want to fuck, and the better you do fuck! When you overdo it your cock seems to get more flexible; it hangs limp, but on the alert, as it were. You only have to brush your hand over your fly and it responds. For days you can walk around with a rubber truncheon dangling between your legs. Women seem to sense it, too.

Now and then I tried to fix my mind on Mona, to set my face in plastic sorrow, but it wouldn't last. I felt too damned good, too relaxed, too carefree. Horrible as it sounds, I thought more of the fuck I anticipated pulling off once I soothed her down. I smelled my fingers to make sure I had scoured them properly. In doing so a rather comical image of Maude assailed me. I had left her lying on the floor, exhausted, and had rushed to the bathroom to tidy myself up. As I was scrubbing my cock she opens the door. Wants to take a douche immediately always fearful of getting caught. I tell her to go ahead, not to mind me. She peels off her things, fastens the hose to the gas jet, and lies on the bath mat, her legs running up the wall.

«Can I help you?» says I, drying my cock and sprinkling some of her excellent sachet powder over it.

«Do you mind?» says she, wiggling her ass so that her legs will stand up straighter.

«Open it up a bit,» I urge, taking the nozzle in readiness to insert it.

She did as I told her, pulling her gash open with all her fingers. I bent over and examined it leisurely. It was a dark, liverish color and the lips were rather exaggerated. I took them, between my fingers and rubbed them gently together, like you would two velvety petals. She looked so helpless lying with her ass propped against the wall and her legs sticking up straight, like the hands of a compass, that I had to chuckle.

«Please don't fool now,» she begged, as if the delay of a few seconds might mean an abortion. «I thought you were in such a hurry.»

«I am,» I replied, «but Jesus, when I look at this thing I get horny again.»

I inserted the nozzle. The water began running out of her, over the floor. I threw some towels down to soak it up. When she stood up I took the soap and wash rag and scrubbed her cunt for her. I soaped her well, inside and out—a delicious tactile sensation which was mutual.

It felt silkier than ever now, her cunt, and I whooshed my fingers in and out, like you'd strum a banjo. I had one of those half-hearted, swollen erections which makes a cock look even more murderous than when full blown. It was hanging out of my fly, brushing her thigh. She was still naked. I began to dry her off. To do so comfortably I sat on the edge of the tub, my cock gradually stiffening and making spasmodic leaps at her. As I pulled her close, to dry her flanks, she looked down at it with a hungry, despairing look, fascinated and yet half-ashamed of herself for acting the glutton. Finally she could stand it no longer. She got to her knees impulsively and took it in her mouth. I ran my fingers through her hair, caressed the shell of her ears, the nape of her neck, caught her teats and massaged them gently, lingering over the nipples until they stood out taut. She had unfastened her mouth and was licking it now as if it were a stick of candy. «Listen,» said I, murmuring the words in her ear, «we won't go through it again but just let me put it in a few moments and then I'll go. It's too good to stop all of a sudden. I won't come, I promise...» She looked at me imploringly, as if to say «Can I believe you? Yes, I do want it. Yes, yes, only don't knock me up, will you?»

I pulled her to her feet, turned her around like a dummy, placed her hands on the edge of the tub, and raised her bum just a trifle. «Let's do it this way for a change,» I murmured, not inserting my cock immediately, but rubbing it up and down her crack from behind.

«You won't come, will you?» she begged, craning her neck around and giving me a wild, imploring look through the mirror over the washstand. «I'm wide open...»

That «wide open» brought out all the lust in me. «You bloody bitch,» says I to myself, «that's just what I want. I'm going to piss in your palatial womb!» And with that I let it slip in slowly, little by little, moving it from right to left, grazing the pockets and lining of her wide-open cunt until I felt the mouth of her womb; there I wedged it good and solid, soldering it to her as if I intended to leave it in for good. «Oh, oh!» she groaned. «Don't move, please.... just hold it!» I held it all right, even when that rear end began revolving like a pin-wheel.

«Can you still hold it?» she murmured huskily, trying again to look round and catching her reflection in the mirror.

«I can hold it,» I said, not making the slightest movement, knowing that that would encourage her to unleash all her tricks.

«It feels wonderful,» she said, her head falling limp, as if it had become unhinged. «You're bigger now, do you know it? It is tight enough for you? I'm terribly opened up.»

«It's all right,» I said. «It fits marvelously. Listen, don't move any more... just clutch it... you know how....»

She tried but somehow it wouldn't perform, her little lemon squeezer. I withdrew abruptly, without warning. «Let's lie down... here,» I said, pulling her away and placing a dry towel under her. My cock was glistening with juice and hard as a pole. It hardly seemed to be a prick any more; it was like an instrument I had attached, an erection made flesh. She lay prone, looking at it with terror and joy, wondering what next it might think to do— yes, quite as if it were deciding things and not me or her.

«It's cruel of me to keep you,» she said, as I socked it in swiftly. The suction created a smacking sound, like wet farts.

«Jesus, now I'm going to fuck you good and proper. Don't worry, I won't come... I haven't got a drop left. Move all you want... jerk it up and down... that's it, rub it around, go on, do it... fuck your guts out!»

«Shhh!» she whispered, putting her hand to my mouth. I bent forward and bit into her neck, long and deep; I bit her ears, her lips. I pulled out again, for one tantalizing second, and bit the hair over her cunt, caught the two little lips up and slid them between my teeth.

«Put it in, put it in!» she begged, her lips slavering, her hand reaching for my prick and placing it back in again. «Oh God, I'm going to come... I can't hold it any more. Oh, oh....» and she went into a spasm, slapping it up against me with such fury, such abandon, that she looked like a crazed animal. I pulled out without coming, my prick shiny, glistening, straight as a ramrod. Slowly she rose to her feet. Insisted on washing it for me, patted it admiringly, tenderly, as if it had been found tried and true. «You must run,» she said, holding my prick between her two hands, the towel wrapped around it. And then, dropping the towel and looking away—- «I hope she's all right. Tell her so, will you?»

Yes, I had to smile thinking of this last minute scene. «Tell her so...» That extra fuck had softened her up. I thought of a book I had read which told of rather strange experiments with carnivorous animals—lions, tigers, panthers. Seems that when, these ferocious beasts were kept well-fed— over-fed, indeed— one could put gentle creatures in the same cage with them and they would never molest them. The lion attacked only out of hunger. He was not perpetually murderous. That was the gist of it....

And Maude... Having satisfied herself to her heart's content, she had probably realized for the first time that it was useless to harbor a grudge against the other woman. If, she may have told herself, if it were possible to be fucked like that whenever she wished, it wouldn't matter what claims the other one had on me. Perhaps it entered her mind for the first time that possession is nothing if you can't surrender yourself. Perhaps she even went so far as to think that it might be better this way —having me protect her and fuck her and not having to get angry with me because of jealous fears. If the other one could hold on to me, if the other one could keep me from running around with every little slut that came across my path, if together they could share me, tacitly of course and without embarrassment and confusion, perhaps after all it might be better than the old arrangement. Yes, to be fucked that way, fucked without fear of being betrayed, to be fucking your own husband who is now your friend (and