The woman was looped almost double, only her pelvis and her buttocks pushed towards her black tormenter. She seemed to be in a semi coma, aware, doubtless, of nothing but the thick pain down there at her loins, where an enormous monster was moving into deeper territory than had ever been explored before.
The negro's breath was hurling into the air in great choking gasps, his muscular lions working furiously, little buttocks clamping together in rapid muscular tensions, relaxing again as he withdrew.
Faster, faster, and his eyes gleamed viciously in passion and triumph. A white woman there down at his hips, helpless, her body being raped mercilessly by him. By him, a member of the black race, but more powerful than her own kind, able to make her scream, able to fill her with a great, wide pain she'd never known before. His face was savage and cruel and his orran swept ruggedly and with greater ease as her channel grew, into the core of her. Until with her moaning in delirium, his head thrust back, straining away from his jabbing hips and his mouth opened in a great animal cry as his primeval sperm swept into the white slim body of civilisation-in and in, up and up into her body in a great wave and another and another until his jerks grew slower and dwindled, flipped like the tail of a dying snake and came to a standstill. He fell forward, crushing the pathetic, raped body. The girl was unconscious.
The half-hidden audience was silent for some time. I found that I heard some ridiculous woman weeping quietly and then several people in European dresswomen amongst them-came forward, without rancour, and lifted the negro to his feet. He stared at them with a look of proud, savage defiance, flecks of blood on his limp penis, cast one look at the spread-eagled body, motionless on the floor, and left with a quiet tread.
The men picked up the Swedish girl and faded into the gloom. De Chauvreland turned to me. "A tough finale?" he asked. "A little too tough, perhaps," I said. "Perhaps. But she knew the rules. I'm sure it's the strongest thing anyone here has ever seen."
"Do you think the girl will be all right?" I asked. "Her? Oh, certainly. She'll recover quickly enough. She'll have an aching belly for a day or so, but nothing serious, I think. With that type of woman, half the pain comes from the shock of doing what they thought they never could again." Turning to Gene, I saw there were tears in her eyes. "I think that went a little too far, Louis," she complained quietly. "You should have given that poor girl a chance to pull out of it."
"My dear sweet." He reached across me and held her shoulder affectionately. "If I'd done that there would have been nothing to see. You saw how soon she changed her mind. But I'm sorry you found it so terrible. Have a drink." He poured the three of us strong whiskies. "You know, it's surprising how a woman will be satisfied with nothing else after that. I daresay, in spite of the way she feels now, that girl will be seeking him out in a day or two. She'll never want to look at another white man."
"Well give me a white man any day," Gene smiled at me as she said it and I felt it was incumbent on me to fulfill her implication, I had not forgotten the disdainful Mongolian dancer, but I was inclined to think that a bird in the hand was the best bet-and Gene was still to some extent a mysterious stranger to me.
"Look here," de Chauvreland suggested suddenly, "if you'd like to stay here overnight and have a look around the place, please do so. I should be pleased to have you here. But should you have other plans, please don't hesitate to say so. Anyway, I'll see you back here in a little while and you can tell me."
His remarks had been addressed exclusively to me. I suppose he could not expect Gene to have an unannounced night away from her husband in any case, but before I had time to answer, he had waved in a nonchalant motion and left us.
I looked at Gene.
"Why not," she said. "I can come up again tomorrow when Henry's away at golf again. Why not enjoy yourself while the opportunities are there?"
"You're very charming," I said. "But can de Chauvreland be trusted not to be embarrassing? I remember what you said and I have no such tendencies!"
"Louis?" She laughed. "Oh, he's all right. He only likes young boys with tender behinds."
"Well than. Perhaps I will," I decided.
"But first...." Gene's eyes contained an intense feeling as she placed her hands on my lapels.
I kissed the vermilion lips and her slim tongue, like a smooth little lizard, darted through my lips, flicking into my mouth, reaching around inside, as if it were a small penis trying to fill to big an aperture, lost but determined and tingling in the cavity.
"Harvey," she whispered. "All that sex has done something to my inside. Quickly, or I shall go mad."
Pressing hips together we crossed the circle of light, still burning, hollow and wan, an unwanted ghost in the huge-now empty-room. We stepped across the droplets of blood which dappled the churned up coverlets on the floor and entered the far gloom.
From the alcoves, muffled by the heavy drapings, came diverse sounds of passion, beginning, growing cresting, spending, spent, a muffled story of our lives.
Gene pulled aside the curtains of several of these little nests before we found one unoccupied. They were filled with couples in various stages of undress, some as yet in the preliminary overtures, others in the throes of intercourse, yet others lying exhausted and prostrate. Nobody minded as we peered in even if they noticed, which was rare. And my blood began to grow hot from the various portions, nude and semi-nude which I glimpsed of beautiful floor-felled women.
Into our own haven we sank as the curtain swung back behind us and I studied for a very brief moment what was a replica of the main hall; dimly lit, perfumed, voluptuously, sumptuously draped-and each equipped with a bidet. I smiled to myself at such convenience.
But Gene was already stripping from her clothes and I was still in my underwear by the time she was tiptoeing, rounded and supple, with twin mounds of white in the tan at her breasts, towards me. The small triangle of white at her loins fascinated me in its surround of golden brown. The contrast in shade seemed to make it a sacred place, seldom uncovered. I grinned to myself at this travesty of the truth and gently stroked the golden hair of it with my fingers as Gene rubbed against me.
Her hands trembled as, unable to wait for my loins, she pulled my pants away from my hips, grasping my penis as it jabbed into view. Her fingers sent a flood of emotion to my loins, opening the gate for the pent-up feelings of the afternoon and I pushed my hand between her thighs, which closed fleshily against it, rubbing on it, and inserted my fingers into the long wet crack between the folds, reaching, crooking up as she exploded little gasps of emotion. My fingers found the ring of skin and entered up, breaking into the smooth, soft world within. Gene swayed her head in a painful ecstasy, rubbing my organ, brushing her fingertips lightly, trembling over my testicles.
Whispering pleadings to hurry and fill her, she pulled me down on her soft flesh to the floor, spread her legs and, grasping my penis, pulled it into her vagina. With a thrust which buried me in her, I closed my lips over hers and she thrust out her tongue and left it swooning in my mouth as I had her.
Our act was wonderful and painfully prolonged, and after it we slept for some time together in the warmth on the soft bed of cushions and covers.
Later we dressed and went back into the main hall. Tables had been laid and a meal and drink were being served, buffet fashion; to a number of visitors who had recovered from their exertions.
We joined them and de Chauvreland came towards us.
"I trust you found everything to your convenience," he said, "Please help yourself to anything you fancy."
As we munched the delicacies with which we were surrounded, I took fresh stock, discreetly, of the hall.
The chandeliers were sparkling now in a full blaze of light which, although doing little to remove the bizarre, oriental appearance and atmosphere of the room, revealed to better advantage the most motley collection of individuals I'd ever seen in one place. Nearly every nationality appeared to be represented with many national
costumes evident. Some were dressed in an eastern costume-borrowed from the host, I later discovered-which belied their European appearance, but, doubtless, reflected their sexual outlook; others were in the height of elegance and fashion-many of the women in long evening dresses of superb quality; others again were the picture of bohemianism and yet others, like Gene and myself, were casually dressed in summer and sporting wear. It was obvious here that clothes did not necessarily make the man, nor assure his membership.
As I glanced amongst the women, I marveled at the choice of beauty in all its national forms and all assembled for the enjoyment of the body and emotions. Presumably most of the women could be had by any male member-although I found that such broad participation was not obligatory.
De Chauvreland slid from one group to another, introducing people who wanted to be introduced, chat ting, joking in a number of languages.
"I must be going shortly," Gene said at last. "I'm afraid Henry will soon be back from his golf and in anticipation of future absences, I don't want to impose too much on his gullibility." She smiled and leaned heavily against me and I accepted the cue in a willing bondship.
"Will you come up here, tomorrow, or shall I meet you somewhere?" I asked. Gene's eyes purred, reflecting a satisfaction which made me wonder for a moment if she'd feared she'd seen the last of me.
"I'll come up here and then we shan't have to fix a time," she replied. "I expect the bird will escape her cage in the afternoon.
I saw Gene to her car, where she left me with a twinkle.
"You won't fall for her, will you, darling?" I kissed her, she smiled and sped off down the long drive.
Returned to a sandwich, I noticed de Chauvreland eyeing me from the centre of a group he was entertaining with some droll story. I was already much impressed with his solicitude as a host, and in a few minutes this impression was sealed in my memory.
Through the crowd he came, holding the arm of the Mongolian dancer, stylishly dressed now in a tancoloured velvet western suit.
De Chauvreland's eyes smiled as I failed to hide my look of pleasure, and he introduced us with some finesse, making my admiration of her dancing the apparent reason for our introduction. He stayed with us for a while, taking part in the conversation and then drifted off.
The girl spoke perfect English and conversed very intelligently, displaying a wide knowledge of all sorts of subjects. But her soft, oriental acceptance of her womanhood contained a gentle femininity more marked than in even the less aggressive of her western sisters. She had been trained to be an accompaniment to man, albeit a suitably inspiring one, not to set herself up against him.
Her beauty, slightly removed from our western civilisation, gave her that atmosphere of an unknown world, which, as in every other form, was quick to kindle my interest.
The velvet suit, flowing over her reed-like body, gave her a slight feline strangeness, a much less pronounced similarity with the strangeness of a negress wearing high heels, It added, somehow, to her potentiality.
Her eyes, as they held mine deeply and inscrutably while we talked, were only slightly almond-shaped, enough to give her the impression of great and passionate forces, held precariously at bay. Her features, at close quarters, were much more Indian than Mongolian, with an almost imperceptible flaring of the nostrils and high, smooth cheekbones, We talked at length about dancing in its various forms. I was particularly interested in Indian dancing which had fascinated me since the arrival in western towns of Indian companies and we were soon steeped in an animated discussion which brought us imperceptibly closer. I expressed anew great admiration for her dancing, asking the significance of various movements, which had, doubtless, escaped the eyes of many present, but which sheer training had forced her to include, even though they were unnecessary to the erotic spell she'd been intended to weave.
"I do hope we shall see you dance again," I said. "I would regard it as a tragedy to be so near to such a fine dancer and see her dance only once."
Whether she regarded the compliment seriously or not-and there was no reason why she shouldn't-she took the cue.
"If you like I will dance for you tonight," she promised.
Her eyes revealed that this was how it was to be done.
"For me alone?" I asked, touching her hand gently with mine. "For you alone," she smiled, We wandered out into the grounds after that and out in the hot sun, with the secluded greenery of trees and shaded walks around us. I was impatient to make love to her. But I gave no voice to my feelings. This, I felt would have been a breach of etiquette, of the evolution of an affair which could be conducted in a sequence of comfort The girl remained charming and gentle, betraying no indication of the intimacy in which we would find ourselves later that night.
In some of the narrow paths in these wonderful grounds of de Chauvreland's-virtually a forest-I walked behind her, feeling the heat of the blood in my face as I watched the sun soaking into the tan of her costume as it out-lined her trim body. I derived hot satisfaction from the sight of the small length of her calves which protruded below the fringe of the skirt. And as she half turned, occasionally to look back, she caught, invariably, my eyes on the thrust of her large breasts, large even under the concealing folds of the cloth.
Could I ever have a surplus of women, I wondered? Could I, even in the throes of a new passion, a fresh shower for my emotions, narrow my thoughts to a single track? As well ask me to ignore an offered peach although I had just tasted the sweetest melon. It was no question of a mechanical appetite for an act-that could become a bore-rather than an avidity for an emotional injection, which reached its culmination in the act. My appetite for women was enormous. Each woman, each body was a fresh excitement-and I could never have enough excitement, in any form.
As we stopped to look at some plant-twined trellis work, I reached my arms around the girl, from my position behind her and kissed her neck. She inclined her head, offering the total expanse of her firm, brown throat, and turned towards me, slowly, almond lids lowered over almond eyes. Pulling my head down, she kissed me, swaying into me as if a wind had swept her body in against mine. The kiss was the burning of snow between us and it needed but a momentary decision on either side and we would have lain there on the spot, loving, hot and burning in our clothes in the sun. But in me there wavered the thought that this should wait, that it should grow until the evening and the evening's comfort. And my wavering found an echoing tremor in the girl, who breathed my thoughts into words.
"It will be better later."
We walked back to the mansion, arms linked, and I thanked the Creator for the variety of women.
During the evening, de Chauvreland showed me over his huge mansion, The variety of taste displayed was quite remarkable. One room would be furnished in the most modem style, the next in, say Louis XV style and another in oriental opulence.
"It's a hobby of mine," he explained. "I like so many things, styles among them, that I couldn't possibly limit myself to a single one."
The most astonishing room I found was what appeared to be a fully equipped doctor's surgery.
"It is for the occasional accident. It makes things much easier," he answered my unspoken question. "By making abortion available and safe-I have a specialist friend-we thus remove the only argument of the 'moral' world to which we attach any importance: the purely practical one of the unwanted child." I was in complete agreement with the man and although what he went on to say seemed elementary, I let him continue. After all, he wasn't to know that I was completely a man after his own heart.
"We have here a sort of nomadic community," he said, "In which sex is stripped of the humbug with which so many try to surround it; where it is treated as a very normal and pleasurable part of existence like eating or induling in sport or having intellectual intercourse. After all what is it? You have a woman with looked at soberly-a rather uninteresting cavity in her body and man with a rather comic, one might almost say disgraceful from the art
istic point of view, morsel of flesh protruding in a peculiar spot. When these two items are brought together you have a very pleasurable sensation. What could be simpler than that if you cut out the child? But, of course, man with his jealousy-the most pernicious of our qualities-and his insistence on an emotional sop for which he has no possible proof, but whose do's and don't's he accepts unquestioningly, has created a great aura of tabou and secrecy and in some cases disgust around this simple act. This is a very sacred thing, he says-motherhood and possession. While he ignores motherhood with contraception and, frequently, everybody else's right to possession. And anyway neither men nor women should be reduced to the level of inanimate goods which can be possessed without feeling.
"And so we have this little society to which people who think this way can come and, I assure you, they are not forced to think it beyond a certain minimum degree. Nobody is forced to be completely promiscuous. If it fails to give them pleasure, then obviously as we accept pleasure as the criterion there is no point in their being unduly promiscuous.
"But of course, the jealousy and possession just as the horror of the freedom with which sex can be regarded, springs only from environment and upbringing. Why, my dear fellow,"-he broke into a splutter of laughter-"there was a time when I thought I could never respect an unmarried woman who was not a virgin, Ruined something between us, I thought. But with usage and becoming accustomed to the world, after a few initial shocks, this attitude died, as it does with any reasonable person. It dies here in people all the time until they no longer have the same cramped, jealous emotions, which caused them nothing but worry and pain. Of course, unfortunately not all husbands and wives think the same way; so many wives and some husbands-have to creep here alone for their pleasure to avoid hurting the other's feelings."
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