by AnonYMous
"Now see if what I told you isn't true!" she said. She got upon the couch, and placed her knees astride my body. First came the contact of soft hair as she nestled down upon me, then the warm, humid constriction of her genitals as she sank down upon and received the sceptor of life between her thighs. Once, twice, thrice I perceived a muscular contraction, as though something inside was convulsively gripping and squeezing the sensitive gland. Then without conscious volition on my part, the semen was suddenly leaping forth to the grateful pressure. Jet after jet, while she sat there immobile, her eyes fixed intently on my face. Not until the flood had spent its force was she caught in the current of its contagion. Then, raising and lowering herself on the impaling shaft with frantic energy, she gasped:
"Didn't I, ah! … tell you it was, oh! … better this way … oh! … o-o-o-oh!"
The fly in the otherwise delicious "ointment" was this: My little Russian sweetheart was a drug addict.
My lack of experience in such things prevented me from recognizing this circumstance during the first week we were together. she was young, possessed of great vitality and as yet her physical health had no been undermined. After I had gotten an inkling of the truth she discontinued all effort to conceal the addiction from me and tried to persuade me to experiment with narcotics, ridiculing my objections. So persistent were her efforts to convince me that knowing her determined character, I was uneasy. I began to understand her phenomenal sexual prowess, and the sudden furious excesses of lubricity which took possession of her, body and soul, at frequent intervals. I began to fear that I was permitting myself, unconsciously, to drift into swirling currents which eventually I would find myself incapable of resisting. I enjoyed all these things, but I wished to remain master of my vices and not become subservient to them.
One night we lay in bed examining a collection of naughty pictures among which was one of a woman on her hands and knees receiving the emblem of masculinity in her bottom. Whenever Irma saw anything in pictures which struck her fancy she always wanted to put it into immediate practice. When her eyes lit on this picture, she exclaimed?
"There is something I've always had a temptation to try! And now is as good a time as ever!"
"All right, dear!" I agreed.
She slipped out of bed, got a small jar of pomade and spread some of its contents over my cock. Then, raising her night robe, and adopting the posture shown in the picture which had inspired this idea, she kneeled down, resting her forearms. Obligingly, I knelt behind her, and placing the head of my cock against her bottom tried to insert it. I could tell from the way she flinched that the pressure hurt her. But she was determined so I continued until I had succeeded in getting the head inside. Palpably the unaccustomed distention of delicate membranes was painful to her, and though she suffered a partial intromission valiantly, she made no effort to get it further in. for my part, kneeling there behind her, more interested in her reactions than my own, I became aware of rhythmical contractions which followed each other at short intervals and which were of sufficient intensity to generate reciprocal echoes in my own organ. The repeated muscular contractions about the head of my cock, quite contrary to my own inclinations, were bringing me rapidly to orgasm, and when I finally let go, Irma moaned, squirmed and gasped under the slightest friction that I was unable to resist imparting during the last few moments. When it was over and I had withdrawn my cock she insisted that though painful, the experiment had been productive of exquisite sensations.
As we lay there for a while discussing the subject, I jokingly observed that if she wanted it that way she should look for a Turk or an Arab. I heard that men of those races are formed rather differently than Caucasians in that their cocks, though longer, are much more slender. In fact, this condition is referred to by writers as being one reason for their sodomitic tendencies and inclination for boys in preference to women for sexual gratification. "Women for babies, boys for pleasure" is the axiom among these men. Due to the peculiarly slender formation of their cocks, the female organs do not provide enough constriction for maximum pleasure, and when dealing with them for purposes other than procreative, they prefer the back door to the one originally intended. It seems odd, if the condition is racial as alleged, that Mother Nature did not compensate the unusual proportions of their cocks with corresponding dimensions in the cunts of their females.
To my surprise, Irma took my joking comments seriously, and waxed enthusiastic over the idea of having one of those long, slender cocks inserted in her bottom. She immediately began to speculate as to the possibility of securing an Arab for the purpose. Then another thought occurred to her and she proposed the substitution of a small boy – one whose cock had not yet attained proportions.
Supposing that the idea would be forgotten by the next day I said no more, and soon thereafter dropped off to sleep.
But to waste no time in superfluous details, it was not forgotten and two days later when I returned to the villa after a ramble through the streets I found her engaged in bathing another street urchin, this time of masculine sex. This brazen little vagrant entirely unabashed at his nakedness, with his small cock sticking straight out under her fingering, was boasting about how many girls he had fucked.
As was her custom Irma pepped herself up for the occasion with an injection which she vainly tried to get me to share, and then, while I lolled in an easy chair in the capacity of an audience she removed her panties, twisted her kimono about her waist, and laid face down on the bed. The youngster, following instructions, clambered up on top of her. His cock, after a few aimless movements between the cheeks of her bottom, was finally taken up in her fingers, and started in the right direction. It went in all right without any difficulty, and up to the hilt. Irma's frantic movements, her flushed cheeks, her distended eyes, to say nothing of audible indications of pleasure were sufficient to indicate that the experiment, this time, was an unqualified success.
When we retired that night Irma presented me with a box of cigarettes of Chinese manufacture, and wanted me to try them immediately. I smoked two of them, one after the other, and observed a peculiar, pungent flavor, entirely different from that of any cigarettes I had ever smoked before. Even as I was speculating on their odd taste, a feeling of languidness began to steal over me. I tried to fight it off, but in a few minutes, physical sensations began to dissolve in nothingness. I did not lose consciousness; my brain and thoughts remained active, but my body seemed to have gone. I had no hands or arms or legs or in fact any corporeal body. The only physical sense which remained was that of hearing. This seemed to have become strangely acute, I could see nothing, I felt nothing, but the tick of a clock on an adjacent bureau resounded like the measured blows of a hammer on a blacksmith's anvil.
Across my thoughts raced the recollection of the girl in the moving picture who had been drugged. I knew that the strange cigarettes I had smoked were responsible for my condition, but it caused me no preoccupation. To the contrary I seemed to be floating in an atmosphere of superlative tranquility – a nebulous state of perfect contentment, and the sensation was delicious beyond description.
The floating, drifting impression continued for some time and then gradually and peacefully, I lost consciousness.
The next thing I knew, I was awakening from a refreshing slumber, which had imbued me with rare strength, and a feeling of inexpressible vigor. My cock was standing up with a firmness and rigidity surpassing anything I had ever experienced, and felt as though it were twice normal size. I was lying on the silken covers of a luxurious couch, my limbs covered with a robe of some material so fine in texture its contact with my naked flesh was like an exquisite caress. The sense of feeling had returned to me, and I marvelled at the softness of the bed and the beauty of the garment which was draped about my body. I lay for a while in a state of blissful lassitude, then stirring myself I looked about me. The surroundings were entirely unfamiliar. Never had I gazed on such wondrous and majestic architecture nor such a medley of beautiful col
ors as met my vision. By what magical means had I been transported to this enchanted palace? Light was filtering in through stained glass of a hundred different hues and colors, and to my ears there came the sound of soft strange music, something like the muted strains of a mighty organ, but sweeter, richer than anything I had ever heard before.
Suddenly I became aware of a figure standing near one of the massive pillars of alabaster, which supported the dome of this vast room. It was the figure of a little girl. She was dressed in a long gown of dark red color which, draped loosely about her, fell almost to her little sandal clad feet. Her hair, black as night, hung about her neck and shoulders in a cascade of soft curls. She was ravishingly, seductively beautiful.
As I gazed at her in rapt ecstasy, she smiled and advanced slowly toward me. On she came until at last she reached the side of the couch. Still smiling, she extended her hand, and inserted it within the folds of the garment which covered my body. It went directly to my cock and closed about it. Her fingers toyed with it a moment, playing lightly over the throbbing flesh and then with a gentle clasp she commenced to work the foreskin up and down. A feeling of ineffable ecstasy permeated my being, and as its radiation intensified, I inclined my body toward her, placing an arm about her hips and drew her closer. She smiled again, and in her eyes was the undertaking of age-old wisdom.
With one arm still about her hips I reached down, placing my hand on the bare flesh of her ankle, just under the edge of her robe. Inch by inch it crept upward over the soft curve of her leg, over a rounded knee, up the length of her thigh. And in the meanwhile, the play of her hand on my cock continued uninterrupted. I reached the juncture of her legs, and with blissful anticipation placed my hand over her cunt – or rather, where her cunt should have been, for instead of a warm, moist little cunt, it found a cock, small, but erect and hard! A beautiful little girl with a boy's cock!
This anomaly did not disturb me. I was in a state in which all was perfect. If she had a boy's cock, all right. I took it between my fingers, and began to work it in reciprocation of the caress with which I was being favored. Her robe interfered with my movements and I separated the folds so that the little cock stuck out between them.
As my own organ responded to her ministrations, and as the culminating moment approached, the movement of her wrist increased in velocity. The music in the distance became louder. Something white and wet flashed out of the end of the little cock between my fingers – and in the same instant my own began to pour forth its tribute. The music increased to a roar, the vast room began to whirl, and quickly all was a maze of crashing confusion. When the pandemonium died away the wondrous room had disappeared. There was no beautiful little girl with a boy's cock and yet, dimly, vaguely, I seemed to be clutching that warm bit of flesh.
Gradually, the realization stole over me that I had experienced a fantastic, but weirdly realistic dream. I opened my eyes and recognized the familiar surroundings. Irma was lying beside me, propped up on her elbow, watching my face intently. Her right hand was holding my cock still wet and dripping, and just beginning to wilt down. When she saw that I was awake, she broke into hysterical laughter.
"What in the world are you trying to do with my finger?" … she exclaimed between spasms of laughter. "You've been squeezing and pulling at it until it's nearly disjointed!"
Dazedly, I glanced downward. I was still gripping the index finger of her left hand.
"You little devil!" I answered, releasing it, "what was that stuff you gave me to smoke?"
I was really indignant and she resented my failure to consider her act a favor, she remained silent. And to this day I have no knowledge of the exact nature of the drug which was responsible for my visit to artificial realms of magnificence and eroticism.
The parting of the ways drew near. In recognition of Irma's generosity, splendid hospitality, and the many favors she had shown me, I did everything possible to make myself agreeable to her during the remainder of my stay, and we separated the best of friends.
I passed several days wandering about the streets, or comfortably lying on my bed reading naughty French novels and magazines, collected by the score from newstands and kiosks. One afternoon as I was lazily debating the advisability of commencing preparations for my return, my detective friend presented himself. We chatted a bit and then, putting on my hat and coat, I accompanied him downstairs, intending to have a parting drink with him before saying good-bye. We seated ourselves at a table in front of a little café, and ordered our favorite liquors. In the process of consuming these, my companion suddenly leaned toward me and whispered:
"Glance over your left shoulder in a moment at the girl sitting at the table just behind you. I'll tell you something about her after we get away from here."
A moment later I glanced casually around. Sitting by herself sipping some colored concoction through a straw was as neat a little Parisienne as I had seen during my stay in France. Apparently eighteen or nineteen years old, dressed in a very short skirt, her shapely legs clad in black silk hose, and wearing a blouse of white crepe de Chine, so diaphanous that the pink, lace edged brassiere shielding her exuberant bubbies was plainly visible, she formed a picture whose details registered themselves with lightning rapidity in one brief glance.
Not wishing to be caught staring I turned away, and a few minutes later looked around again, this time concentrating my gaze on her face. It was entirely at variance with the extreme coquetry of her apparel, and the careless elevation of her skirt, for her features were demure, modest, almost angelic in their pure beauty.
She was altogether too pretty not to awaken my instant admiration and after I had paid the account and we were out of earshot I exclaimed:
"The cutest little trick I've seen since I've been here!"
My companion smiled cynically.
"Cute is right! Entirely too cute. She's a crook."
"A crook?" I repeated incredulously.
"Yes, a crook. And a darn clever one."
It seemed incredible and I could scarcely reconcile the facts as he related them with that demure sweet face and the modest downcast eyes I had seen at the little sidewalk café.
"And she'd have cleaned you out of every franc you possess," he answered with a dry smile.
"I'm not so sure it wouldn't be worth it at that," I added, as I recalled the multiple and diverse charms of the exquisite little houri which were visible to the eyes, and mentally conjured up naked visions of others hidden beneath silken trappings.
"Ha!" retorted my companion. "That's the funny part of it. None of the birds she snares ever gets as much as a feel of it. She's really married to this fellow she works with, and completely infatuated with him. All the suckers get for their money is to see her half naked for a few moments before her husband shows up. He's always right on time."
"How do they manage that?"
"Some system of signals probably. We'll get them sooner or later."
After I retired that night I lay awake for some time thinking of the girl. There was something about her which touched a responsive chord in my being, and it was not to be suppressed even by the undisputable charges of my detective friend. And the more I thought about her, the stronger became my desire. I even studied the possibility of making her acquaintance and endeavoring to win her affection, but the idea was discarded with the recollection of my friend's statement to the effect that she was deeply enamored with her accomplice. Finally just as I was dropping off to sleep, the germ of an idea came to me.
The next day I called on my friend and told him that I had decided to remain in Paris a week or two longer.
"What's happened? Something new in skirts?" he asked, astutely.
"No … that is … well, I'll tell you … that girl we saw yesterday…"
"What!" he broke in. "A waste of time, son. You couldn't open her legs with five thousand francs. And it wouldn't be worth it, even if you could," he added, laughing.
"Wait a minute, now, before you start laughin
g. I've got a plan. It may open her legs, as you so crudely put it, without costing a single franc!"
"What is this plan?" he asked cynically.
"Before I explain it, I want a little information."
"What do you want to know?"
"She takes them to the apartment she and her husband occupy. They move right after each operation. We know their present location."
"Do you know whether there are other people involved, that is, have they any confederates who participate in any way?"
"No; they work by themselves. They don't need any help the way they handle it."
"You said yesterday they probably have some system of signals that enables the man to know the exact moment to come in. Do you think he is already in the building, or does he come in from the outside?"
"I can't answer that, but one of the men who talked to us after deciding that he had been 'framed' said that the fellow stepped into the room with an overcoat on and a traveling bag in his hand, as though he had just returned from a journey."
"Do you know where she can be found, in case I wanted to get her attention as a prospective victim?"
"At any given moment, no, but she frequents cafes in the neighborhood we were in yesterday. But why waste your time and risk your money on a wild goose chase? Aren't there enough pretty girls on the streets of Paris without wasting time on this particular little crook?"
"I'm not interested in street chippies. See if you can't find out whether the husband secrets himself on the premises during the preliminaries or whether he comes in from outside. The practicability of the plan I have in mind depends mostly on this one detail. After you find out about it I'll explain everything."
"All right, I'll try, but you're just wasting your time, son. Don't do anything foolish."
"I'll not make any move without consulting you first. If you think it imprudent I'll drop it. I'd have to have your co-operation anyway."
"Well, I'll be in to see you tomorrow evening, and let you know if I've been able to dig up anything."