The Memoirs Of Josephine Mutzenbacher, Volume Two
by Unknown
(BH-3002)


INTRODUCTION 

The second volume of The Memoirs of Josephine Mutzenbacher can be fully 
appreciated as a socio-historical document only if the reader has acquainted 
himself with the introductory Volume One, (Brandon House, N. Hollywood, 
Calif., 1967). 

It is doubtful that Volume Two was also ghostwritten by the late Austrian 
writer, Felix Salten, who had admitted his authorship of the first volume in 
an indirect manner when once questioned by his fellow writer, Stephen Zweig. 
But it must be admitted that Salten's style has been faithfully imitated and 
its literary mode even improved to a certain extent. 

The existence of the second volume was discovered in the period following 
the last war. Many buildings in Vienna had been destroyed by the Allied 
bombing, and in the process of clearing away the rubble, many cellars and 
basements yielded all sorts of forgotten things, trash as well as valuable 
objects and mementos. The typed manuscript of the second part of the 
Mutzenbacher memoirs was among them and was definitely considered a memento 
worth preserving. 

The historicity of the heroine was established in my introduction to Volume 
One, also the great popularity of her autobiography among all German 
speaking readers, especially the Viennese. The reason for this astonishing 
longevity of the book lies not merely in the typical Austrian nostalgia for 
the glamorous Gay Nineties of Imperial Vienna, but chiefly in the common 
man's sympathy with an ingenious, self-made woman, especially a daughter of 
the people. 

I must repeat my complaint, mentioned in the first introduction, concerning 
the impossibility to express adequately the snap and vigor of the Viennese 
dialect in any translation, but it must be welcomed that there is no 
linguistic barrier when it comes to acquainting the non-German reader with 
the fundamental psychological conflict to which our heroine was almost 
continually subjected. She was always faced with the choice between giving 
in to romantic love, on the one hand, and the renunciation of passionate 
fulfillment, on the other, for the sake of reaching the top of whoredom. 
Josephine, or Pepi for short, had understandable difficulties in suppressing 
her one hundred percent femininity whenever it was fully aroused by some 
ultra-virile males like, for instance, several of her Hungarian lovers. 

It has always been a popular superstition to regard a great courtesan as a 
highly sexed woman. The very opposite is true, as a rule. Two of the most 
powerful royal mistresses known to history were Madame de Maintenon, who 
became the morganatic wife of the "sun king," Louis XIV, and the Marquise de 
Pompadour, who exerted an often unfortunate influence on the politics of 
Louis XV, thus preparing the ground floor of the French Revolution. Both 
ladies were suffering from a marked frigid disposition which compelled them 
to feign the enduring passion and sexual readiness necessary to satisfy the 
exorbitant erotic demands of their masters. 

Josephine Mutzenbacher, in great contrast to her august French predecessors 
in that ancient profession, was gifted with an exceptionally passionate 
nature and loved the sex act per se, a fact that can easily prove fatal for 
a woman who intends to fight her way to the top of the demimonde. That she 
was nevertheless able to control her strong libido even under the most 
tempting circumstances, makes her case unique among the known biographies of 
courtesans of any caliber. 

Another uniqueness may also be found in her astonishing immunity to all 
sorts of neurotic influences, especially if she encountered them in the 
persons of otherwise pleasant customers like the Hungarian officer, Arpad 
von Ofaley, an oversexed blade who, nowadays, would pour out his doubts 
about "not being altruistic enough as a sexual performer," on the couch of a 
psychotherapist instead of having crying fits in the arms of a sympathetic 
prostitute. 

Short of committing the sin of generalization, we may contend that the type 
of the "sympathetic prostitute" has a typical Viennese flavor and can hardly 
be met with in other European capitals, least of all in Paris where most 
streetwalkers and demimondaines have been tailoring their careers after the 
model of a Maintenon and a Pompadour, i.e., with a coolly calculating 
ambition. The Viennese Pepi, on the other hand, has to force herself, time 
and time again, to remember her "lofty" goal and to suppress her sentimental 
leanings that are easily aroused by the sight of human misery, both physical 
and emotional. 

Another-we may say-typical Viennese trait is Pepi's permissiveness in 
indulging her tremendous sexual gusto when she feels scorched by the hungry 
looks of an attractive male whom she considers "a good lay," no matter 
whether it is a money-making proposition or not. Such extra-professional 
enjoyments as she pursues with Arpad's orderly, Jancsi, and, later, with the 
Italian, Alfredo, who succeeds in getting her pregnant, would be shunned by 
most ambitious "professionals" like playing with dynamite. 

The Austrian writer, Arthur Schnitzler, (1862-1931), immortalized the 
popular type of "the sweet Viennese girl" in his play, Love Affair; the same 
kind of girl that was somehow hidden in Pepi's emotional get-up and which 
might have easily played havoc with her gallant career whenever she 
permitted herself quite unprofessional detours. Her ability to harden 
herself, at last, against that romantic streak was quite un-Viennese and can 
be explained only by her deadly fear of sinking back into the poverty of her 
childhood, perhaps also by her genuine desire to become a member of 
civilized and cultured society. In this we may also find the reason for the 
almost sentimental attachment the Viennese have formed for the Mutzenbacher 
story: Pepi was the only Viennese prostitute who actually made the big time; 
sentimentality and all. 

The feminine tendency of wanting to surrender completely to the charms of a 
virile male, to the exclusion of more cautious considerations, has always 
made it difficult for Viennese prostitutes to go the exceptional way of a 
Mutzenbacher. The often quoted Madame Benesch was a native of Czechoslovakia 
and was never known to renounce even the smallest material advantages for 
the sake of any sentimental, or otherwise humane, consideration. 

From a strictly socio-psychological point of view the figure of Steffi, 
Pepi's worldly-wise colleague and faithful friend, is almost more 
interesting than the heroine herself, and not only because she actually 
marries the man she has fallen in love with. Her extreme common sense causes 
us to ask ourselves why such a girl had to sail into matrimonial life over 
the detour of prostitution. It is not wrong to assume that her childhood was 
not subjected to such traumatic experiences as was Pepi's, whose incestuous 
relationship with her father seemed to have soured her concept of wedded 
life. 

Steffi was also quite fortunate in her acquisition of that humanitarian 
doctor friend whose existence could be easily doubted as resembling too much 
a deus ex machina. But many Viennese, who were still young men at the 
beginning of this century, were quite familiar with the person of a certain 
Dr. Walter Morgenstern, who, for many years, served as police physician and 
health officer, whose task it was to examine all duly licensed prostitutes 
at Police Headquarters, twice a week. To those "in the know," Dr. 
Morgenstern was identical with the paternal physician in the Mutzenbacher 
story. 

The identity of the "madam with a heart of gold," as Madame Yvonne appears 
in the memoirs, was equally known; she was the only other native Viennese 
who "made it," apart from La Mutzenbacher. It was said, she had gone to 
Paris as the mistress of some rich industrialist and established her 
Viennese bordello with the money she had brought back from France. 

Such "humanitarian demimondaines" as Steffi and Madame Yvonne are outside 
the scope of experience of the Anglo-American world where prostitutes and 
madams alike have to be hard as nails to withstand the contemptuous and 
often cruel treatment at the hands of customers and authorities. The 
live-and-let-live philosophy as shown by the young police officer in Pepi's 
second adventure in the Prater, demonstrates again a typical Viennese 
quality which doesn't let a policeman look at a prostitute with contempt as 
long as she doesn't create any difficulties for him when plying her trade. 
Such an entirely human approach is quite unthinkable for a law enforcement 
officer in the Anglo-American civilization where, in paraphrasing a Gertrude 
Stein definition, "A whore is a whore is a whore!" 

Far from intending to glorify, or romanticize, the life of prostitution, we 
feel, nevertheless, the great need of merciless honesty when taking stock of 
our present day mores. We are faced with more and more unsavory stories of 
wife and husband swapping all over the country, especially among the 
well-to-do suburban couples who didn't have to wait to be made "afraid of 
Virginia Wolfe" to indulge their extramarital fun, that would force a 
Josephine Mutzenbacher to complain about too much competition from 
"respectable" women. The typical philistine hypocrisy lies in the 
traditional bourgeois concept of the permissible double standard for members 
of "good society." The condition has become too widely known to be 
elaborated upon. 

Familiarity with extra-martial sex is being advocated as a "safeguard 
against neuroses" by our modern husband and wife swappers to whom the 
lowering of our standards of taste, the deadening of our finer sensibilities 
are of no moment as long as they are replaced by the same sexual thrills 
which belonged to the ABC's of Josephine Mutzenbacher's profession. For 
depravity seems to become a valuable asset when exercised by the jet set, 
not to speak of more mature "pillars of society." Compared with these, the 
professional activities of official prostitutes assume an almost decent air 
of business-like matter-of-factness. 

Although the sociologist is aware that married men and women prey on each 
other, ceaselessly and ravenously, he has not yet drawn a consistent 
conclusion. The sentimentalist clings tenaciously to the association of 
youth with innocence; the sociologist knows that even the age limit which 
the law fixes as the boundary-line of innocence has no corresponding 
restriction in fact. Nor has the legal relationship of married couples. 

The study of memoirs like those of Josephine Mutzenbacher proves the lack of 
a sense of reality on the part of sociologists and sentimentalists alike. 
Prostitution presents no menace to the integrity of marital life. As soon as 
it is clearly seen that the married woman who craves a change of sexual 
partners and one that chooses sex for her career are sisters under the skin, 
the dividing line between professional and amateur prostitution becomes 
blurred. 

If our eager social reformers are in earnest when it comes to "purifying" 
the mores in our nation, they will have to begin with themselves. It must 
become obvious to them that the smug obscenities of our conventional stag 
parties and the tasteless locker-room stories that accompany much of the 
erotic horseplay, contribute just as much to the "sexual explosion" in urban 
and suburban circles as the badly disguised sexual curiosity of their wives. 
A great demimondaine could not have become what she was without observing 
the rules of the social game that are broken by most of our modern 
socialites. This is the valuable lesson taught by the Mutzenbacher memoirs. 

-Hilary E. Holt, Ph.D., Los Angeles, October 1967 

 * * * 

CHAPTER ONE 

THE NEW FRIEND 

Keeping a diary can become a source of great amusement, especially when one 
rereads the entries made in one's youth. There is no better teacher in life 
than experience, and those who learn from their mistakes will gain much 
satisfaction from having the many foolish things they thought, said, and 
did, in the past, brought back to their mind. 

I am proud to say that I did learn from my mistakes and that is why I was 
able to make the steep ascent from the netherworld of a common streetwalker 
to the elevated level of a socially acceptable demimonde. It is commonly 
assumed that a man can be ennobled by keeping company with a cultured woman, 
which may be true in some cases, but it is undeniable that a girl of the 
lower classes can acquire culture and social standing only through the 
influence of sophisticated male friends. First she must become aware of the 
existence of culture and then she has to have the strong desire to acquire 
it. 

I was fortunate to notice in my early streetwalker days that rich men are 
not always cultured and that having a lot of money does not necessarily make 
one accepted in society. Rich men's wives, or mistresses, were not always 
considered real ladies, no matter how gorgeously dressed they were or how 
generously they tipped waiters and porters. On the other hand, there was a 
certain Madame Benesch, owner of the most elegant bordellos in the 
Austro-Hungarian monarchy, who often appeared in public in the company of 
counts and dukes who belonged to her distinguished clientele, or used to be 
her lovers in former days. Waiters, car washers, hairdressers and ushers 
always mentioned Madame Benesch's great kindness and good manners, and very 
rarely the way she handed out tips. 

One of my streetwalker "colleagues" used to say: 

"So what's so wonderful about that Benesch woman? She's been using her cunt 
all her life to make a living. We're doing just the same!" 

I thought it wise not to answer her, but I kept thinking that having a cunt 
was not enough. If a cunt is not used wisely one can't become a Madame 
Benesch, who certainly was the product of a combination of cunt and brain. 
And if a woman wants to develop her brain, she has to be taught by an 
intelligent man, preferably a lover. I kept these thoughts to myself, but 
was determined to act on them. 

In the first volume of my memoirs I mentioned how Rudolf, headwaiter and 
pimp, and his mistress, Zenzi, trained me to become a common prostitute. Not 
a "legal one," namely licensed by the police and subject to medical 
examination twice a week, but a private, or clandestine, prostitute who had 
to avoid being noticed by the cops who would arrest her without fail. 

I learned fast and became acquainted with many kinds of sexual desire in a 
short time. Zenzi explained everything to me and I caught on in a jiffy, 
because-funny as it may sound-I loved being a whore in those days. It seemed 
an easy way of making money, although it didn't take me long to find out 
that it wasn't so easy after all. Some of my new customers were habituated 
to strange perversions and it cost me a lot of self-control not to let the 
disgust show in my face. The more such a customer meets with the willing and 
understanding cooperation of a girl, the more he is willing to part with a 
lot of money. Or there were those who thought we needn't be treated like 
human beings merely because we were a bunch of whores, and once they had 
deposited their semen in us, they paid only grudgingly. 

Often, when I'd had a day of hard work with difficult customers, I tried to 
get hold of a young and handsome man with whom sex was more of a pleasure 
than work. Such a fellow got me pretty cheap and I would almost have done it 
for nothing unless it would have given me a bad name among the other girls. 
Market prices must be kept on an even level. One may raise them, never lower 
them. 

During the first two months after my entry in the "profession," I still 
lived at my father's place. In contrast to his initial hesitancy about 
letting me "join the profession," he quickly got used to being kept by me. 
Zenzi was right when she advised me never to tell how much money I made per 
day, because my father thought it quite natural to appropriate my earnings, 
and he became quite grouchy when I didn't give him more than two guilders. 
He had forgotten the days when even the daily food was hard to come by and 
he had to work hard to make both ends meet. Now that his daughter was a 
successful whore, he expected to live in affluence, which, in his case, 
meant to get drunk day after day. His cronies in the tavern made nasty 
remarks about how comfortable it was to have such a diligent daughter to 
take care of her father who had become a man of leisure. As usual, my father 
got violent when he had drunk too much, and he hit the offender over the 
head with a beer mug and the result was a general melee from which my father 
emerged with a bleeding head. When he came home in that miserable condition, 
he blamed me for everything. All I could do was to get him into bed and let 
him sleep it off. 

Since my father had forced me into an incestuous relationship with him and 
then, like a pimp, found it quite in order that I should keep him in money 
with my earnings as a prostitute, I had no reason to be fond of him, and yet 
I felt pity for him. He was the product of his upbringing and never had 
enough ambition or imagination to better himself. Then, when my mother died, 
he lost the little bit of sense of duty that had made him go to work every 
day. He was still in the prime of manhood and could have found some work if 
he had kept looking for it. But without a wife to egg him on and since his 
two sons were earning money as apprentices, he gave in to the temptation of 
living on his only daughter's "sinful" earnings. 

I didn't mind giving my father some money for his daily meals, but I had to 
protect myself from the scenes when he came home drunk. And being tired from 
having to satisfy several "customers" during the day, I felt less and less 
inclined to sleep with him. When I began to say no to my father he tried to 
beat me, but his drunkenness made him soon collapse on the bed and fall 
asleep. My decision was soon made: I had to move away from home and learn to 
be quite independent. 

I found a nice little furnished room in the ninth district, not far from the 
center of the city. There I was alone and undisturbed and could better take 
care of myself in every respect. Father came to my new place twice but, 
thank God, I wasn't at home. After a week he sent me a message asking me to 
come back home, but I declined and promised to send him a little money now 
and then, which he should use for food and not for getting drunk. I doubt 
that he followed my advice, because I heard from several people that he 
continued to sit around in taverns, cadge drinks off anybody who was willing 
to indulge him, and to curse "his only daughter who refused to take care of 
him." I was sad about this, and also that people teased him into drunken 
rages, but I couldn't continue to look out for a father who was still young 
enough to take care of himself. 

I had joined the company of five other young girls who, like myself, were 
clandestine prostitutes. We were all good-looking and found our customers 
easily, but apart from earning money we tried to have a lot of childish fun. 
Often we spent whole evenings sitting around in small coffeehouses or 
restaurants, chatting and gossiping, telling each other of the strange 
habits of some of our customers and having a real good time. If one of our 
group had had a bad day, we gladly helped her out as a matter of course. 
Since we were young, pretty and always in a good mood, we found customers 
without difficulty. It got talked around that we were not expensive and 
could be taken to bed for two guilders, especially by virile young guys who 
were not difficult to satisfy and who gave us some pleasure too. Two small, 
clean hotels in the neighborhood made the consummation of our business 
transactions quite easy. 

It was particularly nice during the summer, when some of the small sidewalk 
cafes put some oleander bushes in wooden boxes between the tables and the 
outer part of the sidewalk. In this way we had a little privacy and could 
sit together like at a club-gathering, sipping some wine or beer. Our 
regular customers knew our various hangouts and jokingly called our group 
"The Six Saints." Sometimes a young man stuck his hand through the 
protecting shrubs of our cozy corner and pinched one of us in the behind, or 
he came to our table and asked with mock seriousness whether he was talking 
to the pious young ladies called "The Six Saints." We always laughed and the 
one that the young man had chosen, picked up her purse and followed him, not 
without telling us: "Excuse me girls, but I've got to get married for an 
hour, or so!" 

We usually gave her a few teasing repartees and called after her not to take 
any wooden nickels, or something worse which might show after nine months, 
but none of us was jealous. We knew we were pretty and equally desirable, 
and followed a careless live-and-let-live policy. Often we began our 
business promenades quite early in the afternoon, but then we had to be very 
careful not to be noticed by some cops who were also walking their beats. By 
dinnertime we usually had made enough money to call it a day, and worked 
"over-time" only in the case of very special offers, let's say in the 
neighborhood of five guilders or more. None of us could afford to refuse a 
large offer. We had to buy nice dresses, good underwear, and a few simple 
cosmetics like perfumed soap and some good eau de cologne. It paid to take 
care of our appearance and always look clean and fresh. 

We never wore any cumbersome petticoats or underpants so as to be undressed 
as quickly as possible the moment we entered a hotel room with a customer. A 
"transaction" usually took no longer than half an hour, especially when the 
customers were men coming home from work who felt like "really enjoying it" 
before tasting the often faded charms of their spouses. How unattractive 
such wives must have been we could guess from the fact that the man 
preferred a "quickie" with a young girl to a whole night next to his 
legitimate mate. 

We never charged them much for such "quickies," and they tried to show their 
appreciation by giving us a package of cigarettes or a small bottle of wine. 
I didn't like to smoke, but a drop of tasty wine was not refused by me, 
although I never got even slightly high. Getting drunk and sitting night 
after night in smoke-filled taverns ruins a girl's health far more than 
fifteen customers per day. A girl may have all the sex in the world and stay 
fresh and healthy if she has otherwise clean living habits. 

One girl of our group was a particularly good sport. Her name was Steffi. 
She had the rare gift of impersonation and could imitate people far better 
than a professional actress. She kept us in stitches with her imitations of 
some cafe or tavern owner who had the habit of winking at us whenever we 
were short of cash and asked him "to chalk it up." He wanted us to know we 
could pay our debts also in a currency of his own choice. Her impersonation 
of "the bitchy landlady" or "the gallant taxicab driver" were little works 
of art. 

Her most amusing impersonations, though, were those of some of her customers 
and their behavior in bed. If it concerned men with whom we had also gone to 
bed at some time or other we at once recognized them from Steffi's 
performance. Her knowledge of human nature was astonishing. She had only to 
look at a man to know how he would be in bed. Sometimes we tested her and 
asked her how some man would behave who had just taken one of us to a hotel. 
She waited until the girl came back and then gave an impromptu performance 
of how that customer must have carried on in bed, and the girl in question 
had to admit, almost hysterical with laughter, that, yes, that was exactly 
how her latest customer had acted. 

Steffi was a racy brunette with a terrific personality whose talents and 
cleverness qualified her for far better things in life than being a 
prostitute. A later chapter in my memoirs will reveal that I had estimated 
her correctly, but in those earlier days we were already charmed by her 
unquenchable vivacity and an attractive combination of aggressiveness and 
protectiveness. Her wise counsel used to help many of us in difficult 
situations. Two of our group would have trusted themselves into the hands of 
unscrupulous, illegal abortionists and, as it was often the case, died from 
loss of blood or infection. Steffi knew a very rich doctor who was something 
of a humanitarian, and he arranged for the girls to have their babies at his 
own private clinic and, afterwards, saw to it that the children were given 
to reliable adoptive parents. 

But Steffi could also be quite exuberant and induce us girls to play all 
sorts of pranks on men in order to get their attention, or only for the mere 
hell of it. When we spotted an elderly gent who looked prosperous, we first 
made sure that there was no cop in the vicinity, and then Steffi, leaving us 
a few steps behind, would approach the man and say in her politest manner: 

"Excuse me, Sir, you look like our famous comedian, Girardi, and I'm sure 
you'd like to see my five beautiful sisters. We want to become actresses and 
don't know anybody to give us an entree." By that time we had caught up with 
Steffi and presented ourselves to the gentleman like mannequins showing off 
some new dresses, turning round and, in reality, exhibiting our round 
breasts and firm fannies. The man couldn't help watching us with an ever 
increasing interest, while Steffi commanded: 

"Now girls, show the kind gentleman what excellent legs you have. Lift your 
skirts!" 

We did as told and stepped closer to the blushing victim who began to grope 
at us and showed all the symptoms of sexual excitement, especially by his 
bulging fly. We feigned bashfulness and embarrassed giggling, and Steffi 
said: 

"You must forgive them, Sir, they are all still virgins. But look ... hey 
girls, lift your skirts a little higher so that the gentleman can see what 
you've got between your legs ... that's right! Now, you will observe, my 
dear Sir, how these kids have everything in the right places. Fini here, as 
you can see, has blonde pubic hair! That's quite rare and should make her 
quite desirable as a dramatic student, wouldn't you think so?" 

By then the hard-breathing man would realize what the deal was and try to 
come to terms with one of us. But often such a potential customer would also 
try to haggle and keep the price low. In that case Steffi would say, with no 
less charm than before: 

"Sorry, Sir, but our Mammy is going to worry about us if I don't take the 
girls home now. You can always find us sitting in the little cafe around the 
corner in the late afternoons. See you again soon, Sir; it was a real 
pleasure to make your acquaintance!" 

Upon which we all made a deep curtsy like ballet dancers thanking for 
applause, and then ran off laughing and giggling like a bunch of children. 

If the man in question was still young and good-looking, we were not so 
difficult about coming to terms with him. If he had very little money, one 
of us would take him into a dark house entrance and do a nice hand job on 
him. Steffi was a past master at doing quick hand jobs and always to the 
satisfaction of the customer. Once she gave us an idea: 

"You know what, kids? There are quite a few nice boys around who don't have 
the dough to take us to a hotel room. But why should they suffer and jack 
off by themselves? Let's get organized and sell them credit tickets-we can 
write them up ourselves-which have to be paid in advance, let's say, one 
guilder for five hand-jobs, or one guilder for two quickie stand-up jobs. We 
can always let a young guy give us a quick screwing in some dark house 
entrance at night. So what do you say to this? For one guilder a guy is 
entitled to five hand jobs or two stand-up quickies." 

"Wait a minute," I spoke up. "It's easy for a guy to give us one of the five 
tickets, each time we deliver a hand job. But, suppose he wants those two 
stand-up quickies? It has to be an even number of tickets. We either charge 
one guilder for six hand-jobs or the same price for two stand-up quickies, 
three tickets at one time." 

Steffi thought for a minute and then said: "No, that would be too cheap! 
We'd better do it this way, girls: If a guy buys five tickets in advance, he 
can get either five hand-jobs, or one stand-up quickie at one time, and two 
more hand jobs on other occasions. How's that?" We thought this a good 
solution. If a young and handsome guy gets the real thing, no matter that it 
would be only a stand-up quickie, he should hand over three tickets. After 
all, if we decided to provide sexual satisfaction for the impecunious or for 
young students with little pocket money, we were almost like social workers 
and humanitarians. We returned to the little cafe that was our regular 
hangout "after hours" and proceeded to prepare about one hundred 
"sex-tickets." 

Steffi told us she got the idea from the institution called "Restaurants 
Incorporated," a chain of small eateries that catered to the less moneyed 
part of the population. Usually, around the first of the month when small 
clerks and salesgirls got their meager salaries, they bought their 
"meal-tickets," issued in little books of ten tickets each. The price was 
one guilder, for a total of ten meals. People with foresight bought three 
books to cover at least one meal for every day of a month. 

It was an ingenious idea to adapt this system for our own trade: 
meal-tickets were transformed into sex-tickets. When Fini, the one with the 
blonde pubic hair, became the proud owner of two well-reputed bordellos ten 
years later she used the same principle to ensure a lot of regular customers 
for her business. A man could buy a book that contained a variety of 
"tickets." One kind entitled him to a whole hour with one of the girls, 
another to spend a whole night with her, and so on. The customer had to hand 
over the respective ticket to the girl who took him to her room while she 
delivered all the tickets of a business day, or night, to the madam after 
hours. Of course a good customer always gave his chosen girl an extra tip 
which was sometimes a bigger amount than the price for the individual 
ticket. 

Steffi's good business sense brought us a tremendous success. Our 
"humanitarian" plan, to save young, impecunious males from sex starvation, 
got talked around and it was from that time on that we acquired the 
nickname, "The Six Saints." We soon discovered that this credit-sex plan had 
a drawback. In our enthusiasm, we had sold too many tickets and the outcome 
was that we were so overrun by customers for hand jobs and stand-up 
quickies, all paid in advance, that we had hardly any time left for what we 
called the big-time customers, those who took us to a hotel room and paid us 
from two to five guilders for an hour. 

It was necessary therefore to reduce the number of our "credit customers," 
which resulted in our acquiring the reputation of being "sold out" most of 
the time. One evening, Steffi said with the most serious face in the world: 

"I've got to cut down on those hand jobs, girls. If I go to bed with twenty 
guys a day, my cunt doesn't hurt a bit, but after doing ten hand jobs in a 
couple of hours I've got to put a cold compress around my wrist. Charity is 
fine, but it should begin at home. I'll never get any place if I spend my 
youth taking care of the sex-starved poor. Some of the students have already 
begun to call me Florence Nightingale! That's a far cry from my ideal, which 
was Cleopatra, or the Queen of Sheba!" 

We agreed with Steffi and decided to cultivate, above all, cash-and-carry 
customers and leave our idealistic instincts for days when we were less in 
demand, which was usually at the beginning of the week. Mondays and Tuesdays 
were poor sex days. 

How stupid I was not to stick closely to Steffi's repeated warnings not to 
accompany men we didn't know to their own places or to some deserted area 
was brought home to me by the following incident. 

One Sunday morning-we had made it a rule not to work on Sundays before 8 
p.m.-I was walking toward a particularly nice place in the Vienna Woods, 
being part of a gay crowd of all sorts of people walking in the same 
direction. Suddenly a tall, athletic guy addressed me with what was to be a 
funny approach : 

"Excuse me, young lady, but you seem to be so independent and sure of 
yourself, while I am a very timid boy, always afraid in a crowd. Would you 
mind taking me to some nice quiet spot here in the forest where we can both 
enjoy nature?" 

"Or at least what comes naturally, eh?" I rejoined and looked him straight 
in the face. He had regular features and wavy blond hair, but his eyes were 
of a strange, cold blue, which should have given me a warning. Before I 
could make up my mind, his hand hooked his arm in mine and gently steered me 
away from the main path and deeper into the forest. After a few minutes we 
reached a small clearing where he suggested we sit down and rest a bit. The 
voices of the other Sunday excursionists walking along the main path had 
become almost inaudible. The twittering and chirping of birds flying from 
tree to tree sounded very peaceful and a few squirrels running up and down 
the trunks completed the rustic idyll. 

My new acquaintance began to talk: 

"I wonder whether you've read about the satyrs in ancient Greece who used to 
chase the beautiful nymphs in the forest and then take them by force?" 

I admitted that I'd seen a picture of nymphs and satyrs in the display 
window of some art shop in the Inner City. 

"Well," he said, becoming somewhat excited, "then you know what I'm talking 
about. I want to play satyr and nymph with you and I'll pay you handsomely!" 

"Well, what do I have to do?" 

"We both get undressed, you know, just like the real thing, and you begin to 
pick some flowers here in the clearing, while I am going to watch you 
secretly from behind the trees, and...." 

"But how can you do it secretly after you tell me all this now...?" 

His cold blue eyes darkened: 

"Don't be more stupid than necessary! We are going to play a scene like on a 
stage, see? And we have to discuss in advance how we're going to do it. 
Can't you understand that?" 

"Sure, sure ... go right ahead and tell me what you want to do...!" 

Aha, I thought, one of those guys who can enjoy their sex only when it's 
quite removed from reality. All that "staging" they have to do often takes 
more energy out of them than ten lays in the natural way. 

"All right," he resumed, "you must be quite naked plucking flowers and you 
bend down so that your ass is turned toward me. This will excite me more. 
And suddenly I'll come running from behind the tree and push you in the 
grass and give you the best screwing you've ever had in your life!" 

My face must have shown that I wasn't sure whether I'd like to play nymph 
and satyr in the Vienna Woods with a stranger and almost a quarter mile away 
from the main path so that nobody could hear me should I be forced to cry 
for help. 

"Don't be afraid," the man reassured me. "Of course, when I attack you, you 
must defend yourself just as the real nymphs were supposed to do, but after 
a while you must yield to me and let me fuck you. But when we are wrestling 
first, you must not yell! You know I'm not going to do anything painful to 
you. I think you like to be fucked, don't you?" 

"Well ... yes...." I admitted hesitantly, "but be sure I'm not left with red 
and blue spots all over my body. After all, I can't afford to stay away from 
business for a week or so...." 

"Ah, I knew you were a whore...." he said with a strange smile I didn't like 
at all. "But never mind, you are young and fresh and very pretty. A real 
nymph, especially if you let down your beautiful hair all around your 
shoulders...." 

He began to get out of his shoes and I started to undress myself. When I 
continued my denuding process behind the shelter of a tree, the man 
approved: 

"Yes, that's good! Nymphs are naturally shy and modest. You're going to be 
ideal!" 

With that he disappeared behind some trees, apparently because satyrs are 
not supposed to be seen in the process of making their toilet. I stepped out 
into the clearing again and bent forward to gather some red clover that 
blossomed there in profusion. Suddenly I heard my "satyr" running behind me 
and before I could turn around he had jumped me and roughly thrown me on the 
grass. He seemed to have forgotten his promise not to hurt me, because he 
drove his nails into my shoulders and bit into my right breast. I began to 
yell from pain and he quickly pressed his hand on my mouth with such force 
that I was afraid he'd push my teeth into my throat. I began to hit his 
frighteningly distorted face with my fists, but couldn't prevail against his 
uncanny strength. He lay on me with his whole body, and when he at last 
pressed his knees between my thighs I hoped that getting his sexual pleasure 
would diminish his violence. 

"Ah ... I got you at last ... beautiful Daphne ... you escaped from Apollo, 
but you couldn't run away from me ... and now I'm going to fuck you ... 
ah...." 

I felt an enormous penis knocking against my gate and feared that it would 
hurt me since all this violence had not given me enough time to get into the 
right mood. My grotto was still dry. Suddenly my satyr removed his sharp 
teeth from my bleeding breast and put his mouth-thank God-to my clitoris and 
I was already afraid that he'd also apply his teeth there instead of his 
tongue. But somehow he did what I expected and soon my natural juices began 
to lubricate the inside of my cunt. Now he began to screw his mighty prick 
into my twitching hole and I was glad he took his time about it, because it 
was like being impaled on a flagpole. I certainly was used to enormous 
sizes, but this was a genuine satyr prick. It would have reflected credit 
even on a centaur, half horse half man, because no stallion would have to be 
ashamed of such a colossal tool. 

"Ah ... my little Daphne...." (apparently the name of his favorite nymph) " 
... I love your sweet little cunt ... now I'm fucking you ... now I'm 
fucking you ... say that I'm fucking you ... say it!...." 

I realized this was a command and I obediently repeated: 

"Yes, my dear satyr, now you're fucking me...." 

It somehow didn't dovetail with what I'd read about Greek mythology. There 
was nothing poetic in this situation. 

"Not satyr...!" he suddenly grunted. "Call me Marsyas ... I am Marsyas ... 
d'you hear...?" 

"Yes, Mars ... I mean Marsyas . . 

He worked in me with a passion that was just a bit above and beyond the 
normal and I was afraid to let myself go and enjoy it because he was the 
type who'd easily spring something unexpected on me. But I somehow began to 
enjoy that gigantic horse prick, satyr or no satyr, and never mind the 
Marsyas, or whatever old Greek it was. He had been poking into me for longer 
than fifteen minutes and I had actually come four times. After all, it was a 
powerful prick. Not that I have to excuse myself for having gotten into the 
mood, but if that man had been otherwise regular, he'd have made an ideal 
fucker all around. By now I thought it was about time for him to come, but 
had I known what I was wishing for, I'd have gladly done without his orgasm. 

It was not what we would call an orgasm, but rather a hurricane and an 
earthquake combined. The thrusts became so violent that I feared the monster 
prick would come out through my throat. At the same time, he let out a 
veritable lion's roar which, I am sure, could be heard a mile away. And 
then, with his last and most forceful thrust that seemed to split me apart, 
he buried his teeth deep in my right shoulder while pressing his left hand 
crushingly on my lips so that I feared to suffocate the next moment Thank 
heaven I managed to move my body so that he rolled off me and lay on his 
back in the grass without giving a sign of life. He had fainted. Scared to 
death I searched for the little flacon with perfume in my purse and held the 
stopper under his nose. At last, he opened his eyes with a big sigh and 
inhaled deeply. When he saw me, he blushed and avoided my eyes. Slowly he 
got up, stretched himself, and without saying anything walked toward the 
trees to the spot where his clothes were lying. I was unable to get to my 
feet because my breast and shoulder were still wet with blood, and hurt with 
every move. I decided to renounce asking my "satyr" for help because it 
seemed safer to be left alone and then try to manage for myself. 

Meanwhile the satyr had put on his clothes and came to where I was still 
resting. Without looking at me he placed a banknote of 20 guilders beside me 
and turned around and walked off without a word. This was the greatest sum 
of money I'd ever received from a customer and, provided the man was really 
gone, I was glad to have enough leisure to dress as slowly and carefully as 
my wounds made it necessary. First I fished a little book of what we called 
English adhesive plaster from my purse and stuck several strips over the 
cuts on my breast and shoulder, then I slipped carefully into my blouse and 
skirt. It was quite a problem to put my hair up again, but with the help of 
a little pocket mirror and a few bobby pins I was able to restore my usual 
hairdo. 

It was already four o'clock in the afternoon, when I got out of the 
one-horse cab that I'd hired to take me from the foot of the hill that was 
already part of a suburb, called Neuwaldegg, back to my little place in the 
ninth district. At home I washed and sterilized my wounds as best as I could 
and then, after re doing my hair and putting on a new dress, I went to our 
little cafe to report my adventure to the girls, and in particular, to 
Steffi. I found the five of them sitting around our usual table on the 
sidewalk, protected by the oleander bushes. 

"Here she is," exclaimed Steffi when I came in sight. "My goodness, old 
girl, what happened to you? You look slightly peaked." 

I sank into a chair they had quickly pulled up from the adjacent table, and 
after ordering a cup of coffee with lots of whipped cream, Viennese fashion, 
I told them of my latest performance as a nymph being raped by a satyr. They 
all laughed in the beginning and there were a few giggles in the middle of 
my story, but when I had reached the end they all looked serious and 
thoughtful. Steffi lifted my chin with her hand and said gently: 

"Pepi, Pepi, will you at last believe me now when I say you must not have 
anything to do with a man away from a hotel where you can cry for help if 
necessary?" 

"But I've never earned 20 guilders before," I protested weakly. 

"Sure, that's true," said Steffi, "but let's look into this a little more 
carefully. If you have about ten customers per day, you can make often more 
than 20 guilders, without having your breast and shoulder bitten to pieces. 
Or say you have only five customers. Your intake would be about ten 
guilders, or a little more, and you'll still not be too tired. Today you 
earned 20 guilders by giving in to a sadist of the unpredictable kind, or 
whatever he was. That guy must be sick as a coot and you are lucky that, in 
his blind sex-rage, he didn't bite into your throat." 

We all shuddered at Steffi's words. 

"All right," she continued, "so you made 20 guilders, and what's the result? 
Tomorrow-because it's too late now-I'm going to take you to my doctor 
friend. He must look at your wounds. You can't afford to get them infected. 
And infection or not, you'll have to be out of circulation for the next few 
days, anyway, perhaps for the whole week. We'll hear what the doctor has to 
say. So, when it comes down to facts, you've taken a loss and not a profit. 
These 20 guilders will have to serve you for the whole week. Had you not 
been so foolish and been able to work now, you could have made around 50 
guilders during the next week." 

When Steffi noticed that my eyes had watered up she stroked my cheek and 
said in her tenderest voice: 

"Now, now, Pepi, don't take it so much to heart, but we all must learn from 
our mistakes, especially in our profession. Whoring around just for pleasure 
is easy, but being a successful prostitute has to be learned, and I don't 
want you to learn the hard way. I almost did, and if it hadn't been for that 
doctor friend of mine, I'd be in the gutter now." 

"But what is one supposed to do," Fini, the pretty blonde, spoke up, "if a 
guy has such out-of-the-way tastes? He also pays more than the regular 
fucks." 

Steffi frowned: 

"It's good we are getting to discuss all this instead of just gossiping as 
usual. Guys who have such tastes and are able to pay more, know that they 
get best served in a good bordello. There the madam provides him with the 
girls he needs for his specialty. He also knows that he has to behave 
there." 

"I know," said Fini, "because the madam can afford to call the police!" 

"That's-why a you're wrong," answered Steffi, "a good madam will try the 
police only as a last resort. She has far better means. She knows all sorts 
of highly-placed people, politicians and what not. She also knows that no 
influential customer likes to frequent a bordello where the police had to 
interfere, no matter how justified it may have been. Then, every bordello 
that's frequented by better class men, has a bouncer, usually an ex-cop, or 
some retired prizefighter. He can make a nice living that way and also gets 
all the lays he wants." 

"But what is one to do if we've gone with a man to a hotel room and he turns 
out to be dangerous in one way or another?" I asked. 

"I can only tell you what I myself would do," said Steffi. "I seem to have a 
sort of sixth sense for out-of-the-way cases and say either no, or tell 
another girl to come with me. If the guy is one of those harmless perverts 
he won't object to having another girl around. What's more he can pay her, 
too. And suppose I misjudged a guy and he starts some wild monkey business 
when we are already in bed, I can always yell...." 

"But Steffi," said Rosi, a girl with very big teats, "you don't want to do 
that, because suppose they call the police and you get arrested for being a 
clandestine whore...." 

"So what...?" said Steffi. "Being arrested is still better than getting 
strangled or stabbed to death by some sex pervert, isn't it?" 

We all agreed on this. I felt particularly ashamed of myself because Rudolf 
and Zenzi had talked to me about all this and I should have known better 
than to say yes to that "satyr." 

"You know, Steffi," I said after a while, "I guess I went with that guy only 
because I felt good on this Sunday morning and I wanted to get laid for the 
mere pleasure of it. He looked quite promising and as it turned out, he had 
the biggest and strongest tool I've ever had in my cunt...." 

Steffi laughed and patted my cheek: 

"You ought to know by now, Pepi, that if girls like us want to fuck for 
pleasure they can do it only with a protector, which means a pimp. And he'll 
ask for all your earnings and beat hell out of you if you don't give it. 
Yes, yes, I know ... you've told me all about Zenzi and Rudolf and how she 
often kept some money for herself. But that is a dangerous game. Some pimps 
can keep tabs on you, they have spies, other pimps, or other girls, and you 
never can tell how they find out. But they do find out, in the long run. No, 
girls, don't ever wish for a 'protector' because no matter how well he fucks 
you, he screws you much better where the money is concerned. And then you're 
all screwed up!" 

"D'you mean to say," I spoke up, "that a girl like us can't ever enjoy sex 
without having to pay for it, one way or another?" 

"Oh yes you can, Pepi ... but then you must be like me and have a terrific 
ambition. I'm not going to go on like this for long. It's nice and carefree 
as long as we're young and healthy, but we can't remain children forever!" 
We all leaned forward and asked almost at the same time: 

"You're going to leave us, Steffi?" 

"Not yet, kids, I'd tell you so. But I'm sure going to carry out what I've 
mapped out for my future." 

"And what's that?" I asked. 

"To become a real demimonde...." 

We looked at each other in surprise. 

"You mean to say you'd make a career like that Madame Benesch who calls 
archdukes by their first names...? Come on, Steffi ... don't kid us so...." 

"I'm not kidding! I didn't say I could be such a glamorous demimonde like 
the Benesch woman, but something along the same line. It doesn't have to be 
some aristocrat. A millionaire will do!" 

Now we laughed and Steffi laughed with us. But I wasn't laughing inside me. 
I was thinking. If Steffi could map out a plan, so could I. And she was 
right: We couldn't go on forever, taking our profession as a pretext for 
behaving like spoiled children, teasing men and making some money by it as 
if life was one big feast. 

Next day, Steffi let her doctor friend look me over and he cauterized the 
wounds, which hurt like hell but was necessary, he said. He also told me "to 
be a good girl" for the rest of the week, which meant I could not afford to 
have a customer. The 20 guilders came in quite handy to pay the weekly rent 
for my room and my meals. But I sat around with the girls at our table in 
the cafe as usual, and when one of my regular customers wanted me to come 
with him, I blushed while the clever Steffi whispered to him that I had my 
"monthly." 

"See?" she looked at me sideways. "She's too embarrassed to tell you. Pepi 
is a very modest girl." 

She said it so seriously that the man in question looked at me again to make 
quite sure whether he hadn't overlooked some virtue in me that he hadn't 
noticed before. 

But during the hours when almost all five of my girl friends were busy with 
customers, I sat alone with my coffee or glass of wine and did a lot of 
thinking. From next week on, when my wounds would have healed and I was fit 
for business again, I was going to do my best to get acquainted with "people 
who knew people." Of course, if I ever went to somebody's house, or 
apartment, I'd not do it without telling Steffi or one of the other girls 
about it, so that if they wouldn't hear from me they could do something to 
check up on the situation. 

The Monday following my fateful decision making I went to the Prater to have 
my afternoon coffee there. The Prater is to the Viennese what the Bois de 
Boulogne is to the Parisian. A wide stretch of land full of tall beautiful 
trees, almost like a forest, but crisscrossed by small footpaths and larger 
avenues for the elegant carriages of the upper class. Even in the days of 
the Empress Maria Theresa, the Prater was the place where the barons and 
counts enjoyed their horseback riding on the many bridle paths, and the high 
society ladies were driven around in their splendid open or closed carriages 
with a flunky in livery standing on a step in back of it. 

Around the turn of the century, the Prater was still the place where high 
and low society met and sought distraction of all kinds. It was Maria 
Theresa's son, the little appreciated Emperor Joseph II, who had made the 
Prater accessible to the common people. Many of the highest noblemen in 
those days came to the Emperor and complained bitterly about having to meet 
"the scum of the people," where they had formerly been able to enjoy nature 
in splendid isolation. 

"Well, don't you want the scum of our people, as you call them," asked 
Joseph II, in turn, "to enjoy nature like you? After all, they are human 
beings too." 

"Yes, Your Majesty," replied the annoyed nobles, "but now we have almost no 
place outside our palaces left where we can be among our equals!" 

"That's just too bad," said the Emperor. "May I remind you, gentlemen, that 
if I felt like you and wanted to be among my equals in this country, I'd 
have to descend to the catacombs under the Church of the Capuchines where 
all my ancestors are buried. That would be pretty dull, wouldn't it?" 

The nobles bowed deeply and left without another word of complaint. And from 
that time on, high and low could walk, ride on horseback, or travel in 
carriages through the spacious wooded grounds of the Prater, which, as our 
priest at school told us, comes from the Latin and means meadow. 

Well, our Prater was a succession of meadows and forests and already by the 
time I was a little girl people loved to spend afternoons and evenings 
sitting in one of the three huge garden-cafes which were simply called the 
First, Second, and Third Cafe in the direction from north to south on the 
Hauptallee, meaning the Main Avenue, leading right through the forest 
territory. There were also two huge restaurants with hundreds of tables in 
the "gardens" surrounding the buildings where people loved to have their 
dinner on summer evenings. 

It was in the Prater that I met the man who was to become my first regular 
"affair." His name was Alexander Feringer, a very wealthy pork-butcher who 
not only owned a large sausage factory but also several retail stores in the 
better districts of Vienna. If there is such a thing as a "typical 
Viennese," it was Alex, or "Lexl," as I nicknamed him. His height of about 
six feet was counterbalanced by a considerable paunch that seemed to burst 
the buttons of his embroidered vest, ornamented with a golden watch-chain. 
His good-natured face was a "natural red," and so was his nose, betraying a 
preference for good Austrian beer and wine. His curly hair and 
Emperor-Wilhelm-II moustache were blond in contrast to his dark, bushy 
eyebrows. 

Like most "good-hearted" Viennese, Alex had a fierce temper that could be 
easily aroused, but I was able to control him most of the time. The saving 
grace was his great sense of humor and a wholesome sense of the ridiculous 
which, by the way, are also typical Viennese qualities. 

How did I meet Alex? After my unpleasant adventure with the "satyr," I began 
to extend my daily walks to places that were also frequented by rich people 
in search of entertainment and relaxation; like, for instance, the Prater. I 
made it a rule always to put on my most elegant dress and hat that made me 
look like a real lady. What was missing to complete the picture was a 
horse-drawn carriage because few ladies promenaded in the Prater on foot. I 
could have hired a cab, of course, but the expense would have been too high. 

One late afternoon I had been leisurely strolling along on the shady Main 
Avenue, watching the people in carriages pass by, when I noticed an elegant 
open carriage driven by a man of about thirty slow down to keep pace with 
me. The man was far too expensively dressed to be a cabdriver. He smiled at 
me and addressed me in the manner of the Viennese fiacre cabmen: "Would the 
gracious lady like to ride home perhaps? My horses can run very fast when 
they get a beautiful customer like you." 

I pretended to take him for a cabdriver and mounted the carriage in a 
dignified manner, with the almost affectionate assistance of the man. I 
forced myself to look indifferent and said in a somewhat arrogant tone: 

"Take me to the Alserstrasse!" 

"As the pretty lady wishes," he said and spread a blanket over my legs. "And 
whereabouts on the Alserstrasse?" 

"Well, drive to the Schottenring where the street begins and then I'll tell 
you where to stop. Incidentally, how much do you get for a trip like this?" 

He played the game as before: 

"Oh ... you know ... just what you are used to giving others...." 

I couldn't help laughing because it was funny to hear him use the customary 
phrase of fiacre cabmen in regard to my person. I felt he had sized me up 
quite correctly and knew what I was usually "giving" others. But I wanted to 
go on playacting for a while to see what strategy he was going to choose to 
come to the point. He came to it right away, because he suddenly reached 
under the blanket and pinched my thigh. I slapped his cheek so forcefully 
that one of the horses pricked up its ears. My driver looked quite 
astonished and addressing the horse, said: 

"Not even you can hit that hard, Jack!" 

I laughed and he joined in and said: 

"You should have taken it as a compliment to your charms. But you are right, 
we have to get better acquainted first." 

"First? What d'you mean by 'first'? What d'you want to do afterwards?" 

That stumped him for a second, but when he saw I could hardly control a 
giggle, he winked at me and said: 

"Afterwards we're going to refresh ourselves so we can do it again?" 

This time I gave him a playful slap that was more like a caress. He caught 
hold of my hand and kissed it. 

"I'm Alex Feringer, at your service! And what is the name of my beautiful 
new acquaintance?" 

"Josephine," I said a little pompously and added, "my friends call me Pepi 
of course!" 

"May I consider myself a friend of yours?" I wanted to make him more horny 
than he was and smiled roguishly: 

"Friendship is the result of friendly actions!" 

He gave me a broad grin: 

"I can assure you there will be nothing but friendly actions between us! 
Lots of them! Day after day!" 

"Oh, so you like to do friendly actions in the daytime mostly?" 

"Any time! Any time, Pepi! And let's get out of the Prater now and go to my 
place so that we can start being friendly as soon as possible." 

I noticed a big bulge in the front of his pants when he climbed on his seat 
again. It was a nice feeling to ride in that elegant carriage, sitting next 
to a well-nourished, wealthy man who seemed to count the minutes until he 
could jump into bed with me. This was the great occasion, I told myself, and 
I was determined to make the best of it. The best, in this case, would be to 
become the mistress of that rich pork-butcher. He was going to be the first 
rung of the social ladder which I intended to climb until I was on the same 
level with demimondes like the famous Madame Benesch. Alex was by no means 
part of what was called society, but he had loads of money as he gave me to 
understand and money was what I had to "collect" in order to go beyond being 
a pork-butcher's mistress. 

On our ride to his home, he told me quite a bit about himself. He was 52 and 
a widower. The loss of his wife seemed more a relief to him than a 
misfortune. 

"She died four years ago," he said' "but I didn't mourn for her, I can tell 
you quite honestly. May she rest in peace, poor soul, but since she's gone 
my own existence has become peaceful. She was quite pretty when I married 
her, but she was poor, and coming suddenly into money turned her head. She 
began to eat 

... or, I should rather say, she stuffed herself until she was puffed up 
like a balloon. The guys who had to carry her coffin thought there was a 
weight lifter in there, she was that heavy; 320 pounds and all solid fat. 
And, boy, her temper! During the last five years of my marriage she kept 
nagging me from morning till night. Sure, I had stopped sleeping with her! 
Those 320 pounds were not very alluring, I assure you. So I had to get my 
pleasures away from home. But to sleep around with whores all the time 
doesn't do any good. I wanted a nice girl who could be a friend, somebody 
like you...." 

His allusion to whores not being much good made me wonder what he was taking 
me for. I thought it best not to enlighten him and when he suddenly asked 
what I was doing, I said that I was "between friends," that my last friend, 
who was also my first, had suddenly died before he could leave me something 
in his will, but that I was not hard up yet. This seemed to please him. 
Having had only one friend proved I was not a whore, just a "fast girl" who 
liked to get around but who also didn't say "yes" to every Tom, Dick and 
Harry. What a good idea I had, I thought, to have slapped his face when he 
got fresh a while before. No common streetwalker would have resented a 
friendly pinch on the thigh. My reaction obviously showed him that I wanted 
to be treated like a lady and also that I knew how a lady would behave in 
similar circumstances. When he told me now that he needed a girl friend like 
me, I decided to play it safe. 

"That's mighty nice of you to tell me that, Mr. Feringer...." (I used his 
last name without the slightest sarcasm) " ... but you don't know me, nor do 
I know you. I let you offer me this ride and exchanged a little banter with 
you because I liked your looks and your kindness. You also understand a 
joke, which is something I like in a man. My late boyfriend had a wonderful 
sense of humor and was always in a good mood. A girl likes to hear her man 
laugh...." 

While talking this way I was watching Alex from the corner of my eye and 
noticed the extreme satisfaction in his face. He promptly interrupted me: 

"See? I knew you were my kind of girl. You like a lot of fun. So do I! You 
have a lot of good sense, Pepi! Yes, and don't call me Mr. Feringer unless 
you want me to call you Madame...." 

"Oh no...." I laughed. "I'm still too young to be called Madame. By the way 
I am miss Mutzenbacher to everybody except close friends...." 

Alex looked at me sideways. 

"... But I may call you Pepi? What say...?" 

"Why sure, Alex," I said and lightly touched his knee. This seemed to 
electrify him. He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his thigh. 

"You're a really sweet girl, Pepi. I'm lucky I found you. But d'you know 
that you make me suffer, too?" 

With that he moved my hand to the swelling below his fly. I did some quick 
thinking. What would a real lady do now? I didn't withdraw my hand, nor did 
I press down on his covered hard-on. I just smiled and said: 

"You're a healthy, strong man, Alex. It's a natural reaction and it could 
happen with any female that's sitting next to you." 

"I swear by all that's holy that it's you who are doing this to me. You are 
a beautiful girl, Pepi, and you're driving me crazy. You're just what I've 
been dreaming about all the years since I became a widower...." 

I looked at him. His face had become a shade redder and his breath came hard 
and fast. He kept pressing my hand against his dick and I was glad that the 
horses appeared to know their way home because my new friend was so aroused 
that he almost let go of the reins, which were hanging slack. I had to play 
my cards right. I tried to get my hand free and said: 

"I like you, Alex, you're a good guy, I can see that. But I wish you'd let 
me off on the Schottenring when we get there. We can meet some other 
time...." 

Alex let me break contact with his fly, but he didn't let go of my hand. 

"Why, Pepi...?" he sounded almost tearful. "Is there someone waiting for 
you...?" 

"No ... there's no one, but...." 

"Give me no 'buts,' girl. You can't do this to me. You're not just an 
adventure. Why can't you have dinner with me? I'll take you home 
afterwards." 

"I'm not dressed to go out in the evening...." 

"Nonsense! You're quite elegant and you know it! It's summer ... you don't 
want to put on your furs ... we're going to sit in the garden of 
Hofstadter's ... you look almost too elegant for that...." 

Hofstadter's was an old-fashioned but excellent restaurant in the 
Josefstadt, the district next to mine. Steffi told me she sometimes went 
there with her rich doctor friend who took her out to dinner twice a month 
when he wanted to sleep with her. I knew that Steffi would be quite discreet 
if she should notice me. She would not ruin anything like, perhaps, some of 
the other girls who'd think I was there just with a momentary customer. But 
none of them would want to spoil anything for me as soon as they knew what I 
was about to do. 

"All right, Alex," I said, "but you're not driving in the right direction." 

"That's why I let my horses do the steering. They know I always go home 
before dinner to have a cool beer. Yes, and here we are...!" The horses had 
stopped in front of a modern apartment building on the Franz Josef's Quay 
which was on the borderline between the Inner City and the second district, 
close to the Danube Canal. The canal was built to deflect water from the 
real Danube that flows outside the city and used to overflow in former 
times, especially in early spring. Apart from being a protection against 
inundations, the canal was used by big river steamers to unload passengers 
and cargoes in the middle of the city. 

Alex's house was next to the fashionable Hotel Metropole. In those days this 
was considered a nice section of town. My host lent me a hot hand to help me 
down from the carriage and threw the reins to the liveried porter who was 
sitting at the gate. 

"Watch my boys," he meant the horses, "Johann, I'll need them in a short 
while. We're driving to have dinner at Hofstadter's...." 

"You know I always watch them," said Johann, letting out a slight whistle 
when he saw me. 

The staircase was carpeted, the sign of an elegant building in those days. 
Alex lived on the first floor. As a matter-of-fact, there was only one 
apartment on each of the four floors. They were made up of at least six 
rooms, besides kitchen and a regular bathroom where the bath water could be 
heated up in a small gas stove; a real luxury in the Vienna of the nineties. 

"When my wife died," said Alex while opening the entrance door for me, "I 
told our maid I needed her only in the daytime and I was going to pay her 
rent for a little room where she could sleep. Because I want to be alone 
here at nights. Don't need anybody sniffing around here and watching me. 
People gossip anyhow, so why give them more stuff to gossip about, eh? 
Martha is a sensible girl. She was afraid I might let her go but now she 
likes the arrangement. Nobody is nagging her either and she does her work 
very nicely. This is a large place to keep clean as you can see." 

While making all this polite conversation, Alex had steered me toward the 
bedroom where, with a suddenness that really caught me by surprise, he 
pushed me onto the large marital bed, and with an alacrity that was amazing 
in such an obese fellow, had pushed up my dress, pulled off my lacy 
underpants, and mounted me with a wildness that reminded me of my "satyr" of 
unpleasant memory. 

His dick was something extraordinary both as to length and thickness. I 
could feel it without having seen its dimensions first. He quickly pushed in 
and out like the piston of a steam engine and came within half a minute, 
panting like a dog on a hot day. Far from pulling out, he left his still 
rigid cock in me and soon started his second ride. This time he took a good 
five minutes, which gave me a chance to enjoy the game at last. When he 
noticed that I came, once, twice and then a third time, he doubled and 
tripled his tempo so that shortly before he finished he made me come a 
fourth time. 

It was much later that he explained to me why he had taken me on without any 
preamble and tried to get me to have as many orgasms as possible. 

"I knew you might be mad at me for wanting to fuck you right away. So the 
best way to appease a woman is to make her come a few times. As soon as she 
is overwhelmed with satisfaction, she's as tame as a dove." 

When he let go of me, it was not because his giant prick had given up. No, 
that marvel was standing at attention as if nothing had happened at all. But 
now Lexl sat down by me and covered me with fiery kisses, calling me his 
life's sweetest sweetheart and all sorts of crazy endearments while taking 
my hand and leading it to his hot prick as if I needed something solid to 
hold on to. 

"Don't worry, honey, I know your dress has been all mussed up and your 
panties are torn, but I'll find something for you here from the days when my 
late missus was less chunky...." 

He dug around in several large mahogany chests and at last came up with an 
old-fashioned, but still very beautiful, blue velvet dress which, with the 
help of a few safety pins, fitted me not too badly. It went quite nicely 
with my blue hat which, thank God, had not been crushed when Alex threw me 
on the bed. 

Before we left, Alex led me to a little-used bidet in the bathroom where I 
could clean my professional parts which had been flooded with secretions so 
profusely that I had to wash them thoroughly with some perfumed soap and 
plenty of warm water to get all that messy stickiness off me. It's so much 
easier for a man: he merely has to wipe his prick with a towel, or a 
handkerchief, to remove the tracks of a love-bout, while we of the weaker 
sex have to wash, rinse, douche arid almost take a regular sitzbath to be 
ready for another lay. 

I was glad that Alex's not so dearly beloved deceased had been using a 
bidet, which in those days was an oval basin placed on a stand. On my later 
travels abroad I discovered that in England, also in the Scandinavian 
countries, a bidet was virtually unknown. Those Nordic women, not to speak 
of the British Islands, pretended to be sexless creatures so that one often 
began to wonder where their children came from. 

I remember I once witnessed a very comic scene in a large pharmacy in Paris 
where a few bidets were on display, all neatly lined up next to one of the 
walls. A typical Englishwoman, clad in "sportive" and very unbecoming tweed 
clothes and big rounded boots, eyed the bidets curiously through her 
lorgnette and then turned to the saleswoman: 

"I suppose, my dear, this is something to wash the babies in, isn't it?" 

"Oh non, Madame," explained the French girl helpfully, "this is, on the 
contrary, to wash them out!" 

The English lady didn't actually understand what it was all about, but with 
the uncanny sixth sense of the Puritan for "dirty sexual" matters, she 
suspected that it was definitely something that had to do with "immoral 
French customs." 

Clad in that blue velvet dress I was, at last, taken to dinner, but not 
before I had consented to do a quick hand job on the ever-ready tool of my 
pork-butcher. Lexl was in the rosiest mood and ordered a royal meal at 
Hofstadter's. And to celebrate the occasion he decided we had to wash it 
down with imported champagne. We both got a little high but Alex didn't have 
to worry about playing coachman when it was time to drive me home because 
the restaurateur's son, Hofstadter junior, offered to do "the natural thing 
a host does for one of his best guests." He managed the horses while I fell 
asleep in Lexl's arms after telling young Hofstadter where I lived. A smack 
on my cheek, or rather the tickling moustache of Alex, woke me up when we 
arrived at my address. He insisted on taking me upstairs, but since I never 
allowed men to come to my furnished room and didn't want the concierge who 
had to unlock the house entrance, to suspect what my actual profession was, 
I had to beg Alex to let me enter the house unaccompanied. We agreed that I 
was to move to his place in the afternoon of the following day when he would 
come to get me and my suitcases. 

When I reached my room I felt the adventure of that day in all my bones. It 
made me realize that I hadn't dreamed all this and that I, Josephine 
Mutzenbacher, upstart streetwalker, had become a whore of consequence and 
acquired my first lover. The blue velvet dress of my new friend's wife, now 
nicely folded over the back of my straight chair, was another reminder of 
the reality of the turning point in my young life. I put on my nightshirt 
and fell into bed. I must have fallen asleep almost instantly. 

I slept until noon and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee and a roll with 
butter offered by my old landlady. When I told her I was moving into the 
house of my "fiance," she was as happy as if I'd been her own daughter. 

"My, that's wonderful, Miss Mutzenbacher...." she kept saying over and over 
again. "I trust his mother will take good care of you there...." 

The good old soul couldn't imagine a girl living in the place of her fiance 
unchaperoned. 

I didn't enlighten her but was grateful for the second cup of coffee and 
another roll. Around 2 p.m., I was neatly dressed and accepted the 
landlady's son's offer to carry my two suitcases downstairs. She herself 
kissed me goodbye and, what was more important, did not charge me the rent 
for the rest of the week because I usually paid her on Mondays and this was 
Monday. 

Alex was already waiting in front of the entrance and the landlady's son 
made big eyes when he saw the elegant carriage with the beautiful horses in 
front. He helped me stow the suitcases in back of the carriage and Alex, 
with a grand gesture, gave the boy a guilder. The kid was overjoyed and 
thanked both of us profusely. He was a very handsome boy of sixteen and I 
was often tempted to initiate him into the joys of manhood whenever he 
followed me with his clear blue eyes every time I went down the stairs. But 
I had made it a rule not to do anything rash at the place I lived and that's 
why the boy's mother had always taken me for a respectable salesgirl of 
sorts. 

While driving toward his place Alex told me he had explained my new position 
to Martha, the day maid, who would treat me like a new mistress. 

"And what's more," he added, "tomorrow we'll go to the finest ladies' tailor 
in town and to other stores and get you an outfit worthy of a lady friend of 
Alex Feringer! I'm going to show you off the way it should be done. You have 
a wonderful figure and a very pretty face. You'll look stunning in the 
things I'm going to buy for you. But, between you and me, as far as I'm 
concerned, you could always be naked, because that's how I like you best. I 
wish I could set your sweet little cunt in a frame of diamonds...." 

"What's keeping you from doing it...?" I asked. 

"Pure selfishness...." 

"Selfishness...?" 

"Sure, honey! ... just think...! You don't want me to hurt my best friend 
when I stick him into you, eh? No, we'll leave all to be soft warm flesh 
down there...." 

"You've got a good point there, Alex...." 

"I ain't got no point ... Whaddaya mean, a point? You call that big little 
brother of mine a point...?" 

And he grabbed my hand and pressed it against his stiff "big little brother" 
to prove it was not a mere "point." Which I knew anyway. But Alex loved to 
play on words and I'd already discovered that he liked people to laugh at 
his not always original jokes. When we arrived in front of his house I 
surprised him by saying: 

"Lexl, my honey lamb, would you mind taking my suitcases upstairs, or rather 
have the concierge do it...." 

He grabbed my wrist: 

"What's the big idea...? You are not leaving now...?" 

"Only for a short while, my friend. A lady, you know, needs all kinds of 
stuff that a man can't buy for her. I've got to go to a pharmacy, and so on 
and so on. I also have to get something I left with a girl friend who's at 
home about this time. So don't worry, Alex, I'll be at your place long 
before you come home to take me out to dinner. Okay...?" 

He pouted but then realized that I may want to buy some intimate toilet 
articles which shouldn't be done in the company of a man. 

"In God's name, run along! You have enough money on you...?" 

"Yes, I do! You be a good boy now! See you soon!" 

"And you'd better be a good girl and don't let me wait too long! My big 
little brother wants you as much as I do...!" 

I waved and disappeared around the corner. I knew Alex had hoped to go 
straight to bed with me and knock off two or three hot numbers as soon as we 
arrived, but I didn't want him to get used to my being available all day and 
all night. That might soon take the edge off his enthusiasm. Besides, I 
wanted to have a talk with Steffi, whose advice was invaluable to me. 
Although I didn't think I was without intelligence, I knew that Steffi was 
less impulsive than I. She was only two or three years my senior, but when 
it came to making important decisions, she had the mature mind of a 
forty-year-old experienced woman of the world. I guess she was born that 
way, because her background was like mine and she didn't have any schooling 
except seven years of grade school. 

I found all five of the girls on the terrace of our little cafe and after 
exchanging a hearty "hello" all around I said: 

"Sorry, kids, I can't stay now, and what's more I've got to kidnap Steffi 
for an hour or so ... no, I'm not in any sort of mess, just the opposite ... 
no, I can't tell you now ... you'll hear about it soon ... come on, Steffi, 
please j" 

The pretty brunette had already given me a meaningful look when she saw me 
come to the table. She knew my different moods and must have read something 
in my face. Now she threw a coin on the table and said: 

"Pay for my coffee, girls, in case I'm not back before you leave. Pepi needs 
Aunt Steffi's counseling and I hope she isn't pregnant. Well, see you 
soon...!" 

With that she picked up her purse and hooked her arm in mine. The girls 
called a few bantering remarks after us: 

"Those two are lovers ... I've always known it ... sure, they're a couple of 
dikes from way back...." 

Time was short and I told Steffi we'd best sit down in another cafe close 
by. We found one after walking two short blocks. 

"Well, Pepi, what's the situation...?" 

I reported my experience with Alex and how that rich, eternally horny 
pork-butcher had gone about proposing to install me as his mistress. I 
didn't leave out any detail. Steffi didn't interrupt me once, but the longer 
I talked the more she frowned as if she were trying to solve a difficult 
mathematical problem. I was a little disappointed because I had hoped she'd 
compliment me on my new acquisition. When I'd finished, she still didn't 
speak, but looked at her fingernails. I became impatient: 

"Whazzamatter, Steffi...? You look as if I'd broken a leg, or something...." 

She suddenly laughed and patted my arm. "You child! ... No, I'm very glad 
for you, but there are a few things I don't like and I'm going to explain 
this to you in a minute. But first, let's concentrate on the fact that this 
is indeed your first 'permanent boyfriend.' We want to make quite sure that 
this permanence lasts at least a few months, if not longer. See what I 
mean...?" 

"But, Steffi, that guy is always as horny as hell ... If I hadn't told him I 
had to get something intimate from the pharmacy and also see a girl friend, 
he'd be lying on me right now and, perhaps, have finished his third lay...." 

"That's fine...." said Steffi, showing her usual smile again. "But the first 
thing you have to learn about an oversexed guy is that he too likes change! 
Sure, he likes to fuck several times a day, not to speak of the night, 
but-not always with the same girl! Believe me, Pepi, I have met guys like 
that Alex of yours. Above all, listen to this. The guy was married and his 
wife lived with him in the same apartment in which he wants to install you 
now. And that's a big mistake...!" 

"But ... why, Steffi...?" 

She took a sip from her coffee and leaned back in her chair. 

"Have you ever talked a little longer to Effi...?" 

"Effi...? Oh, you mean that little old tailor woman who does our 
repairs...?" 

"The same! What do you think of her...?" 

"To be frank, I haven't thought much about her. All she and I ever talked 
about was the price of a good dress and, once or twice, she told me where I 
can get a good bargain...." 

"Would you be surprised if I told you that Effi was one of the most 
beautiful whores in Vienna...?" 

"What! ... That respectable looking old thing that you wouldn't be ashamed 
to have for your grandmother...?" 

"Yes...! And she always looked respectable, I've been told, even when she 
was a stunning young blonde, about thirty years ago...." 

"And what has she got to do with me and Alex...?" 

"Quite a bit! Because if she hadn't made the big mistake you are about to 
make, she'd be a rich demimondaine in retirement today ... I know, because 
she told me her story...."Come on, Steffi, tell me...." 

"I was going to do that, anyhow ... how much time have you left...?" 

"Oh, I told Alex I would be home in time to be taken out for dinner...." 

"Now listen, Pepi ... old Effi was a clandestine street girl just like us. 
She had been doing all right, chiefly because her looks attracted males to 
her like honey attracts the bees. One of her regular customers was a rich, 
old count who fell perhaps in love with her, because he gave her lots of 
rich presents, elegant dresses, jewels, furs and stuff like that. One day he 
told her he wanted to have her all for himself. He had been a widower for 
fifteen years and if Effi was willing to take lessons in French and the 
social graces, he said to her, he would make her his official mistress. She 
would live in his large house and run things just like his late wife, the 
countess, used to do...." 

"Was Effi that beautiful...?" 

"Yes, very much so. Four different old guys who knew her then confirmed it. 
But there was also something else ... the count was not what we call a 
simple customer ... he had his quirks ... wanted to be beaten with, mind 
you, ropes made of pure silk ... that's how he got a hard-on ... but once he 
had a hard on it stayed hard for several hours...." 

"But you said he was an old guy...." 

"Well, about fifty ... just like your Alex...." 

"Alex doesn't look it and ... he doesn't have to be beaten to get a hard-on 
... I believe he was born with it and propositioned the midwife when she 
gave him his first bath...." Steffi laughed. 

"Okay, okay, so your Alex is a wild one. Anyway, that count was a wild one 
too, once he got his tool in shape. But then Effi had to perform like a 
circus horse. That guy went through a regular ritual. First he fucked her in 
the cunt and was decent enough not to come at once so that Effi got 
something out of it too. But then, after resting up for about fifteen 
minutes, he screwed her in the ass and instead of vaseline, he used pure 
butter. Don't ask me why ... or rather, yes, I know why ... because 
immediately afterwards he started reaming Effi's arse with a passion as if 
she had a cream puff between her buttocks...." 

"Brrrr! I hope he didn't kiss her after that 

"I don't know ... Steffi was laughing, "let's hope he didn't. But Effi had 
to suck his cock next, and that might have been equally unappetizing if the 
count hadn't washed his rod with champagne first. Oh yes, he had room 
service at his disposal ... he never took Effi to a small hotel, but always 
to the Imperial where he kept a suite merely for fucking purposes. When he 
at last suggested Effi become his mistress he could have installed her at 
the Imperial, but no, he made her live with him in his town house, liveried 
servants and all that glamour...." 

"And what was so bad about that...?" 

"At first everything seemed to be fine. The count engaged a couple of 
teachers who had to make a perfect lady out of Effi. Nice cultured speech 
... French ... how to dress properly and elegantly without being conspicuous 
... how to enter a salon and how to behave when meeting important people, 
and so on. Effi was a good pupil and you can notice her good manners even 
today...." 

"Yes, now that you mention it, I know why she's like a respectable little 
grandmother ... always soft-spoken and very polite...." 

"Sure, that stayed with her. But when she had been in the count's house for 
about three months, she noticed a change in the man. He had made her sleep 
in the old master bedroom where his wife had shared the bed with him fifteen 
years before. Every night she had to get him in shape by beating him with 
that silk rope and he went through his ritual for the next two .or three 
hours before they both went back to sleep. But one morning when she was 
still sleeping, she was startled awake by the banging of the bedroom door. 
The count was gone. She rang for her maid and asked her whether she'd seen 
the count leave. 'Yes,' the girl said, 'and he said something funny. He said 
I should bring the countess her breakfast in half an hour!' Effi told the 
maid that didn't make sense because the countess had died fifteen years 
before. 'Yes,' the maid said, 'that's why it was funny. I've been here for 
twenty years and I remember the count always was gruff in the morning when 
the countess was living with him. He always told me to take in her breakfast 
in the same tone of voice. It sort of frightened me today.' Effi thanked her 
and was very thoughtful when she drank her morning coffee...." 

"Why do you think the count behaved that way?" 

"I don't have to think ... I know! When he was alone with Effi after dinner 
she tried to question him about his sudden leaving in the morning, but he 
evaded all answers and tried to kid her into coming to bed with him. This 
evening she kept beating him with that silly silk rope for an hour but his 
tool wouldn't stand up. At last he told her to get dressed and gave orders 
to the coachman to have the carriage ready. At ten at night they drove to 
the Hotel Imperial and went to the count's suite. There everything went 
well. All the beating, fucking, sucking and reaming was duly performed and 
they stayed the whole night...." 

"What had happened...? Just because it was not the count's double bed where 
he used to sleep with his wife...?" 

"Exactly! But ... Effi didn't catch on at first. Even the count himself had 
not expected that anybody taking the place of his late wife in the marital 
bed would have such an effect on him...." 

"It made him impotent...?" 

"Not only that ... it woke up the old hatred he had had for the countess 
who, as he told Effi, was as cold as a fish. She was the one who made it 
necessary for him to be beaten to make his cock stand up in the first place, 
even when he wanted to fuck a nice young whore...." 

"You mean ... the countess had no sex life at all...?" 

"Apparently not ... one of those frigid, virtuous bitches who go to 
confession every week...." 

"But that's not normal...." 

"You're right! But those undersexed or outright frigid cunts make a virtue 
out of their sickness. The count could have had the marriage annulled but he 
couldn't afford any scandalous publicity ... anyway, what I wanted you to 
know is that it is never a good idea to let a widower install you in his 
marital bedroom, especially not when the wife was a shrew. Alex told you 
that his was as bad as they come, didn't he...?" 

"Yes...! Well, perhaps he too might wake up one morning and mistake me for 
that old harridan, just out of sheer habit...." 

"My doctor friend told me that has something to do with psychology, but he 
said it would bore me if he tried to go into details.... 

I think I know what he means ... our mind somehow plays us tricks I 
guess...." Suddenly something clicked in my own mind. 

"Thanks a lot, Steffi old girl! I believe I don't have to know psychology to 
understand the whole thing now. It simply amounts to this: If you come back 
to a place where you were happy, say where you enjoyed being laid and had a 
good time all around, you kind of feel like doing it again. It stimulates 
you. But when you are at a place where you didn't enjoy being at all you 
can't do a thing. It paralyzes you sort of. Isn't that it...?" 

Steffi pinched my cheek. 

"I knew you weren't stupid, Pepi. I think you understand the situation 
now...." 

"But what am I to do with Alex...? I can't ask him to rent a hotel suite for 
me...." 

"No, not a hotel suite! But you must explain to that pork-butcher of yours 
that a guy who wants to belong to good society sets up his mistress in a 
little apartment of her own and comes to visit her. He must also engage a 
maid for you. That servant at his own place knew his wife and no matter what 
he tells her, you'll always be a whore to her. It's no good. Besides, you 
will not end your days being a pork-butcher's mistress! Stay with him and 
save as much money and jewels as you get. Let him buy you the most elegant 
dresses and furs so that you're prepared for everything when a guy who's 
higher up in society should fall for you. And I know there will be 
several...." 

"D'you really think so, Steffi...?" 

"Sure, I think so...! But you must always think with your brains and not 
with your cunt, kid! Your cunt is your carriage and the horses, your brain 
is the driver! That is if you want to go places...." 

I couldn't help kissing Steffi right there at the cafe. Let people think we 
were a couple of lesbians, I didn't care. 

"I hope you'll always be around, Steffi. I know I'm no fool, but I don't 
have your kind of brain. If I had an older sister she couldn't help me more 
than you do...." 

"That's quite all right, Pepi. I like you and I was sorry for you when you 
told me of that situation in your so-called home. A father may be as horny 
as hell, but he should think twice before fucking his daughter. I'd have 
hated to be in your place, believe me. But you don't feel sorry for yourself 
and I like that! You got what it takes ... and not only there and there she 
playfully touched my bosom and my behind. 

"Yes, and not to forget what we both have here...." and I touched her 
between the legs. 

A few men sitting at other tables were watching us and, at any other time, 
we might have opened up some business negotiations, but time was too short 
and Steffi wanted to come with me to the pharmacy and see that I bought 
everything that was not only necessary, but which might also have been 
something she-the girl friend I was visiting-had kept in storage for me. We 
settled on a nice and rather expensive douche set, a lot of cotton for my 
"monthly" and a dozen contraceptive sponges. 

"Try to be clever about explaining things to the pork-butcher," said Steffi. 

"Any ideas of your own...?" I ventured. 

"What about being a little coy when he throws you again onto that marital 
bed, uh?" 

"I guess I know what you mean ... I'll let you know how everything came out 
... incidentally, shouldn't I introduce you to Alex as my best girl 
friend...?" 

"There you go again! Never introduce other females to a guy you haven't 
completely hooked yourself. But you can find out whether he likes to do it 
with two women at the same time ... you never can tell ... but don't hurry 
it...!" 

I delivered Steffi at "our" table at the old little cafe where the others 
were waiting and wanted to hear the news. 

"Steffi will tell you everything ... I've got to go...." I quickly shook 
hands and was on my way to Alex's place. 

When I arrived there I was not a little astonished to find Alex himself open 
the door for me when I rang the doorbell. Without saying a word, he kissed 
me full on the mouth and then dragged me to the bedroom. 

"For God's sake, Alex, let me put my parcels away . . 

He took them from my hand and threw them on an armchair. 

"Honey, I can't help it, I just want you. I couldn't wait until evening . . 

"But Alex, the maid will hear us . . 

"No such thing...! I sent Martha home a while ago ... Come on, Pepi, let's 
get undressed . . 

This getting out of our clothes became a complicated business, because he 
insisted on being my chambermaid and undid my shoelaces and took off my 
stockings, not without running his lips over my legs beyond my knees and not 
stopping when he came to the inside of my thighs. 

"Hold it, Alex ... let me get off that skirt and everything...." 

"Wait a minute...." he panted, "I like you that way, half undressed...." 

And he pulled his stiff tool from his fly and rubbed it lightly against my 
skin so that it tickled me and I tried to wriggle away from him. 

"Ah, honey...." he gurgled, "I can't wait any longer, I'm going to fuck you 
right now the way you are . . 

And he pushed me back on the bed and with a speed that belied his chunky 
figure, he pushed his throbbing dick into me. In his excitement he had 
pushed my skirt over my face and I couldn't help yelling: 

"Hey, lover boy ... I am suffocating...!" Without interrupting his quick and 
wild thrusts in my cunt, his hands freed my face from the hem of my skirt 
and he pressed his mouth to mine, burying his thick tongue in it almost down 
to my throat. He had a way of moving his tongue in the same rhythm as his 
prick so that I soon felt like being fucked below and above and I lost 
myself in the attractive sensation. 

"Ah ... honey ... your sweet little cunt drives me nuts...." Alex had 
removed his lips from mine and redoubled his speed between my thighs. He 
soon came, squealing like a pig that is about to be slaughtered and sank 
down on me with his whole weight, which wasn't little. I had discharged 
twice and only wished I could get out of my clothes in order to enjoy the 
whole thing better. But I reckoned without considering my lover's 
temperament. He had already begun to push in and out of me as if he hadn't 
just finished a wild number and deposited a few liquid ounces in my 
quivering hole. I decided that I wanted to enjoy all this in a more 
comfortable way and with all my strength I threw fat Alex off me and quickly 
jumped up. 

"What the hell...." he began to shout. 

"Just take your clothes off, old boy, like I'm doing myself...." I hissed at 
him while getting rid of everything I had on my body. 

I wanted to help him to get out of his pants and shoes, but I was afraid 
he'd stop doing it if he got hold of me too soon. His face was flushed and 
his breath was as noisy as if he were climbing a steep hill; he finished 
undressing and pounced on me with a wildness that frightened me a little. 
That guy behaved as if he hadn't had a woman for several months. The next 
moment he was riding me in a wild gallop. All his emotions seemed to be 
concentrated in that furious prick of his. 

"Yes, honey ... yes ... you were right ... it's much better to do it naked 
... ah ... I haven't fucked like this for years ... yes ... push against me 
... that's good ... you're the best lay I ever had ... and you're beautiful 
... yes ... pinch my prick with your cunt ... you sure know how to do it ... 
ah ... you're coming now ... I can feel it ... I'll make you come twenty 
times ... I can do it too...." 

His crazy voluptuousness really overwhelmed me and I lost all control of 
myself and clawed him on his shoulders and arms and threw my body in all 
directions like a worm being impaled by a needle. I had come about four 
times and Alex was still riding me and stammering all sorts of incoherent 
words, but suddenly I began to pay attention when he muttered: 

"I don't ever want to stop ... fucking you is too good to be finished ... 
I'll take a pretty apartment for you ... I want to fuck you all the time, 
not only at nights ... that damned Martha is in the way here ... ah ... I 
feel you coming again ... soon I'll come myself ... yes ... honey ... I'll 
fuck you all day and all night ... Alex has enough money to buy you a castle 
... you just wait ... you'll have the nicest place with a large bedroom and 
a large bed ... ah ... ah ... I'm coming ... I'm coming ... now ... now ... 
ahhhhh...." 

A flood sprayed into me and mingled with my own juices so that it felt like 
a river flowing within me. Alex's head fell on my shoulder and I felt his 
teeth sink into my skin without hurting me. We both were spent and lay there 
for half an hour without moving a limb. If my oversexed pork-butcher was 
going to go on like this I would certainly earn all I could get out of him. 

But I was overjoyed at his intention to install me in an apartment of my own 
without having to ask him for it. Steffi would be glad to hear that. What 
the hell, I thought, if I'm going to be a regular mistress with a nice place 
of my own, he might as well fuck me every hour of the day. I didn't care. I 
felt Alex's hand stroking my breast. 

"Ah, honey...." he murmured, "you are good for my soul...." 

"I love your soul too, Alex. It's the stiffest soul a man can have...." 

He laughed and put my hand on his "soul" which, so help me God, was actually 
standing up again. I began to be concerned. That little, fat Alex was a stud 
par excellence. 

"Gee, Alex ... you are incredible ... but I want to take a bath ... a nice, 
warm bath ... and you could stand one too ... what about it...?" 

"Okay, Pepi ... let's take a bath...!" 

"Whaddaya mean ... 'let's'...? You got two bath tubs...?" 

Alex laughed. 

."No ... but one large sunken tub in a separate bathroom you haven't seen 
yet. When my wife became too fat for the ordinary one, we had to build her 
that large one. It's almost like a small swimming pool ... you walk down a 
few steps ... there are only a few people in Vienna who have one like that 
... it cost a fortune...." 

He got up and asked me to follow him. We had to walk up a short stairway 
until we reached a door which he threw open. 

"See...? We had to build the whole room higher than all the others to get 
enough depth for the sunken tub. See, there's a special gas heater that 
gives you a lot of hot water. A customer from America told me about it and I 
had my plumber and electrician come to listen to him because I wanted them 
to do it right. The few other guys in town who have the same thing have to 
use old-fashioned coal stoves to heat up the water. It takes them an hour or 
so. I can fill this tub in half an hour ... watch...." 

He took me inside. It was not actually a room, but rather a wooden gallery 
around an enormous tub that looked really like a little pool made of metal. 
In one corner was a modern gas heater which I'd never seen before. 

"They had to order that from America ... the plumber and the 
electrician...!" explained Alex with pride. 

He turned on two faucets and a mighty jet of water came out of tubes that 
were installed at the bottom of the tub. 

"I'm turning on the cold water first. After it's half filled, I let in the 
hot. That's so the room doesn't get too full of steam ... see...?" We sat 
down on the wooden steps that led into the tub and I wanted to watch how it 
filled gradually, but Alex considered every minute he didn't touch me 
wasted. I had to ask him to give me a little pause if he wanted me to 
cooperate later. 

I might as well have reasoned with a wall. He pushed me backward so that I 
lay on the top of the steps while he rubbed his insatiable prick between my 
thighs and was decent enough to come in under one minute. It was definitely 
not comfortable to lie on that wooden gallery. He looked at the spilled 
semen on my skin. 

"Don't worry, honey ... we'll soon be as clean as angels ... look ... the 
basin is already half full ... come let's get in...." 

He went down the steps, but as soon as he touched the water he yelled: 

"Damn, that's still cold ... I must turn on the hot water now...." 

He went to the heater and did so. After five minutes he stuck his toe into 
the water. 

"Fine ... it's getting lukewarm ... come on, honey ... don't be afraid...." 

I went down the steps and cautiously stepped into the tub. Yes, it was 
pretty agreeable, the water getting warmer all the time. I sat down. The 
water was coming up to my teats. Alex already had his hands all over my 
body. 

"Hey, Alex...." I reminded him, "don't become too involved here. You've got 
to turn the water off in a little while. We don't want to drown here...." 

He playfully straddled my shoulders so that his semi-stiff prick touched my 
neck. 

"Don't you worry your pretty head off, Pepi ... now tell me, don't you like 
this luxurious bath of mine...?" 

"Yes, it's wonderful ... but are you sure it's safe...?" 

"Safe? You think my fat wife would have used it if it wasn't safe...?" 

"Sure, but your wife used it for bathing...." He laughed. 

"We're going to do that too. But just bathing without having a little 
distraction would be no fun ... oh boy ... I'd better turn the faucets off 
now...." 

He climbed out and shut the water off. It reached to my chin when I was 
sitting down. Alex came back in and brought some perfumed soap with which he 
rubbed me all over. 

"Now, I'll work up a nice lather on your skin...." 

He did, but his fingers seemed unable to get away from the spot between my 
legs. 

"You'd better let me do that myself, Alex. I want a lather of soap for a 
change, but if you work on my pussy any longer there'll be another lather 
and we're taking a bath to wash it off, aren't we...?" 

He didn't release me and soaped my clitoris with a cunning agility. 

"Ah ... Alex ... I'm going to fall down and drown if you go on ... ah ... 
you rascal ... watch out...." 

"Sure, I'm watching out ... we'll have to support you so you don't fall 
down...." 

With that he turned me round and stuck his dick into me from behind, holding 
me firmly by my teats. 

"Now you won't fall, honey ... you're safer than any other place ... like it 
that way...?" The soap acted like a lubricant and made this kind of screwing 
quite agreeable. At the same time there were a lot of sloshing and smacking 
noises when our motions worked up a lot of foam. 

"Look honey...." yelled Alex, "we're making soap bubbles...." 

As a matter-of-fact, several tiny bubbles were floating from between my legs 
due to the compressed air affecting the lather there. 

Alex moved quite slowly now and seemed to enjoy himself immensely. 

"Ah ... honey ... this is the life ... do you know the difference between a 
woman in church and a woman like you right now...?" 

"Don't be silly ... what is this, a joke...? " "No joke ... it's damned 
serious...." 

"Whaddaya mean...?" 

"Just this, in case you don't know ... a woman in church has her soul full 
of hope, and you...." 

I caught on. 

"I see...." I said laughingly, "you're right, I have my hole full of 
soap...." 

Alex was so pleased at his pun that he immediately speeded up his thrusts. 
We must have looked like two frogs copulating in a pond. He stroked my 
nipples with his wet fingers which gave the caress a heightened effect. I 
began to work my behind against his thighs and soon we both spilled our 
juices with a lot of moaning and sighing. 

"Ah, my God ... this is paradise ... Alex exclaimed and sat down in the 
water, taking me on his lap. I think I had come at least ten times that 
afternoon, while Alex had his fourth orgasm. He was the only fat man I'd 
known all my life who had that kind of inexhaustible potency. I soon got up 
and soaped myself again. 

"Alex, this is wonderful, I admit it ... but, between you and me ... I'm 
getting hungry ... you make me weak ... with all your passion...." 

He pressed me against him. Thank God, his dick was limp now. 

"You're right. We have to go out and have ourselves an excellent dinner ... 
and damn it ... we have to see a tailor to order all sorts of dresses for 
you ... also a shoemaker and a milliner ... it's a shame, really, to have to 
cover up your body, but Alex Feringer knows what he owes to his girl friend. 
She must be the best-dressed woman in town ... we'll see to that. But now 
... I'll give you a good rubdown...!" 

He stepped out of the tub and opened a closet in the wall and brought out a 
few large and thick Turkish towels. I thought it better to dry myself than 
let Alex find a good reason to become excited again. When we came back to 
his bedroom I noticed that my dress had become quite wrinkled again and I 
complained about it to Alex. 

"See what comes from never waiting until we're undressed? How can I go out 
in this mussed up thing, now?" 

"Don't worry, Pepi. Tonight we'll go to a special place that's lit up only 
by candles. Nobody will notice anything. And tomorrow Martha will iron your 
dress before we go shopping for really beautiful clothes. How's that...?" 

"Fine, lover boy! But now give me a little time to clean up and get dressed, 
okay...?" 

He gave me a final pinch on my buttocks and I could, at last, go back to the 
bedroom to make myself look decent again. Alex had sense enough to let me be 
by myself until I was dressed and ready to go out. 

When I met him in the living room he was all spruced up and showed no trace 
of tiredness, though he should at his age. On the contrary, just when we 
went down the stairs, he quickly pressed my hand against his fly to show me 
that his dick was again standing at attention. 

"You're worse than two twenty-year-old guys...." I said, "what you need is a 
harem with twenty girls...." 

Alex laughed at my flattering remark. 

"You ain't so wrong, beautiful ... perhaps you can help me to get a harem 
together after a while. But as long as you are strong and appetizing like 
you are now, you'll have to do the work of twenty...." 

I wasn't quite sure whether he was joking or not. That little chubby 
pork-butcher turned out to be a sexual phenomenon. I made up my mind to have 
another talk with Steffi about him. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

THE HEURIGER WINE SHOP 

One of the oldest Viennese traditions is to go to a Heuriger. The German 
adjective heurig means "of this year." A Heuriger in this case, means this 
year's vintage, new wine, and also the place where it can be enjoyed. 

Every autumn when the new wine of the neighborhood is ready for sale the 
Viennese drive to Neustadt, Heiligenstadt, Grinzing, or Sievering-suburbs 
full of vineyards behind village-like houses-to drink the wine right where 
it is grown. There are many old taverns, owned by the winegrowers and 
vintners, which were frequented by Beethoven and Schubert in the old days. 
I've been to several where I was told that Schubert composed here this or 
that song, accompanying himself on a lute. 

When the weather is still mild one can sit in the large gardens, full of 
wooden tables and primitive benches. If it gets colder there is plenty of 
room in the taverns showing the same primitive sitting facilities. All that 
is sold here is the wine itself. Food is brought in large baskets or parcels 
by the customers who usually roast a few chickens the previous day and 
perhaps bake a couple of large cakes to be eaten at the Heuriger. Bread can 
be obtained at the tavern and some of them also sell Swiss cheese and 
sausage in thick slices. 

It was during a visit to a Heuriger, that Alex began to acquire a "harem" as 
he called it. What he meant was more or less a kind of group sex. He and two 
or three friends of his amused themselves with me and some other girls, 
especially Steffi, who had joined me in those exploits for some time. 

Alex kept his word and rented a charming apartment just for me. The living 
room was decorated in blue, the bedroom in pink and white, a roomy kitchen 
and a small bathroom and a bedroom for my maid. Lini, that was her name, was 
a 17-year-old precocious wench from the suburbs and turned out to be a 
reliable factotum. Reliable in the narrowest sense only: she didn't gossip 
about me. Otherwise she stole like a raven, mostly food. I didn't say 
anything because I remembered my own childhood and knew that kids in the 
suburbs never got enough to eat. Lini knew that I was on to her and when she 
saw that I didn't begrudge her swiping leftover roasts or half-finished 
cakes and often some freshly baked pies that had not yet come to the table, 
she became loyalty itself. The only thing about her I didn't quite like in 
the beginning were dark rings around her eyes which showed that she had been 
"doing it" for some time. I soon found out that Lini had a regular lover. 

When I came home one evening around midnight I heard a strange sound coming 
from the kitchen and I knew at once that there was some screwing going on in 
Lini's room. I tiptoed through the kitchen and, through the half-open door 
of the maid's room I saw a young muscular fellow with the suntanned body of 
a street laborer lying on top of Lini who was clutching her pillow and 
moaning like nobody's business. Both were nude and so engrossed in their 
pleasure that they wouldn't have heard me even if I had not walked quite 
softly. 

The boy was really handsome in a rough sort of way and his dick was a beauty 
of rare length and thickness. Lini, who was rather small and fine-boned, 
must have been used to that enormous tool for some time in order to enjoy it 
without the slightest pain. And enjoy it she did, because she forgot all 
caution and moaned and stammered quite loud to the evident satisfaction of 
her athletic fucker. 

"... don't come yet, Ferdl ... don't come now ... go on fucking me ... yes, 
like that ... ah ... you're getting better every time...." Her Ferdl worked 
on her in a steady rhythm. He was much bigger than Lini and almost smothered 
her face with his chest. To my astonishment I saw that she was sucking his 
nipples, something that usually a man does to the woman. He seemed to enjoy 
it as much as she did. She also stroked his buttocks and the upper part of 
his thighs which she could reach when she stretched her arms. That seemed to 
give him some special pleasure, because he muttered: 

"Yes ... yes ... that's good ... stroke my ass again ... I'm going to come 
soon...." 

Lini must have been coming several times to judge from her wild twistings 
and moaning. Now she almost yelled: 

"... Faster ... Ferdl ... my Ferdl.... 

I love you ... you're my Ferdl ... faster ... I'm coming again ... squirt 
your juice into me ... everything ... all you got ... squirt now...." 

Ferdl's behind moved up and down so quickly that it almost blurred a clear 
view of it. The two twisted like wrestlers who don't want to let go of each 
other. Lini's hands clawed every part of the boy's body she could touch. I 
almost began to envy her. I hadn't had such a young strong stud between my 
legs for quite some time. Alex was exceptionally potent but he was no 
beauty. That Ferdl, on the other hand, looked like God's gift to women. He 
was reaching his climax. 

"... now ... now ... he moaned, "I'm coming ... ah ... this is good ... ah 
... ah...." 

He made the finishing thrust so strong that Lini must have felt like she was 
being impaled on that bed. Both were quiet for a while. At last I heard 
Lini's voice saying: 

"Oh God, I hope my lady doesn't find out about us...!" 

The boy laughed and rolled off her. 

"So what...? What does she do with that fat pork-butcher all the time...? 
You are a working girl, but she lives on fucking ... doesn't she...?" 

I didn't like that talk at all. They could fuck as much as they liked, but 
Lini must not have anybody in my place who spoke of me as a whore. Lini 
knew, of course, that Alex was my lover, but for her I was, as she correctly 
said, "the lady." I decided to take care of that. 

The next morning, when Lini brought my breakfast to my bedroom, I told her 
quite frankly that I heard everything last night and slapped her face. 

"I know you're not made of wood and need a man like any healthy girl, but 
you should have asked me first whether you can do it in my place here. But I 
have no use for a lover of yours who talks of me as that boy did last night. 
From now on do your screwing away from home! You can have time off whenever 
I don't need you and you know that! If I discover you again with any man in 
my apartment, out you go! Have I made myself clear...?" 

Lini cried a little and apologized. She tried to make up by giving me 
greatly improved service. I, in my turn, let her go out on several evenings 
when she said her Ferdl was waiting for her outside. Looking back, I 
remember how close I came to seducing that athletic Ferdl whose performance 
I had admired, if not what he said about me. But some healthy instinct told 
me that I'd better control my horniness in that instance if I wanted to be 
respected by Lini. When I told Steffi about it, she not only approved but 
advised me always to keep a distance from anybody who would be in my employ. 

"I know," Steffi said, "that many a rich woman, even a countess or baroness, 
commands her flunky into bed with her, especially if he is well put 
together. And the next thing you know it's all over town: 'The beautiful 
Countess X lets herself be fucked by her coachman, or by her butler, or 
stable boy ...!' If she were not a countess, people would cut her right and 
left. And you can be sure that her servants laugh behind her back and after 
a while that woman begins to notice that she doesn't get the respect in her 
household that she ought to get. She can't afford to fire all the servants 
and engage a new crew all the time. We whores can't afford to behave like 
horny aristocratic women. That's why most whores and demimondaines have much 
better manners than those aristocratic bitches . . 

"Are you serious, Steffi...?" 

"You're damned right I'm serious. Wait until you can watch Madame Benesch at 
the races or when she's at some elegant restaurant with her lover of the 
moment. You'd believe she's a cross between a mother superior and an 
archduchess. Graceful dignity itself...!" 

"I know you're right, Steffi! But what would you do if you saw a guy with a 
wonderful body like that boy with my Lini and wished he'd stick his gorgeous 
prick into you...? I nearly went out of my mind when I saw how he did it to 
the girl...." 

"Well, right now I can take to bed any guy I want to have. I'm not anybody's 
mistress. If I had a steady friend like your pork-butcher, I'd have to watch 
myself. That Ferdl got you all heated up because it's quite some time since 
you had a good-looking guy like him. He isn't the only one. Open your eyes 
when you walk in the street and wherever you go. There are lots of handsome 
fellows around. Watch the students around the university! Yesterday I had 
myself a most appetizing guy-a student. Twenty years old, a young giant, 
with a prick like a corncob full of corn...." 

"How did you get him...?" 

"Easy! I stood at the foot of the stairs that go up to the large gates of 
the university. It was around noon. I knew most of them would come out to go 
some place to eat their lunch. Some of them haven't got much money and bring 
their lunch in a bag. A sandwich or two, maybe, and an apple and a couple of 
cookies. They usually walk over to the park in front of the city hall and 
settle down on a bench. Well, I first went to a delicatessen store and had a 
few nice sandwiches made up, added two large pieces of mince pie, and 
carried the whole thing in a brown bag with me when I took up my stand in 
front of the university...." 

"You remind me of somebody who buys cheese to put in a mousetrap...!" 

Steffi laughed. 

"Yes, it's almost like that. Anyway, a few minutes after twelve, the 
students began to come out. I saw one big blond guy, built like a wrestler, 
who carried some books under his arm. When he saw me, he smiled and I walked 
up to him and said: 

"'Do you know Fritz Muller...? ' 

"He was surprised and then said: 

"'No, I'm sorry! I know a Muller, but his name is Hans...! Why d'you ask...? 
' 

"'Oh,' I said and made an unhappy face, 'because his mother gave me this 
lunch he forgot at home. She said he'd come out around eleven to go and buy 
some books. And here I've been waiting for him for almost one hour and a 
half, but there's no Fritz ... ' 

"'He must be a stupid guy to let a beautiful girl like you wait ... ' the 
fellow said. 'My name also happens to be Fritz. Fritz Winter! Why don't you 
keep me company while I eat my lunch on some bench in the city hall park...? 
' " 'But you don't have a bag with you ... ' I said without replying to his 
invitation. 

"He blushed. 

"'No, I always go to the delicatessen and buy a sandwich ... ' 

"'Not today! You are going to eat what I've got in this bag here! Fritz 
Muller seems to have played hooky today. Let him buy his own lunch ... ' 

"The guy looked at me as if I were a sandwich he planned to eat. 

'"Aren't you his girl...? ' 

"'I should say not! I'm living in the same building as his mother and we 
know each other as neighbors. That's all ... ' 

"We'd started walking toward the park and soon I was feeding him from my 
bag. I ate one of the three sandwiches which I'd planned to do anyhow, but I 
made him eat both portions of the pie. He must have been hungry, because he 
made the food disappear in ten minutes. 

"'So your name is Fritz too...? Mine is Steffi ... ' 

"'I wish I had a girl like you, Steffi ... ' " 'I don't know what happened 
to me, but I actually blushed. I guess it was because he seemed so innocent 
and handsome. I looked at his fly that had begun to bulge. He followed my 
eyes and his face became red like a beet. I knew I had to act fast. I put my 
hand on his knee and said: 

"'You're such a nice guy that I'm sure you already have a girl of your own 
... eh?' 

"He blushed even more and stammered: 

"'I wish I did ... Steffi ... I don't know what you see in me...? ' 

"'You look intelligent and strong. Usually, those intellectual guys are 
pale, boneless shrimps who wouldn't know how to swim or row a boat, but you 
are different ... ' 

"He smiled now and his face was still red. " 'I guess you're right. I like 
to apply my body, not only my brain . . 

"'Do you also like to apply your body when you're with a girl...? ' 

"I squeezed his muscular thigh and looked straight in his eyes. He could 
only stammer: 

"'I ... I ... I wish you'd be my girl, Steffi . . 

"He grabbed my hand and I quickly kissed his cheek. 

"'Come with me, Fritz ... we've got to talk this over ... ' 

"I knew he hesitated to get up from the bench, because his dick stood at 
full attention under the cloth of his trousers, but I kept looking at his 
face and pulled him up. You know that they always reserve a room for me at 
The Golden Bear, where I take special customers who want to do it at once, 
like that fat bank manager who always has to have his little screw before he 
goes home to have dinner with his wife. I decided to take Fritz there and 
give us both a good time...." 

"But you told him you lived in the same building as the mother of that 
nonexistent Fritz Muller...." 

"You mean the nonexistent mother of the nonexistent Fritz Muller! Sure, but 
I explained to him that I can always use the hotel room of a good girl 
friend of mine who lives out of town and was rich enough to keep up that 
room for her visits. But he hardly paid attention to my explanations ... he 
was horny like a stallion in spring. What's more ... he was also a virgin. I 
had to coax him to get out of his clothes and then he insisted on undressing 
me ... I tell you Pepi, he looked like a young Greek god ... I had to 
control myself not to fall all over him at once ... after all, he still 
believed I was an ordinary girl who took a liking to him. When I pulled him 
down on the bed he was so excited that he began rubbing his dick on my belly 
and before I could take care of the situation his juice ran all over me ... 
he was embarrassed and took a towel from the washstand and wiped me dry and 
then cleaned himself. But his dick was still as stiff as before ... I made 
him lie down next to me and told him to take it easy for a while. He kept 
hugging and kissing me, calling me his love, his goddess, and what not ... 
he was really sweet...." 

"How d'you know you were his first woman...?" 

"Pepi ... I'm surprised at you...! A handsome young guy who acts shy and 
embarrassed like that one ... rubbing his dick on your body without even 
looking for your hole...." 

"I guess you're right ... now what happened next...?" 

"Now he told me that he had never done anything with a girl except kissing 
and a little groping ... I let him explore the whole works between my thighs 
and I had to take his hand and encourage him to touch everything ... he was 
very gentle and suddenly he pressed his lips on the lips I have down there 
... a really affectionate kiss ... no licking of his tongue ... he just 
didn't know anything about these things...." 

"Did you teach him...?" 

"Not this time ... I'm going to meet him again. I wanted-to feel his 
marvelous prick in my cunt and had to guide it there myself, telling him to 
move very slowly for a while and not to speed up during the next ten 
minutes.... 

I explained to him that he'd be giving me great pleasure that way. 

"Did he do it that way...?" 

"I'll say he did ... he's an excellent student. He kept playing with my 
teats and kissing them and when I told him to suck my nipples he showed 
great talent...." 

"You're making me jealous...." 

Steffi laughed. 

"You've every right to be. That boy is a rare find. He kept moving in me as 
slowly as I'd told him to and his tongue worked on my nipples with a fury 
that made me come twice within a few minutes ... when Fritz felt all that 
moisture in my cunt he couldn't hold back any more but doubled and tripled 
his speed and made me come two more times before he unloaded a veritable 
flood into me ... then he buried his face in my shoulder and gasped like a 
fish out of water...." 

"I've never heard a fish gasp...." 

"Come on, smartie, y'know what I mean ... d'you want me to go on...?" 

"Sure, Steffi ... I'm sorry I interrupted you ... did you do some more 
numbers with him...?" 

"Yes ... four more ... that kid had his nuts full of semen ... if I'd had 
the time we could have gone on the whole afternoon ... but I had an 
appointment with that fat bank manager around six ... that left me only a 
couple of hours to eat something and get myself in shape...." 

"What did you tell Fritz to get rid of him...?" 

"I didn't have to tell him anything ... it was he who apologized for having 
stayed so long ... he begged me to permit him to come and see me often...." 

"But not at The Golden Bear...?" 

"Of course not....! I told him I was living with an aunt who's very strict 
and that's why I can't give him my address, no matter how I trusted him. I 
said I'd wait for him at the entrance to the university every Monday and 
Thursday at noon ... that's the days when my girl friend's hotel room was 
sure to be at my disposal...." 

"What did he say to that...?" 

"He was quite disappointed ... he'd thought he was going to bed with me 
every day now ... but I said I was studying shorthand and typewriting and 
couldn't afford to miss-my course ... I was free only on those two days ... 
well, he sighed and kissed me every minute before he left ... I'd told him 
to leave first so that I could put the room in order, because I didn't want 
the hotel maid to gossip to my girl friend who paid for the room...." 

"And he believed you, of course...." 

"Why not...? The sweet guy is in love with me ... I've got to be mighty 
careful not to get pregnant from him ... I didn't want to disturb his 
romantic enthusiasm by getting out of bed and giving myself a douche right 
in front of him, but next time I'll tell him the facts of life ... he'll 
have to get used to being careful about those things...." 

"Y'know, Steffi, I really envy you a guy like that Fritz ... young, 
handsome, virile, full of the juice ... that's what a woman needs, every 
day...." 

"Hold your horses, kid...!" Steffi said sharply. "Don't forget Fritz is no 
customer! 

In this business you can't afford to have your cake and eat it! You'll have 
plenty of opportunities to get fucked by young, virile guys like Fritz ... 
and you'd better watch out that they are just as innocent as he is. As a 
rule, the handsome guys turn out to be pimps and take all your money ... 
but, you said something about your Alex wanting to arrange a big party at 
some Heuriger, didn't you...?" 

"Oh yes ... I almost forgot all about it ... your story about Fritz pushed 
it out of my mind...." 

"Pepi, young and upcoming whores like us have no business to forget 
business...! Now what is it all about...?" 

"Well, Alex has three good friends who are just as horny as he is all of the 
time. And when I told him of you being a good friend of mine, he asked me 
whether you are pretty and fuck-able, because he wants to invite you to come 
with us to The Pretty Resi...." 

"You mean to that nice Heuriger in Grin-zing...?" 

"The same! Alex's friends are rich guys like himself, and they're full of 
fun, not too young and not too old...." 

"You mean ... they're between fifty and sixty, eh...?" 

"Yes...." I said, laughing. "But you're not going to regret it. They're a 
generous bunch...!" 

"What's their names...?" 

"There's Toni Lecliner...." 

"You mean the jeweler in the Josefstadt...?" 

"Yes, that's him. Then there's Karl Birnecker...." 

"I never heard of him ... who's he...?" 

"Karl has inherited enough money from his father to buy half of Vienna...." 

"Now you're exaggerating . . 

"I'm not! He owns four blocks of apartment houses in the Josefstadt . . 

Steffi whistled. 

"Gee, I believe I've heard of the guy ... isn't he the one who pours 
champagne in the cunt of a girl and sips it all up...?" 

"You know more than I do ... but he sure can afford it ... although I don't 
know whether I'd like to have any champagne poured into my cunt . . 

"Yeah ... the alcohol must burn like hell in there. The only liquid I ever 
want to get into my cunt is good old-fashioned semen ... that's soothing ... 
now who's the third guy...?" 

"Another Karl ... Karl Wambacher ... he's known as 'the pussy-eater from 
Hietzing.' Have you ever heard of him...?" 

Steffi burst out laughing. 

"Why he's eaten my pussy a whole night long...." 

"Where did you meet him...?" 

"That was at a party to which my doctor friend invited me ... he'd warned me 
of Karl Wambacher...." 

"Warned you...? Why...?" 

"Oh, he said Karl is afraid to become impotent by fucking too much and 
that's why he's gotten used to using his tongue mostly instead of his prick. 
Of course the doctor said that this is just an excuse ... Karl just likes to 
eat pussy most of the time...." 

"I don't see why he needs an excuse...?" 

"Now think a minute, Pepi...! Every girl in her right mind loves to have her 
pussy eaten, but not as the main treat. That hole of ours was not made for a 
man's tongue but for something else...!" 

"Well, I've seen the guy only once when he went with us-I mean Alex and 
myself-to the restaurant, one evening. The way he ate there showed me he 
likes to eat other things too. He's so fat that his belly must be quite a 
handicap if he wants to fuck a girl the regular way. Maybe that's why he's 
using his tongue mostly ... it's simpler ... for him at least...." 

"So those three guys and Alex want us to go to The Pretty Resi with them ... 
and when...?" 

"Alex proposed next Saturday night...." 

"That suits me fine ... I've got no special customer for that day ... and 
what's more, we are going to have a lot of fun ... tell you what ... let's 
both dress in blue ... like sisters ... I know the men would like that ... 
I'll come to your place, let's say around seven ... is that all right...?" 

"Yes, that's great ... and why don't you wear one of my blue dresses...? 
We're the same size ... I've got two that look almost alike...." 

"It's a deal, Pepi! See you Saturday at seven in your apartment. And until 
then don't let anybody give you any ideas, in case my story of Fritz has 
tickled your appetite too much, uh...?" 

I laughed. "No need to be alarmed, Steffi. My cunt is kept too busy right 
now...." 

We kissed and I went slowly back to my apartment thinking over all the 
things Steffi had said. I knew she was right to warn me of my appetite for a 
handsome young guy like her Fritz, but since I loved fucking for fucking's 
sake and not only to make money with it, I craved a lover with a perfect 
body, the way Steffi had described Fritz to me. I knew that some day I was 
going to have only such bed-partners as I wanted, for money, or without it. 
But I knew very well that I was never going to become the victim of a pimp. 
The very idea revolted me. 

When I arrived at my apartment Lini said that Mr. Feringer had been waiting 
for me for half an hour. I noticed that her hair and her clothes were 
somewhat disordered and the redness of her left cheek seemed to indicate 
that a mustachioed mouth had kissed her. Alex couldn't be left alone with a 
female under fifty for a minute. I decided to give him a little lesson. 

When I entered the living room Alex got up from the sofa where he'd been 
reclining and wanted to give me his usual bear hug. I slipped right under 
his arms so that he embraced the empty air. 

"What's the idea...? Don't you want to kiss your Lexl...?" he asked with a 
pout. 

"No, Mr. Feringer. I'm tired and want to get out of these clothes and into a 
dressing gown . . 

With that I disappeared into the bedroom. I took plenty of time to change 
and chose a very seductive pink silk kimono. I also sprayed myself with the 
heavy Parisian perfume that seemed to increase Alex's horniness whenever he 
smelled it, although his horniness didn't need any kind of stimulation for 
that matter. 

After letting him wait for fifteen minutes, I joined him in the living room. 
He immediately wanted to fall all over me, but I kept evading him. 

"Would you mind very much letting me get my breath back, Alex...? Especially 
since you did not get bored while you were waiting for me...!" 

He stopped and looked embarrassed. "What d'you mean, honey...?" 

"I mean that a gentleman like you should make up his mind whether his 
mistress means anything to him, or whether he prefers her maid?" 

He blushed and looked silly. 

"I didn't ... I haven't...." he stammered and then stopped. 

"If you want to say that you didn't have enough time to fuck Lini, I believe 
you. After all, the girl would think twice to do that in her lady's place, 
not to speak of the fact that she's got a guy half your age. I don't think 
she'd like to exchange him for you...." 

"But ... listen ... Pepi ... I didn't...." 

"No, you listen to me for a change! I'm not your wife who's making a scene! 
I'm the girl you said you loved above everything. And I've come home to find 
my maid with her cheek red from your moustache and her clothes rumpled as if 
she had to go through a wrestling match with you. If you want to sleep with 
other women, go right ahead, but don't fool around with my maid! How can 
that girl respect me if you do that...?" 

I knew I was taking a calculated risk giving Alex hell for his indiscretion. 
On the other hand, I knew he would see my point if I didn't make it out to 
be jealousy, but an error of taste on his part. Alex wanted to be taken for 
a gentleman without having been brought up like one. Giving him a little 
hell for behaving like a common street laborer who lifts the skirt of any 
female he can get hold of must have its effect. And it had. 

"I'm sorry, honey ... you're right! It was a mistake ... but it's really 
your own fault...." 

"Now it's suddenly my fault...?" 

"Sure! I can't be without you ... I've been sitting here waiting for you and 
... well ... Lini is a pretty piece ... but I was thinking of you all the 
time....see...? Look at this...!" 

He unbuttoned his fly and his long, thick, fleshy club jumped out, its rosy 
head turgid and ready for action. I was still excited by Steffi's report of 
her adventure with the young student and my hand automatically strayed 
toward the velvety glans of that exposed prick that began to twitch in my 
hand. 

"Come on, you bastard...! You no-good rascal...!" I addressed the stiff 
penis and pulled it, with its owner, toward the bedroom. 

"But first get out of your clothes...!" I commanded Alex who'd have liked to 
mount me the way he was. 

He sighed and heaved when he had to bend down to undo his shoelaces, but I 
didn't help him this time. Let him sweat, I thought. I stripped naked and 
lay down on the large French double bed. At last, Alex was in his Adam's 
costume and climbed on the bed. When I saw his big paunch and his familiar 
squat body, the body of a fat man of fifty-five, I couldn't help thinking of 
Steffi's description of her young virile Fritz and his athletic figure. When 
Alex mounted me, I closed my eyes and imagined it was Fritz sticking his 
dick into me and my passionate reaction was misread by Alex for my feelings 
for himself. He worked on my breasts with both hands and I must say, he did, 
as always, a good job. The piston-like thrusts of his ever-youthful prick 
gave me much pleasure and I thought I mustn't become careless and moan the 
name of Fritz instead of Alex. But my horny lover was quite oblivious of 
what was going on in my mind and moaned out a monologue of his own: 

"... you're the only one I want to fuck ... only you with your sweet, tight 
cunt ... I've never had a girl with a tight hole like yours ... ah ... yes 
... pinch my prick with your cunt ... pinch it ... you've got muscles like 
steel down there ... ah ... now you're coming ... I feel it ... I'll show 
you how much I love you ... I'll fuck you until you come twenty times ... ah 
... now you're coming again ... that's good ... yes ... press my back like 
this ... ah ... that's wonderful ... now ... now ... I'm coming ... I'm 
coming ... ah ... ah . . 

His thrusts were violent and soon he squirted a flood of semen into me while 
I called out something, I don't know what. But after we both had calmed 
down, Alex asked: 

"Since when have you become so elegant in your expressions...?" 

He had to repeat his question to bring me back from my daydreaming. 

"Elegant...? What exactly d'you mean, Alex 

"You always call fucking, fucking. But just now when we both came, you 
called out, 'Frig me! Frig! Frig!' . . 

I knew at once what had happened. It was fortunate Alex didn't understand I 
called "Fritz" and not "frig." That boy I'd never seen, had got hold of my 
imagination more than I guessed. I had to be careful not to betray myself 
any more in this stupid fashion. I pretended to be exhausted from Alex's 
ministrations and mumbled: 

"Really, Alex ... I never know what comes out of my mouth when you drive me 
crazy with pleasure ... you can really make a girl happy with your dick...." 

Alex beamed. 

"Ah, I knew I'd put you in a good mood again. You don't really believe that 
I'd ever let you go, eh, honey? Who needs Lini, or any other wench ...?" 

"You say that now. But when we go to The Pretty Resi, on Saturday, you'll 
fuck every female in the place, if I know you...." 

Alex laughed his usual hearty laugh. Like most Viennese of his class, he was 
not profound, but his sense of humor was easily aroused. 

"Yes, but only if I'm soused so that I'll believe every woman looks like you 
... by the way, what did Steffi say...? She's coming with us, isn't she...?" 

"Sure! She and I are going to be dressed in blue, we'll look like 
sisters...." 

"Ha-ha! The boys will like that. Toni and the two Karls once fucked the 
Rocky Sisters, all three of them. You remember the dance team at the 
Ronacher Theater...? It cost them a small fortune, but they had a good time. 
They made the girls dress just the way they appear on stage. You know, those 
short pleated skirts ... but they had to leave off their panties ... The 
boys wanted to go the line of least resistance ... I wish they'd invited me 
that night! They nearly fucked the girls and themselves to death. There was 
nothing they didn't do. Of course they had a large buffet with lots of 
seafood and meats, and buckets full of champagne...." 

"Champagne...?" Something stirred in my memory. "Did they perhaps fill the 
girls' cunts full of champagne...?" 

Alex looked surprised. 

"Gee, how did you know...? Yes, that's exactly what they did...." 

"And I bet it was Karl Birnecker who started it all...?" 

"Ho-ho! ... you know that too...?" 

"Yes, Steffi heard all about it. She told me when I mentioned that the two 
Karls, Wambacher and Birnecker, are coming with us to the Heuriger. I hope 
Birnecker doesn't do the same thing with the new line we are going to have 
at The Pretty Resi...." 

Alex laughed. 

"Who knows...? But you needn't worry. I'll never permit anybody to dilute 
your delicious juices down there with any wine...." 

And to prove his words, he put his head down there between my legs and began 
to suck my clitoris with great enthusiasm. I quickly closed my eyes and made 
a great effort not to think of anybody else. I didn't want to betray my 
thoughts any more. Steffi was right. An upcoming young whore had to think of 
business first and last. Only when she's become independent with a bank 
account of her own can she afford to pick the males she dreams of. 

Saturday Steffi came at five so that we could try on all sorts of clothes. 
We decided to remain with the elegant blue dresses I'd thought of in the 
first place. Steffi looked lovely in that blue velvet, while mine was a 
combination of velvet and silk. We also chose blue straw hats with blue 
velvet ribbons. When Alex and the three men came around to take us out, they 
whistled in their admiration of our appearance. 

"Girls, you look like princesses...!" exclaimed Toni Lecliner. 

"Yes, they do...!" chimed in Karl Wambacher. 

"What's so good about princesses as long as they're dressed ...?" asked Karl 
Birnecker, the one who loved his pussy-eating with a champagne chaser. 

Steffi faced the men with her most dignified expression. 

"Gentlemen, it wouldn't be a bad idea if you introduced yourself. After all, 
I've never met you before!" 

She didn't sound affected or arrogant at all. Steffi had real class and the 
men couldn't help being impressed by it. One after the other came up to her, 
told his name and politely kissed her hand she offered him. 

Alex was the only one who was fighting an impulse to make everybody laugh by 
kissing her on the lips, or worse, reaching under her dress. But Steffi had 
a way of looking unapproachable when she chose to do so, and even the 
irrepressible Alex had to behave this time. He told everybody to go 
downstairs and wait for him in the car while he helped me lock the 
apartment. We had given Lini the night off which she was going to spend with 
her attractive Ferdl at some cheap hotel, she had told me. 

I had an idea that Alex didn't merely want to help me lock the apartment and 
my suspicion was confirmed when he pressed his aroused dick into my hand. 

"Be a sport, honey," he begged. "Do a nice hand job for me before we go 
downstairs...." 

"But Alex," I protested, "my dress may become spotty ... is it really so 
urgent...?" He didn't answer but began to move his prick in my palm so that 
I had to pay attention and take over, particularly to watch out that I 
didn't get his semen on my dress. He came almost at once and the little 
flood dropped on the runner in front of the door. 

"Now I feel better...." he declared and stowed his tool away. "Come on, 
honey, let's have the keys to the door!" 

He locked the two safety locks and handed the keys back to me. When we at 
last came downstairs, the whole party was hailing us from the carriage into 
which they had squeezed themselves. 

"Thank God, you're here at last," called Karl Birnecker. "That lock must 
have been difficult to open ... I mean ... to lock ... eh...?" 

Of course, everybody knew that Alex and I had not been solely concerned with 
safety measures and locking the apartment door. 

"Well, how are we going to find room for all of us here...?" said Alex, 
eyeing the inside of the carriage. There was just about enough room left for 
him, or for myself, but not for the two of us. 

The men quickly hailed a passing fiacre and we left Alex's carriage under 
the care of his concierge. But even in the larger fiacre, we couldn't be 
quite comfortable and the experienced coachman suggested that the two ladies 
would have to sit on the laps of the gentlemen. His proposal was, of course, 
accepted with great enthusiasm. I somehow was able to manage that Steffi 
could sit on Alex's knees, while I-not without premeditation-sat on Toni 
Lecliner's lap. He was the jeweler and the most youthful looking of the four 
men. I didn't have to fear Alex showing any jealousy, and all the less so as 
I knew he loved to feel the racy, brunette Steffi on his thighs. 

We had driven for about fifteen minutes when I felt Toni's hand wandering up 
below my dress, at the back of my legs and thighs. He could do it with 
impunity, because the coachman had spread a checkered blanket over our laps. 
Toni proceeded slowly and discreetly, apparently enjoying every inch of the 
way. When I looked sideways I noticed Alex's hand had disappeared under the 
blanket and I knew he was paying a similar attention to Steffi. 

But I, apparently, was not the only one who had sharp eyes. Because the two 
Karls, Wambacher and Birnecker, suddenly remarked: "We can't permit that 
only Alex and Toni should endure such a load on their laps. It would be fair 
to rotate the ladies ... Each one of us should contribute to the ladies' 
comfort!" Steffi gave me a meaningful look and then said: 

"Alex here has some well padded thighs. But let's see how the thighs of the 
other fellows feel. Don't you think so, Pepi...?" 

I quickly agreed with her and without waiting for any further suggestions, I 
got up from Toni's knees and sat down on those of Karl Birnecker, while 
Steffi with equal alertness, chose Wambacher's lap as her next port of call, 
so to speak. This, of course, did not mean that the restless hands of those 
gentlemen didn't go immediately into action like those of their predecessors 
in lap-holding. Karl Wambacher, known as "the pussy-eater from Heitzing," 
must have done a good job, because Steffi, who usually had good control of 
her facial muscles, began to show a suspiciously relaxed expression around 
her eyes. I, for my part, had to admit that Karl Birnecker, knew more than 
sipping champagne from pussies. His fingers between my thighs became 
increasingly affectionate. 

After a leisurely trot of a little over one hour, the horses deposited our 
fiacre in front of The Pretty Resi. It seemed we were expected, because as 
soon as our carriage halted, the owner, the full-bosomed Resi herself, and 
her combo, consisting of an accordionist, a fiddler and a guitarist came out 
of the ivy-covered gate and gave us a musical welcome as if we were a party 
of aristocrats and their ladies. 

Of course Alex and the other men were well known in places like that and 
everybody was looking forward to the big tips and, as I discovered later, to 
a lot of fun that had nothing to do with money at all. 

Resi must have been in her late thirties and if she hadn't been overweight 
could still have been called a great beauty, which she undoubtedly was ten 
years before. She shook hands with the men and when she greeted Alex, he 
discreetly knocked the back of his hand against her white apron in front of 
her belly, or a little below that. They seemed to know each other pretty 
intimately. 

Steffi whispered to me that she had heard of many orgies that were going on 
in a "back room" of the tavern building and she was curious to see what was 
in store for us this evening. For the time being, Resi and a couple of 
waitresses led our party through the large garden full of wooden tables and 
chairs, occupied by many gay parties, to a small garden house in the back. 
Resi and the waitresses placed three tables next to each other and lined up 
six chairs on either side. I was wondering why we needed three tables for 
our little party, but it became soon apparent that Resi and the musicians 
would keep us company from time to time. 

The coachman carried a huge basket covered with some wax cloth. It had been 
resting next to him on his seat during our drive. Now he uncovered it and 
the waitresses helped him to take out food that would have nourished an army 
on the march. Five fried chickens, one roast duck, lots of sausages and 
salami-all from Alex's stores. The waitresses heaped lots of sliced bread on 
plates in front of us and Resi told us that she had baked three huge cakes 
for us, to be eaten when we finished all the chickens and the barbecued 
stuff. 

Now came the real attraction of the place, the Heuriger, the new wine which, 
as Resi told us, was especially good this fall. Six huge pitchers were 
placed on the tables in front of us and Resi herself began to pour the wine 
into our glasses. It was of a greenish-golden color which reflected the 
candles in the hurricane lamps. There were two lamps for each table and 
their flickering light provided a cozy, romantic atmosphere. As soon as our 
escorts began to eat, their attention was completely devoted to the food 
which disappeared like magic. Steffi and I showed the same healthy appetite 
as the men, but we were careful about the wine, no matter how consistently 
the men urged us to drink. New wine can be very deceptive. It may taste as 
mild as water and one goes on drinking glass after glass. Then if one wants 
to stand up one is astonished to feel a complete lack of balance. One falls 
back on one's seat. Steffi who had had some experience with the Heuriger had 
warned me, but even so I felt an ever increasing cheerfulness come over me 
and was quite surprised to find out that that loud giggle I heard was coming 
from my mouth. 

Resi had followed our invitation and filled a glass for herself and toasted 
each one of us separately. The men wanted her to empty each glassful, but 
Resi knew better than that. 

"Look, boys, I've got to take care of all the other customers, too. I've got 
all the tables filled as you can see. But I'll be back later, when we can 
afford a little fun, okay...?" 

Alex pinched her on the roomy buttocks and she gave him a playful slap on 
his fly. If I hadn't had some wine in me, I'd perhaps have been surprised at 
that kind of intimacy. Toni Lecliner gave it the last touch when he hugged 
Resi and pressed his hands on her big breasts. She giggled and called him a 
bad boy. After she'd left us, the musicians came and sat down with us and 
played all the popular songs that have been sung by the Viennese for two 
hundred years, or more. Steffi who had a beautiful contralto sang for us and 
the men toasted her repeatedly. 

"She should be at the opera ... exclaimed Toni enthusiastically. "What a 
voice...! If all of her organs function like that ... boy-oh-boy...!" 

Steffi had heard what he said and kissed his cheek: 

"Thanks, Toni, I can assure you that all my organs work well ... want to 
try...?" 

"Why don't you first find out how mine work...?" Toni said and led her hand 
to his fly under which his dick was swelling dangerously. He hadn't reckoned 
with Steffi's unpredictable moods. She quickly opened his fly and took that 
rigid tool in her palm, pressing it gently. Toni seemed to swoon while 
Steffi began to do a slow hand job on him. The edge of the table made the 
whole thing difficult to detect, but when Toni suddenly came, all his semen 
squirted against the pants of Karl Wambacher who sat across from him. But 
Karl was quite unaware of the sticky matter on the right leg of his pants 
and when he might have discovered that spot later on, it would not have 
surprised him because a lot of things began to happen under the table. Alex 
was pretty high and wanted me to do some "love-making" as he called it. He 
pressed my hand on his fly as if I needed to be convinced of his eternal 
horniness. 

"But, for heaven's sake, Alex," I asked, "how can we do anything here in the 
open...?" Alex wasn't even considering this difficulty for a second. Drunk 
as he was he managed to give me a clear answer. 

"Just crawl under the table and do a nice blow-job like a good girl. I'll 
tell whoever is interested, you dropped your handkerchief and are looking 
for it...." 

"But ... suppose the men want to be chivalrous and help me look...." 

"Don't you fret, honey, they know that 'looking-for-the-handkerchief' 
business only too well. We aren't here for the first time...." 

I disappeared under the table and since Alex was sitting opposite me, I 
couldn't make any mistake about whose dick I was going to take care of. As 
soon as my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I saw that Alex had already 
prepared everything. His dick, freed from its prison was already twitching 
in front of my face. I quickly enclosed it with my lips. I began my work 
with the accustomed thoroughness when it suddenly occurred to me that the 
joystick in my mouth was about twice as thick as Alex's tool which wasn't 
exactly small either. Should I stop now and investigate? Did I perhaps move 
sideways when I slipped under the table and touch the wrong man? I had no 
time to make a decision because the cock in my mouth unloaded a flood of 
liquid which, in my momentary confusion, I swallowed automatically. Steffi 
used to tell me that an efficient whore can tell by the taste and smell of 
the semen which of her customers she was servicing even without seeing him. 
If that was true and not merely one of Steffi's tall tales, I was far from 
being an efficient whore, because everybody's semen tasted the same to me, 
provided I didn't spit it out before I could examine the taste. It was again 
Steffi who had taught me never to spit out semen because it offends a man. 

"Are you serious...? Why should it offend him...?" I asked her. 

"Because a man considers his semen the essence of his virility ... that's 
what my doctor friend told me, some time ago. Semen means life! You don't 
let a man piss into your mouth ... but semen is something different! You 
must be a good girl and swallow it as if it were some vintage wine to please 
the man...!" 

Steffi has a way of talking about things that is always impressive. It took 
me quite some time to get used to swallowing the stuff whenever I had to do 
a blow-job. But it was true that Alex was pleased every time he noticed I 
didn't spit out the load he had emptied in my mouth. 

Meanwhile my eyes had got accustomed to the dim half-light under the table 
and I saw that the man whose prick I had caressed wore light gray trousers. 
Alex had his black pants on this evening, and, yes, there they were, to the 
right of the gray pants. I also saw that the wearer of the black pants had 
put his hand under the table and was snapping his fingers to attract my 
attention. I wished he had done that right away so that I wouldn't have 
missed him. Quickly I opened the fly of the black pants and, yes, there was 
the familiar dick of Alex, not too small and not too big, though bigger than 
the average. I quickly put it in my mouth and began to suck on it like on a 
piece of sweet candy. He was overdue, because I had hardly worked on it for 
five seconds when it flooded my mouth. I felt it was time to emerge from 
"looking-for-the-handkerchief" and chase all that precious semen, with a few 
swallows of that good new wine. 

"Well, Pepi,...." Toni Lecliner smirked at me, "did you find your 
hankie...?" 

"Oh sure," I said, waving it in front of him.... 

I noticed Toni's gray suit. He was the one whom I'd mistaken for Alex under 
the table. Alex seemed to know that something unforeseen had happened 
because he grunted: "You had time enough to find several hankies, not just 
one...!" 

"Well, as a matter-of-fact," I said angrily, "I found two of them, but I let 
the second one lie there. It's of no use to me...!" 

Alex was too drunk to get the meaning of my words, but Steffi, who had been 
"unemployed" up to that moment, suddenly said: "Jeez, Pepi, never throw a 
found hankie away. You can always wash it and it's brand-new ... I'll dive 
under the table and get it...." With that she disappeared. I knew she was 
searching for the mythical handkerchief in the pants of the two Karls, 
Wambacher and Birnecker. The former was sitting next to me and I saw him 
squirm with pleasure. Steffi was already at work. Wambacher started to let 
out a groan and I knew he had discharged. Now it was Birnecker's turn, 
apparently, but he sat on Wambacher's other side and I couldn't watch him. 

Steffi reappeared pretty soon and we all gasped when she held two 
handkerchiefs in her hand. Where did she get the second one? She saw the 
astonishment on our faces and laughed. "Pepi was perhaps right not to pick 
up this one. It's a man's hankie ... but ... it was quite useful...." 

We all roared with laughter. It was obvious that either Karl Wambacher or 
Karl Birnecker had given Steffi the handkerchief under the table so that she 
could catch the semen in it in case she didn't feel like swallowing it. They 
didn't know Steffi was an "efficient" whore who knew her manners. Alex 
wanted her to show him the larger hankie, but she bunched it tight and said: 

"No, you don't want to hurt the unborn babies in there, do you...?" 

Again there was a loud guffaw from all of us. Steffi took a nice bow like an 
actress after delivering a good line and then beckoned to me. 

"The gentlemen will excuse us for a while. Pepi and I have to repair the 
damages to our hairdos in the powder room. That hankie-diving messed us up 
somewhat ... see you soon ... J" She hooked her arm into mine and We marched 
through the large garden toward the house, where we found Resi giving orders 
to the group of waitresses carrying pitchers full of wine to the customers 
in the garden. Resi had taken off her white apron and looked quite elegant 
in the maroon silk dress she had changed into. 

"Come with me, girls," she called to us, "I'll show you where you can 
freshen up a bit...." She took us to an elegantly furnished room which 
seemed to serve her and preferred customers as a kind of powder room and 
lounge where large mirrors permitted one to look at oneself from head to 
foot. There were also several washbasins made of porcelain and large 
pitchers full of water. A small oil stove on a low table was apparently used 
to heat up some water for a sponge bath. I also noticed a porcelain bidet in 
one of the corners. 

Resi locked the door after we had entered and said: 

"I want you to feel at home here! If you want to wash up a little and redo 
your hair ... you'll find brushes and combs right there on the toilet table. 
There's also some face powder for you...." 

Resi helped Steffi and myself to get out of our dresses so that we could 
freely use some warm water and the perfumed soap. Crawling under the table 
made it necessary to clean up. Resi sat down on the large sofa on one side 
of the room and kept talking. 

"I saw immediately when you came with Alex, Toni and the two Karls that you 
were no run-of-the-mill girls. I like that! These guys of yours are very 
rich and they have been good customers for years. Have you met them only 
recently...?" 

Steffi shot me a warning glance that meant I should keep my mouth shut and 
that she was going to do the talking. 

"I thought you knew that Pepi here was Alex's girl friend ... didn't 
you...?" 

Resi seemed perplexed not to get a straight answer to her question. Steffi 
had turned the tables on her instead. 

"No...." Resi's voice had lost its assurance. "Alex and the other boys 
haven't been here since last spring. They come here only four or five times 
a year. Our season starts in September and by April the next year the new 
wine isn't 'new' any more, though it still tastes good. 

But ... I guess you girls are a new attraction of the boys, eh...?" 

Steffi had finished her sponging and turned to Resi: 

"Would you mind helping me into that dress again ... thanks ... oh, you 
asked about our meeting the boys ... I told you already that Pepi is Alex's 
girl and I'm Pepi's best friend ... so that's it...!" 

Resi had started to help me also in putting on my dress. 

"But a beautiful girl like you," she said to Steffi, "must have a steady 
boyfriend, I'm sure...." 

Steffi smiled. 

"I'm too young to get married ... if that's what you mean...." 

We all laughed, but Resi was determined to get an answer without any 
equivocation. 

"Listen girls, I'll put my cards on the table. I suppose, you know that The 
Pretty Resi is more than a regular Heuriger. This room here has seen many 
famous people, off and on. I've other rooms like this. You'll perhaps see 
them tonight. I know the boys like to wind up their evenings with a little 
fun on the couches. The Archduke Otto always comes here with his friends. 
After the scandal at the Hotel Sacher, the emperor forbade him to go there 
again...." 

"What scandal...?" I asked. 

"Don't you know...? It happened last spring. An elegant crowd was in the 
dining room. Unfortunately, also the British ambassador and his wife, you 
know, Lord and Lady Dutton. Suddenly, His Imperial Highness appeared 
stark-naked. Well, he had something on: his gloves and his sword belt. You 
can imagine the reaction. I must say this for the Duttons, they went on 
eating as if nothing particular was going on. Those English can always keep 
up a stiff upper lip...." 

"You mean to say the archduke was actually naked...?" My surprise was 
genuine. But Steffi spoke up now. 

"Yes, I heard about it, too. The police and everybody tried to hush it up. 
But you know how it is in our city. Things get around ... I thought you'd 
heard about it...." 

Resi had listened to Steffi and then added: "Otto got an awful bawling out 
from the old emperor, you can imagine! And the Hotel Sacher is now out of 
bounds for him. That's why The Pretty Resi has become his headquarters so to 
speak. Here on this sofa where I'm sitting now, His Imperial Highness has 
fucked dozens of girls ... that is, if you want to call his kind of sex that 
way. He can hardly get a hard-on any more unless a girl keeps blowing him 
for an hour or so...." 

I began to understand. Resi was not merely the owner and hostess of a 
Heuriger, but also a regular madam who catered to rich people and 
aristocrats. But what was she trying to say to us? I remembered Steffi's 
signal and was wondering how she would meet the situation. 

Steffi was sitting in front of a large mirror and put up her hair again. She 
spoke through the bobby pins sticking out of her mouth. 

"Resi, you are a woman of great experience ... aren't you...?" 

Our hostess looked flattered. 

"Not every young girl would pay me that compliment," looking Steffi over 
with approving eyes. "You're not only very pretty, but also intelligent. 
You'll go far ... why don't you girls keep in touch with me ... we may be 
useful to each other ... don't you think so...?" She looked at me, but I was 
waiting for Steffi to answer. 

"You're very kind, Resi," Steffi got up from the toilet table and stretched 
herself languidly. "Yes, I suppose you meet many important people that girls 
like us would like to know. But...." and Steffi gave her a meaningful look, 
" ... let's keep this clear, Resi, neither Pepi nor I are going to become 
employees in your ... let's say ... establishment. Okay...?" 

Resi didn't look overenthusiastic, but she was clever enough to keep up a 
nice front. 

"Yes, it's okay ... although ... I don't quite know what's so bad about my 
... what d'you call it ... my establishment that a nice girl would avoid it 
as if it were a prison or something...." 

Steffi went over to her and hugged her, kissing her on the cheek. She 
practically purred: "Now, now, Resi ... I didn't mean to denigrate your 
business at all. I merely wanted to make it quite clear that both Pepi and I 
want to remain ... let's say ... free-lancers...! You know what I mean, 
don't you...?" 

Resi couldn't resist Steffi's magnetism. She kissed her back and said: 

"Okay girls, it was a nice try, though! You realize, of course, that I don't 
make such offers very often. Steffi says I've got experience. She's right! 
And my experience tells me you two've got class! One doesn't find this every 
day, or even every month! Anyway, don't forget if you ever need 
anything-and, you know, girls often need things very badly there's always 
Resi you can contact. And now, let's find your party. I suppose they're all 
drunk and ready enough to start some fun in one of the bigger rooms...." 

We followed Resi into the garden and found our "boys" gaily singing to the 
music of the combo. The musicians were also slightly swaying from the 
Heuriger they had imbibed freely from our pitchers. When we appeared with 
Resi between us, a loud hello went up from the group. 

"Ah...." cried Alex, "look at the Three Graces...!" 

"Graces, hell!" corrected Toni. "Ever seen the Three Graces dressed up? They 
ought to be nude...!" 

"Yes, yes...." they all yelled. "We want our nude Graces." 

"Hush...!" hissed Resi. "Behave yourselves, boys, there are still some 
customers at the other tables. If you'll be quiet now, I'll take you all 
inside and you can have your Graces there any way you want ... Marie ... 
Helene...." she called to the waitresses, "pick up the pitchers here and 
bring them inside ... you know where...!" 

Steffi had the two Karls on each side of her, while I was supporting Alex 
and Toni who had their heavy arms around my waist. Alex, to make quite sure 
he had a firm hold on me, gripped my right buttock in a tight squeeze. I was 
sure I was going to be red and blue in that spot. Resi walked in the rear, 
seeing that we made it safely and without being too conspicuous, to the 
house. There she took the lead and marched us along a narrow hallway to a 
door that was upholstered on the inside. 

"Boy, that looks like a padded cell in a loony bin ... cracked Steffi. 

Resi overheard the remark and said: 

"Don't be afraid, girls...! We get mad with pleasure perhaps, but that's all 
the madness we can afford. And we don't want any noise to get outside. 
Toni...." she pointed to Lecliner, "told me once he always wants to yell 
when he comes and he can't do that even in his own place. People in the 
street would hear him and think somebody was being killed, eh Toni...?" 

Toni squeezed Resi's teats. 

"You're damned right, old girl. When I squirt my juice into a pretty female 
like you ... I want to yell like a bull in heat...." 

"Bulls don't yell...." said Steffi. "Lions do ... and even they don't yell 
... they roar...!" We had all settled down on the four large sofas in the 
room. The walls were covered with thick, colorful rugs which also dampen all 
sounds. Three low-hanging lamps with dark-red shades diffused a mild light 
that made everything seem unreal as in a tale from the Arabian Nights. Thick 
rugs on the floor that invited one to walk on them barefoot and lots of 
cushions all over the place made the whole room look like one gigantic 
couch. 

The quasi-oriental atmosphere was soon changed by the three musicians who 
settled down in a corner and played one Viennese folksong after another. 
Resi showed us two narrow doors in the walls. 

"You almost can't see them ... they seem part of the wallpaper ... behind 
each is a dressing room ... one on this side for the ladies ... the other, 
for the men ... come with me ... we're going to let our boys see the Three 
Graces the way they're pictured in the classic paintings ... what's more, 
it's far too warm here to keep our clothes on ... look at the musicians ... 
they're already stripping down to their shorts ... Hey, boys...!" she yelled 
at them, "put your clothes in the dressing room over there ... You know the 
rules...! And you, Alex, Wambacher, Birnecker ... yes, you too, Toni ... 
don't undress here ... get in there, and then come back ... we don't want 
any mess here...!" 

"That Resi is like a regular stage director for sex orgies...." whispered 
Steffi to me. 

"Yes," I said, "but a good one...." 

"That remains to be seen...." said Steffi. "My ideas of an orgy are a little 
different from this phony outfit. A few rugs, couches, pillows, subdued 
lights ... anybody can arrange that...." 

We kept our voices low so that Resi didn't hear us. She had gone ahead to 
the ladies' dressing room and rummaged in a few drawers there. 

"Have you ever been at an orgy...?" I asked. 

"No, to tell you the truth...." Steffi admitted. "But ... you don't have to 
be a horse to understand a horse show. I've read and also heard a lot about 
orgies ... some demimondaines ... veterans, you know ... told me fantastic 
things about the orgies at the Roman villa of Count Montecucculi. That was 
about twenty years ago ... lots of bathrooms on one side of the hallway and 
lots of rooms like this one on the other. But it's the people who count ... 
what kind of orgy can you have with middle-aged men with big bellies that 
are often in their way when they want to stick it into you ... Hush, now! 
Let's go in. Resi keeps beckoning us...!" 

We followed Resi who had taken all sorts of gauze-like material from a 
chest. 

"Here, girls ... we're going to drape ourselves in these colored veils, like 
real harem beauties. Complete nakedness is never so attractive as a body 
that is half covered, or even a little less...." 

Resi was wise to use several of those veils to hide her belly which made her 
look like a pregnant woman in her seventh month. Steffi and I used a couple 
of green and red veils, sparingly. We had nothing to hide, but-as Resi 
correctly said-it can't do any harm to make ourselves more desirable by only 
insinuating our nudity. I've found this to be true all through my erotic 
career. A man is disappointed if we don't leave something on our body that 
he can tear off. It gives him a feeling of "taking" us. Only young students, 
with their romanticized ideas of classic goddesses, want to find a woman all 
naked. But the older a man gets, the more he likes to "unveil" us. 

"Now we are the Three Graces...." said Resi. "Come, let's join our friends. 
They must be ready by now...." 

We went back to the "orgy room" and there were Alex, Karl Wambacher, Karl 
Birnecker and Toni Lecliner, all in their silk shorts. I looked them over, 
their hairy bodies and their fat bellies and padded hips, and I knew Steffi 
was right. You can have a real orgy only with young, handsome people. 
Anything else is disgusting. As soon as we appeared the musicians played The 
March of the Gladiators. It turned out to be a circus all right. The men 
pressed glasses with wine on us and Steffi just had time enough to whisper 
to me not to get drunk. Thank heaven there were a few potted palms in the 
four corners and we could secretly empty our glasses into those. I don't 
know whether it helped the palms to grow faster. 

Alex, used to "taking over," ordered now: "The Three Graces will now stand 
in front of this couch here ... Now bend down ... yes, forward and support 
yourself with your hands ... Pepi, you disappoint me ... stick your ass up 
in the air ... that's right ... and you, boys," he turned to the 
combo...."you play the Radetzky March ... but keep the beat ... like an army 
band...!" 

If I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have believed it. Since there was one 
female less than our four men needed, Resi had called one of the younger 
waitresses who also undressed, but without any veils, and made her line up 
next to us. Bent forward on the couch we were offering our behinds to the 
men. Alex commanded : 

"Present arms...!" 

The four men, each holding his stiff prick, took their position behind us. 
Alex yelled again: "One ... two ... three ... FIRE!!" 

The men stuck their pricks into our holes from behind and when the music 
began to strike up the fiery Radetzky March, the pricks moved in and out of 
us according to the rhythm. It was the first-and thank God, the last-time I 
was fucked to the strains of a military march. 

Karl Wambacher was so drunk, he still hadn't come when the Radetzky March 
was finished. The musicians had to start all over again, but to no avail. It 
was poor Resi who had to remain in that position and wait until Karl's belly 
stopped smacking on her fat ass. If his prick were not unusually long, it 
would never have reached Resi's hole. The Radetzky March had been repeated 
already four times and Karl Wambacher, sweating like a wrestler, kept 
pushing into the equally sweating Resi. 

Suddenly, Resi called to the musicians: 

"Stop that march, boys! Play the Blue Danube...!" 

As soon as the combo had played the first ten bars of the famous waltz, 
Wambacher began to grunt like a boar and collapsed on Steffi's back. Resi 
explained to Steffi and myself later that she suddenly remembered that 
Wambacher had told her once that he had fucked his first girl in the Prater 
when the band in a cafe close by played the Blue Danube. She thought it 
might do the trick. And it did. 

What followed remains only hazy in my memory. Both Steffi and I drank more 
than we had intended to, but we had to dull our senses if we wanted to go 
through with that parody of an orgy. Alex was so drunk that he pissed into 
the guitar, which made the poor musician quite unhappy, but he got a 
brand-new bill of a hundred guilders and could buy himself several guitars 
if he wanted to. 

The coachman who, in the meantime, had been given a treat in the kitchen, 
was not sober anymore when he took the whole party back to town. I don't 
remember how Steffi and I got back into our clothes and I have only a vague 
notion that Alex and the coachman carried me and Steffi up to my apartment 
where they dumped us on my large bed. 

When we woke up the next morning, it was already 10 o'clock. Steffi and I 
took a warm bath and went back to bed and to sleep. We decided to sleep as 
long as we felt like it. I had left a note for Lini to tell any 
caller-including Mr. Feringer-that I wasn't at home. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

"HUPFERL"-"PUTZI"-THE STUDENT 

Steffi and I snored until two in the afternoon. Lini had a nice lunch 
prepared for us and we ate it very leisurely. When Lini brought our coffee, 
I began to discuss our adventure of last night and learned from Steffi many 
things that I couldn't remember. I was a little dismayed to hear that not 
only Alex, but all the other men had fucked us, one after another. 

"The musicians, too...?" I asked. 

"Sorry...." Steffi smiled at me, "the musicians too. All three of them. 
Don't you remember how you did a hand-job on Toni while the violinist 
screwed you...?" 

"Not a thing...! Why did I do a hand-job on Toni...?" 

"He just put his dick in your hand ... I guess you started to massage it 
quite mechanically. It seems to be a conditioned reflex with us...." 

"Oh, my God...!" I said, "Alex is going to give me hell for all this. He's 
as jealous as can be, you know...!" 

"Don't be ridiculous, Pepi! Alex encouraged them all to fuck every female in 
sight. There were you, me, Resi and that blonde waitress. I think there was 
not one man who didn't fuck each one of the women. And not only once, but 
three and four times...!" 

I became thoughtful. 

"Tell me, Steffi, how can a girl be the mistress of one man if he lets her 
be screwed by other men...? It somehow doesn't make sense, does it...? " 

"You're damned right, it doesn't make sense. But on the other hand, don't 
confuse your relationship with Alex with what a regular mistress is supposed 
to be...." 

"You mean ... I am NOT his mistress...?" 

"Oh, sure! At least Alex thinks you are ... but who is Alex...? What does he 
know of real society...? He's a rich butcher, that's all. He's no education 
and doesn't chum with any better-class people...." 

I became depressed. 

"But ... Steffi, you encouraged me to be the girl friend of Alex...." 

"Sure I did, Pepi! But what did I tell you ...?" 

"I guess you said it was the first rung on the social ladder...." 

"Yes, but I also said you shouldn't confuse Alex with a gentleman! He's 
rich, I said, and what you need above all to make a career as a high-class 
whore, are a lot of elegant dresses, some jewelry and furs, also a nice 
apartment of your own, a maid ... and you've got all that now. So what's the 
gripe...?" 

"I'm not griping. I'm merely wondering whether high-class whores are 
supposed to do what we had to do last night. If I were a low-class whore, it 
couldn't have been worse...." Steffi looked at me silently. After a while 
she came over to me and kissed me very tenderly. 

"Pepi-child, you're a real good girl! You have to learn to be patient. Above 
all, don't throw away what you've got until you have something better. You 
remember how that shrewd Resi wanted to recruit us for her establishment?" 

"Yes, she made it sound like we could become the mistresses of some archduke 
in a few days...." 

"That's why I gave her to understand that I was on to her. Resi is like 
every madam who knows her onions. They need good merchandise to stay in 
business. And young chicks like us are first-class merchandise. She 
mentioned that archduke only to make us think we could get places faster 
under her guidance. And what has she got . , .? A very good business, 
selling wine and sexual entertainment under the guise of a Heuriger. I heard 
she also owns a bordello here in town. So what? It wouldn't do us any good!" 

"Tell me, Steffi, what exactly have you planned for your future...?" 

"I can tell you what I've planned for my immediate future. Now, I've got to 
leave you and go to my own place. And I'm looking forward to Monday when 
I'll be with my handsome student again...." 

"O yes...! That Fritz of yours...." 

"Correct! Sleeping with him twice a week makes it easier for me to deal with 
all the other customers who are more or less disgusting...." 

"Steffi, what's come over you...? You never had such a negative attitude 
toward the men who took you to a hotel...?" 

Steffi sighed and gave me an almost compassionate look. 

"I still don't have a negative attitude toward making money day after day. 
But wait until you enjoy the young body of a virile, handsome guy like my 
Fritz ... What do you know of that? You told me your story ... you've been 
fucked by middle-aged men, or adolescent boys, by fat priests, bald-headed 
truck-drivers, waiters ... oh yes, you had a nice boy when you posed for 
that photographer ... what was his name...?" 

"You mean Mr. Capuzzi...?" 

"Yes, Capuzzi! His male model, it seems, was the only young, virile guy you 
liked doing it with. So-what do you know of being screwed by a young Greek 
god like that Fritz...?" 

"Are you trying to make me feel disgusted with my fat pork-butcher...?" 

"Don't be silly, Pepi. But you get what I mean, don't you? That boy Fritz 
has a face like a Greek warrior. A straight nose, a wide, full mouth, blond, 
wavy hair ... and his body ... six feet tall, broad shoulders and narrow 
hips ... his thighs are like marble pillars, firm muscled ... when he hugs 
me with them I'm already moist between my legs ... and his dick is big and 
satisfactory in every way ... add to all that a gentle nature, kindness, 
friendliness, the enthusiasm of an unspoiled youth...." 

"Please, Steffi, stop! For heaven's sake, not only am I already as horny as 
hell from your description, but I'll have to let Alex fuck me in a couple of 
hours. I'm surprised he hasn't been here yet. And you must admit that he 
can't stand any comparison with that male beauty you keep talking about ... 
and yet I've got to behave as if he were an Adonis...." 

Steffi had been dressing while I was talking and was ready to go. 

"You're right ... I shouldn't get these fits over young male beauties so 
often. It might spoil my own appetite for the men I have to take on for the 
sake of the daily bread. Don't worry about what I said, kid. Anybody who 
thinks a whore's business is easy should try it first. We have to go on 
making a lot of money and trying to get our foot into so-called society so 
that we are real big-time whores. Handsome guys like Fritz are a bonus that 
we hardly deserve. That's the way I look at it. Be a good girl now and don't 
be mad at your Aunt Steffi...!" 

She hugged me and the next moment was out of the room. I heard her shut the 
door of the apartment. There was no doubt that a great change had come over 
Steffi since she had met that Fritz of hers. Today I realize that it was her 
first real love. And she was the one who always preached to me that a whore 
who wants to get ahead must avoid falling in love like the pest. Poor 
Steffi, she was very human after all! But I knew that she'd never neglect 
her career. 

I was still thinking about Steffi when the bell rang. I recognized Alex's 
voice talking to Lini. 

"You let me have some coffee too!" he said to her before he opened the door 
and joined me. 

"Ha! You Heurigergoer! You were quite a success, last night, Pepi, damn your 
pretty teats and ass...!" 

He kissed me and groped my breasts and behind. I could see that his good 
mood was not quite genuine. He played with my teats for a while and then had 
to stop because Lini appeared with a fresh pot of coffee. He poured for us 
both and then resumed: 

"Well, young lady, how did you like being fucked by everybody yesterday...?" 

"But Alex ... it was you yourself who encouraged your friends ... why accuse 
me...? You filled me full of wine and then you want me to behave like a 
great lady...." 

"Okay, okay, Pepi! Don't get a hemorrhage! It was all in good fun. And we 
had a good time. But let me tell you one thing: If I ever catch you with 
Toni, or the Wambacher guy, or Karl Birnecker ... I'll knock their heads 
off, yours too!" 

"Alex, you know I'd never do such a thing...." 

"Oho! You did, last night...." 

I pretended to cry and pressed my handkerchief over my eyes. Alex pulled me 
toward him and pressed me in his arms. 

"Now, now ... my little girl with the sweet little cunt ... you're not going 
to take me seriously, are you? I'm only kidding you...." 

He kissed me all over my face, or rather he licked my skin like a dog and 
concentrated on my ears so that I felt myself getting horny. I knew he was, 
because I was sitting on his lap and could feel his dick swelling up under 
me. I knew that sex was all-important to him and that to keep him in a good 
mood I had to be ready for his stiff tool every moment of the day or night. 

"Be a little nice to my friend in my pants...." he said promptly and pulled 
my dressing gown way over my buttocks. I soon felt his bare prick pushing 
against my thighs. I turned around and straddled him, face to face, burying 
his tool in my hole. 

"That's it...." he gasped, his breath becoming loud. "That's my girl...." 

I moved up and down on his lap, keeping his prick firmly in my hole. He 
pressed his mouth to my nipples and soon I felt real pleasure and came 
before he did. His ejaculation was unusually violent and I knew there would 
be spots all over his pants. I should have made him take them off, first. He 
had sunk back in his chair and rested his head in my hands which were still 
around his neck. When he got up, I said: 

"Get your pants off, you pig, I've got to use some spot remover when all 
that mess has dried up...." 

Alex displayed his experience: 

"No need to be fussy about it. Just give me a clean rag and some cold water 
and I'll show you how it comes off. Never use hot water ...!" He was right. 
The cold water cleaned the spot almost completely and we hung the pants near 
the window to let them dry. Being out of his pants gave Alex a good excuse 
to strip completely and drag me with him to the bedroom. 

"I'm going on a short business trip and won't see you for a week or so. 
We've got to have us a good time now. I'm going to miss you . . 

"Oh, where are you going...?" 

"To Budapest to see a customer of mine. The Hungarians have excellent 
sausages themselves, but this restaurateur has fallen in love with my 
products and he always gives me large orders. But I've got to visit him at 
least twice a year and go out with him. He loves to eat well and drink good 
wine. And Budapest is really a place where you can do both...." 

I laughed. 

"Yes, and Budapest is also a place where you can find beautiful girls, 
hm...?" 

"You're not jealous, Pepi, or are you...? I'll tell you what I'll do so you 
don't get any foolish ideas while I'm gone. I'll buy you two charming little 
dogs that I saw this morning in the pet store next to where I live. They're 
midget poodles! You'll love them." 

I'd heard that a real mistress has to have a lapdog, as a kind of status 
symbol and I liked the idea of owning two midget poodles. But Alex didn't 
want to talk about the dogs now and tickled my clitoris with his right hand, 
while his left was busy with my nipples. He always moistened the tip of his 
fingers with a little spittle and then gently stroked my nipples which 
became stiff and hard. It's strange how that stimulation reaches down to the 
vagina even when the clitoris is not being handled. Alex did both and in a 
few minutes had me ready for a good ride. I caught myself thinking how it 
would feel to have a young Greek god like that Fritz lying on top of me and 
feeling his vigorous thrusts in my hole. I closed my eyes and when Alex 
began to fuck me, it wasn't Alex anymore. I quickly remembered my mistake of 
the first occasion when my mind substituted that handsome student for Alex 
and how I had murmured "Fritz" when I came. I must not repeat that mistake. 
Alex would not always believe I said "frig" when I actually said "Fritz!" 

"Ah, honey, you're really good today...." Alex murmured. He didn't realize I 
wasn't really embracing him, but a handsome youth. His motions became 
faster. I was afraid I might lose control over myself and give my secret 
away. I quickly put the corner of the pillow between my teeth so that I 
couldn't say anything. Alex believed I was so overcome by his passion that I 
had to bite into the pillow to keep myself from yelling. 

"You're wonderful, Pepi ... you love to be fucked by me, don't you ... 
nobody has ever fucked you like me ... and I love fucking you ... you're the 
best I've ever had ... I was a fool last night ... what do other cunts mean 
to me ... none of those women has your tight little hole ... ah ... I can 
feel you coming ... you love your Alex fucking you ... I know it ... Alex 
knows how to do it ... Alex has a clever prick ... now you're coming again 
... ah ... I can feel it coming on in me too ... now ... now ... ah ... 
ah...." 

His sluice gates opened and released a rich stream of semen. I bit into that 
pillow with all my strength because I still imagined it was a guy like Fritz 
squirting his juice into me. And suddenly I knew: It was no use! I had to 
get myself a virile young guy while Alex was in Budapest. After all, I was a 
healthy young girl and needed a healthy young man to fuck me. At that moment 
I made up my mind I was going to have it, come what may. 

Alex stayed with me until dinner time and we knocked off a couple of numbers 
with the same enthusiasm. Alex was enthusiastic because he liked to fuck. 
And I was because I was glad to have made up my mind and was already 
anticipating the pleasure of falling into bed with a handsome guy. 

Next morning the two midget poodles arrived. The owner of the pet shop 
delivered them in person. They were tiny, snow-white creatures with their 
hair falling over their eyes. I christened the male "Putzi" and the female 
"Hupferl," which made Alex laugh when he came a while later to kiss me 
good-bye, or rather to fuck me good-bye. Alex could never resist a quickie. 

I was very happy with the two dogs. I remembered how I liked to play with 
Mrs. Reinthaler's dachshund, Waldi, when I was a little girl. I've always 
liked animals, especially dogs and horses. They are more loyal, and often 
more intelligent, than people. 

Alex had also bought two long leashes for the dogs in case I wanted to take 
them with me on my walks. Usually it was Lini who had to take them down 
twice a day to let them do their business at lanterns and fire hydrants. But 
in the afternoons I took the dogs with me to the city park where many a nice 
man started to talk to me, using the dogs as a pretext. 

Five days after Alex had left, I decided to take the two poodles and walk 
past the university to the little park by the town hall, where the students 
often sit on the benches to study, or eat their lunch. I'd put on a very 
pretty dress and a new hat and looked like any lady in town. 

I had already walked by the university-where I didn't notice any attractive 
student, by the way-and was approaching the park when I saw a young woman 
and a young man walking arm in arm ahead of me. I knew at once it was Steffi 
and the young man must be that Fritz of hers. I walked faster and when I 
came up to them I saw it was Steffi, who seemed to be delighted to see me. 
She didn't know the dogs and bent down to stroke them. In her surprise she 
forgot to introduce me to the really handsome fellow who kept staring at me 
as if I were some sort of apparition. I could see the admiration in his eyes 
and knew at once I had to be very careful. Steffi was far too clever a girl 
to be fooled by somebody like me. 

"Oh, excuse me, I forgot...." Steffi said now. "This is Fritz Winter, a law 
student, and this here is my good friend Pepi Mutzenbacher. Jeez, Pepi, the 
dogs are darlings. Look, Fritz, aren't they nice...?" 

It was good that the boy had stopped staring at me and stooped down to pet 
the poodles. They both licked his hands and he looked up and said to Steffi 
and me: 

"I usually like only big dogs, but these are really cute!" 

"Well, cute ladies have cute dogs...." Steffi said to my utter surprise. Was 
she trying to praise me before her boyfriend? She saw how Fritz blushed when 
he looked at me and, again to my surprise, Steffi said to me: 

"You've got to excuse Fritz. He's still very shy with ladies, but I know you 
can put him at his ease...." 

What the heck, I thought. What was Steffi trying to do? She was supposed to 
be possessive and jealous about this really handsome boy. It seemed I had 
misjudged her. She winked at me slyly and said to Fritz: 

"If you were not a spoilsport I'd tell Pepi to invite us up to her place for 
coffee. She has a maid who bakes the most delicious cakes...." Fritz blushed 
again and said: 

"That would be fine, I'm sure. But ... but I don't want to be a nuisance ... 
are you sure it's all right, Mrs. Mutzenbacher? Maybe your husband wouldn't 
like a strange man to accompany your friend to your place...?" 

Steffi laughed loud and amused: 

"Don't you worry your handsome head off, Fritz. Mrs. Mutzenbacher is a widow 
... yes, I know ... she's still very young, but she's a widow ... and I'm 
sure she'd feel better if you called her Pepi ... am I right, Pepi...?" 

I was too nonplussed to say more than a mechanical "Yes, of course!" Steffi 
was not only not jealous, but she pushed Fritz toward me. Should she be so 
selfless as to present me with the boy she was so fond of? I had to pull 
myself together to meet this new situation. I offered Fritz my hand to be 
kissed, which he did with great feeling, and then I said: "Steffi is right. 
I love to have nice company at my afternoon coffee. And my maid will also be 
glad to have her pastry appreciated by some visitors. You are both coming 
with me right now." 

Steffi looked at me as if to assure me I had understood her. She had 
something special up her sleeve, that devil. Fritz begged me to let him take 
the leash with the dogs who followed him without any struggle. It took us 
about ten minutes to reach my apartment. I told Lini to prepare some fresh 
coffee for all of us and serve whatever goodies she had baked this morning. 

Fritz asked whether he might take off his coat and hang it over the back of 
his chair. I said: 

"Give it to me. I'll put it on a hanger in my wardrobe...." 

He blushed and stammered: 

"That's not necessary. Don't go to all that trouble please, Mrs. 
Mutzenbacher...." 

"You mean, Pepi," I corrected him. 

"I mean ... Pepi...." His face was purple. He looked nice in his shirt 
sleeves. I encouraged him to roll up the sleeves and feel more at ease. He 
looked at me like he was hypnotized. Steffi took over and rolled up the 
shirt sleeves for him as if he were a little boy. He looked quite helpless 
and was visibly embarrassed when Steffi pointed to his muscular arms and 
said: 

"Look, Pepi, that guy is a real athlete! He has arms like one of those 
statues in front of the Parliament building, hasn't he...?" 

"Oh ... that's because I belong to our rowing crew. You know, we train all 
spring on the old Danube for the races in July." 

Talking about the boat races seemed to relax Fritz. I asked him about the 
kind of racing boats he liked and about his crew. After a few minutes he 
chattered away like an old acquaintance. 

Lini came in with the tray and set the table. She was really an artist when 
it came to cooking meals and especially baking pastries and cakes. The 
coffee smelled delicious and Fritz's shyness had given way to what I thought 
was his natural cheerfulness. He had a most delightful laugh which let one 
see a pair of cute dimples next to his mouth. He had a nice suntan that 
contrasted favorably with his sky-blue eyes. I still had difficulty 
believing that Steffi wanted to share that rare specimen with me. But her 
talk didn't leave me any doubts. 

Fritz had put away three large pieces of cake by now and I poured his fourth 
cup of coffee. Steffi, who had talked about how unlucky some women are to 
become widows when they were still young, suddenly said to no one in 
particular: 

"Yes, it's hard for a woman to do without a man, and particularly if she was 
used to that regular stuff!" 

Fritz blushed a little but he laughed at "that regular stuff" like at a good 
joke. I used this as a cue. 

"You're right, Steffi! A young woman like me is hard up without a man. After 
all, there is nothing more beautiful than to be embraced by a nice man you 
love. I'm missing it very much...." 

Fritz was chewing his fourth piece of coffee-cake and looked at me. Our eyes 
met. I decided to become more outspoken. 

"Tell me, Fritz, would you be glad to come home every evening to a pretty 
wife and kiss her...?" 

He swallowed his cake and said: 

"Yes, I guess that would be nice ... but I would never marry a girl I didn't 
love...!" Steffi spoke up: 

"Do you have to love a girl to go to bed with her...?" 

Fritz spilled the coffee he was about to drink. 

Steffi always went straight to the point and I couldn't blame her. She was 
always successful with her directness. 

"Never mind," I said to Fritz who tried to pat the coffee spots with a paper 
napkin. "It will come out in the wash ... but I'd like to hear you answer 
Steffi's question!" 

We had the poor boy in a squeeze now and he couldn't wriggle out of it. If 
he said he didn't have to love the girl he was having sex with, it could 
mean he didn't love Steffi. On the other hand, he had already found out that 
having sex was very pleasant and I was sure Steffi had made it quite clear 
to him that she didn't want to be married. 

"Fritz...." Steffi caressed his cheek, "you know very well what pleasure a 
woman gets out of being laid by a strong man ... like you, for instance. And 
you also know what a great pleasure you get out of squirting your semen into 
her...! Don't make such big eyes, Fritz ... Pepi here knows what a man does 
with a woman. I believe she would like to have it done to her right now ... 
she hasn't had it for quite some time ... don't you feel like doing a good 
deed...?" 

Steffi didn't leave the boy any time to be shocked. She sat down on his lap 
and took off his tie and loosened his collar. 

"There ... that will help you not to choke up every time you hear about sex 
... You're a sweet kid...!" 

She planted a kiss on his mouth and said to me: 

"Let's get more comfortable all around, shall we? You can lend me one of 
your dressing gowns and you'll want to get into one yourself. 

What have you got for this big boy here? I'd suggest we don't give him 
anything because he looks best in the nude ... don't keep blushing, Fritz, 
I'm sitting right on your dick and can feel how stiff it is ... don't be 
ashamed to be a good-looking man who can give it to a girl.. 

She got up and pulled Fritz's tool out of his fly. It was a beauty! About 
six inches of muscle and velvety flesh, crowned with an enormous glans. That 
prick was the most promising affair I'd seen in a long time. And combined 
with that athletic body and handsome face...! I was already trembling with 
excitement. Steffi was a real pal! I knew I'd never forget what she was 
doing for me. 

I went to the bedroom and asked the two to come with me. I found a thin, 
flimsy negligee of blue tulle for Steffi who was already waiting in her silk 
panties. I turned to Fritz who seemed to be quite excited: 

"Why don't you help me undress...?" I invited him. "You've got to learn to 
be of help to ladies...!" 

His hands trembled when he unbuttoned my blouse and pulled it off my 
shoulders. 

"Go ahead, you fool ... kiss her...!" Steffi pushed him toward me. "I'm not 
jealous! Pepi is as close to me as a sister! What is mine is hers ... you're 
going to make love to both of us ... you're strong enough, big boy! Now get 
out of your shirt and pants ... be a good sport...!" 

Steffi had pushed him on the bed and knelt down to undo his shoelaces. His 
fingers were so unsteady that he could never have done it himself. She 
pulled his shoes off and then said: 

"Lift your fanny so I can get these pants off you!" 

Soon Fritz was down to his shorts and I admired his muscular physique. The 
bulge in his shorts was something that had to be taken care of. I got my 
hand inside and heard Fritz suppress a low moan when he felt my hand close 
around his splendid tool. 

"Drop your shorts...." I whispered in his ear, touching it with my lips. He 
stepped out of his shorts and stood before us in his magnificent nakedness. 
What a man! Steffi was right: A Greek god, right out of a picture book. 

"Let's lie down...." Steffi suggested. We lay on the wide bed with Fritz 
between us. I kept holding his prick, while Steffi caressed his testicles. 
He had become bold enough to put his hands on our pubic hair and gradually 
strayed lower until he had found our slits that were already moist. Steffi 
whispered something in his ear and he turned to me and carefully mounted me. 
Steffi guided his glans to my vulva and he entered very slowly as if I were 
still a virgin. When he was completely in me I couldn't help sighing with 
pleasure. I hugged him with my legs and pressed his abdomen tightly to mine 
so that he couldn't move for a while. 

Steffi had come over to my other side so that I could handle her clitoris. 
We couldn't expect too much from the boy who was not experienced enough to 
take care of two women at the same time. But now he began to move. Ah, what 
a delight! I marveled again at Steffi's generosity in sharing that treasure 
with me. My fingers did their best in her hole and beat a veritable tattoo 
that made her sigh. Meanwhile, Fritz's thrusts had become more and more 
powerful. His hands pressed my shoulders. He didn't know enough to caress my 
breasts, but I was glad to have him as he was. He pressed his lips to mine 
and I opened my mouth inviting his tongue to touch mine. His tongue-play was 
quite satisfactory and my ardor made him move his tongue faster so that it 
felt like a wrestling match between his and mine. At the same time his hips 
moved with great speed and I suddenly came and threw my body in all 
directions. It was quite some time that I'd felt such pleasure coming from a 
young fellow like Fritz. 

I took care not to remove my hand from Steffi's clitoris. She too had come, 
and I used my now lubricated fingers to penetrate into her grotto. Fritz 
worked like a steam hammer with ever increasing rhythm and the savage 
strength of a wild animal. He gave me a new sort of bliss. I knew I'd never 
forget that kind of sensation, the sensation of being possessed by a genuine 
male in all his youthful splendor. 

Without any warning, my rider began to emit a deep groan that rose in pitch. 
I felt his semen spurt into me. No words were coming out of his mouth, 
merely an increasing groan like the suppressed roar of a jungle beast. His 
ejaculation was copious and took almost five seconds. 

My eyes were closed and I couldn't think for a while. I felt Fritz's 
muscular body rest on mine and loved every ounce of its weight. His face was 
hidden on my shoulder and I felt his lips pressing my skin with continual 
little kisses. I was surprised to find myself as happy as I'd ever been 
before. Here was the male, the man, plus a real human being. 

Steffi seemed to be resting quietly on my side. I didn't feel any movement 
on the bed. We must have been lying there for fifteen minutes when I opened 
my eyes. The blond, curly hair of Fritz was tickling my nose and I turned to 
the right and saw Steffi looking at the ceiling. When she noticed I had 
moved, she turned around and gave me a smile. It was not her usual 
let's-have-some-fun smile, but something very gentle and whimsical I had 
never noticed on her. She looked as contented as if Fritz had been lying on 
her instead of on me. She told me later she knew I'd realized that sex was 
not what we were doing to make a living but what I had experienced with 
Fritz. She had been sleeping with him already several times and knew what it 
was like. 

Suddenly there was a sound that made us all jump up: the doorbell. I'd 
omitted to tell Lini not to admit any visitors, but it would not have been 
any use if I had done so. The visitor was Alex Feringer returning much 
sooner than he had planned. He came storming into the bedroom and looked at 
us standing around in the nude. He saw the messed-up bed and lifted his 
walking stick as if he were going to hit Fritz who instinctively grabbed it 
from Alex's hand and broke it in two over his thigh. 

"What the hell are you trying to do?" he yelled at Alex. "And who are you to 
barge in here like that...?" 

Alex, noticing Fritz's athletic build, retreated toward the door and said: 

"What I'm doing here...? I am asking you the same question, young man...? 
It's me who's paying the rent for this place, and that little bitch who's 
all red in her face now is my mistress. Or, let's say-she was! And now ... 
get into your clothes and get the hell out of here...!" 

The veins on his temples were almost bursting and his naturally pink face 
was scarlet with fury. 

"Just calm down, Alex...." said Steffi who'd slipped on the blue negligee 
and gave me mine, helping me to put it on. I could hardly move and felt 
myself tremble. Steffi patted my back and then turned to Fritz: 

"Why don't you dress behind that Chinese screen in the corner. You'll find a 
chair there...." 

Fritz mechanically picked up his clothes, socks and shoes and walked behind 
the screen. Steffi turned to Alex again: 

"Fritz is a friend of mine and I brought him to Pepi so we all could have 
some coffee together...." 

Alex snorted: 

"Ha! Since when do you bitches have coffee between your legs ... coffee! ... 
what the hell d'you take me for? A fool...?" 

Fritz must have dressed in a great hurry because he stepped from behind the 
screen and said to Steffi: 

"I want to take you home...." 

She stepped up to him and put a hand on his arm: 

"Thanks a lot, Fritz! But you'd better go alone now. I've got to take care 
of something before I leave. I'll wait for you at the university tomorrow 
... so long...." 

Fritz gave me a sad look and left. Alex sat down on the unmade bed and said 
without looking at me: 

"This is the last straw! I knew right from the beginning, you were a cheap 
whore, no matter what you said. But I'd hoped you'd be at least grateful for 
being taken in by me ... now, this is the end! You pack your rags and get 
out of here within an hour! You don't have to give me back any presents ... 
but out you go! And you ought to be glad I don't slap you silly...!" Steffi 
had put on her dress in the meantime and now she stepped in front of Alex 
and let him have it: 

"You listen to me, now, Alex Feringer, pork-butcher and would-be gentleman! 
Who was it who took Pepi and myself to the Heuriger the other night and had 
his friends fuck us, each one of them, and the three musicians too? And who 
was it who said it was all in good fun!? And now you behave as if you were 
some big shot who's surprised his wife with a lover...? An old fucker like 
you ought to be damned glad he can have a young, pretty girl like Pepi as a 
friend! Mistress...? You are kidding! You wouldn't know what a mistress is 
and how to treat her, you phony! Because that's what you are, an old phony 
with money who puts on airs! Yes, Pepi is going to get out of here and it's 
all for the good! Because she doesn't have to put up with a fat, vulgar old 
he-goat like you! She can get a young, handsome guy with enough money to 
keep her in furniture...." 

She turned to me: 

"I'm going to help you pack, Pepi. Get the suitcases ready. The sooner you 
get away from this stinking old idiot the better for all of us...!" 

She whirled around to face Alex: 

"And you can stay right here to see that we don't take any of your crap with 
us so you can't say we stole some of your china or the curtains or what not! 
Come on, Pepi . . 

Alex went into the living room without saying a word. Some of what Steffi 
had told him seemed to sink in. I had started to cry, but Steffi wiped my 
nose and eyes and told me not to be silly and not to forget anything that 
"the old he-goat" said I could take with me, dresses, lingerie, stockings, 
shoes, jewelry and so on. 

"Hurry up, silly," she whispered to me, "you'll soon find out how lucky you 
are! If this hadn't happened now, you'd be dependent on that idiot until he 
got tired of you and then threw you out. Believe me, it's much better this 
way. At least he realizes his money isn't everything!" 

I sent Lini down to the grocery store a block away to ask two of the strong 
produce boys to come and carry my suitcases downstairs and to hail a 
carriage and tell the driver to wait for us. Lini knew what was going on and 
she had tears in her eyes. 

"Don't worry, Lini," I told her. You keep in touch with me and as soon as I 
need a maid again I'll let you know ... hurry now...!" 

The grocery boys came and lugged the heavy suitcases downstairs and the 
coachman who was already waiting helped to stow them in the back of the 
carriage. 

I took a last look around to see whether there was something left that I 
forgot to pack. I discovered a little manicure set in a leather case. I'd 
bought it before I met Alex. I carried it in my hand, took up my purse and 
followed Steffi to the staircase. 

Alex stood at the living room window with his back to us. 

"Good-bye, Alex...." I said in a small voice. He didn't turn around and 
didn't say anything. 

"Come on, silly...." Steffi said so that Alex could hear her. "You don't 
have to show him you have better manners than he has ... he wouldn't 
appreciate it...!" 

With that she banged the door. We were made comfortable in the carriage by 
the elderly coachman who spread a blanket over our laps. I handed the 
grocery boys a large tip and they thanked me profusely. 

"Anytime you need some strong guys ... call us, lady!" they called after the 
moving carriage. Steffi looked at me, grinning: 

"D'you hear that? They know a pretty girl needs some strong guys ... And now 
wipe those silly tears from your eyes! A chapter of your life is finished 
and a new one is going to begin! And I know it's going to be more 
interesting! I told you Alex was merely the first rung of a tall ladder ... 
pretty soon you'll be 'Madame Mutzenbacher' to the world and 'Pepi' to your 
friends...!" 

The coachman turned around and asked where he was supposed to take us. 
Steffi gave him her address. 

"You're going to stay with me for a while until you can stand on your own 
feet again. And your next lover will have so much money that you'll be able 
to start that big bank account you've been dreaming about. How much cash 
have you got...?" 

I counted the bills in my purse. 

"Seventy-four guilders...." 

"It isn't much, but it will help! And now put on that old smile, okay...?" 

I couldn't help smiling at Steffi's guts and good humor and she quickly 
kissed my cheek. The carriage rolled along as the horses ran in a nice trot 
and I leaned back and began to look around. The leaves on the trees had 
turned a nice yellow and a reddish brown. It was autumn all right and the 
expectation of the beginning season was in the air. I thought of Fritz and 
hoped I could see him soon and suddenly I felt much better. Steffi was 
right. A new chapter in my life was about to begin. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

AGAIN: THE PRATER 

The next two weeks were, so to speak, a vacation from worrying. Steffi let 
me sleep as long as I wanted to and didn't let me spend any money on food. 

"Keep your 74 guilders together, Pepi! When you start making the rounds 
again, you'll need a little change for a cup of coffee or so. Right now, get 
a good rest, relax and always remember you're young, attractive, and can 
have any man you want to. Alex wasn't what you really need, but he served 
his purpose. Forget him!...." 

I followed Steffi's advice. I lay in her large bed until ten in the morning. 
She was usually up and around at eight, but she was so considerate that I 
never woke up when she did her washing and her hair. She made her morning 
coffee on a tiny gas burner in one corner of the room and the aroma of the 
strong brew got into my nostrils and made it quite pleasant to wake up every 
day. Had I been alone, I might not have faced every new morning with the 
kind of courage that Steffi's presence and cheerfulness instilled in me. 

Around noon we usually went to a little restaurant around the corner and had 
a plateful of Viennese goulash with potatoes and a glass of beer. Steffi 
insisted on paying for it every time. 

"I could have all the food here for nothing," she explained laughingly, "if 
I let Alfred screw me several times a week." 

Alfred was the proprietor of the place. 

"Well, why don't you...?" I asked. "He is quite good-looking and not too 
old...." 

"That's true, but Fifi, who used to come here last year, warned me ... 
Alfred is awfully jealous and can't understand that we girls have to make a 
living. He gave Fifi ten guilders every week and free meals, and he really 
thought that's all she ever wanted to get out of life...." 

"You mean ... he thought he could keep a mistress for ten guilders a week 
and meals...?" 

"Yes! As a matter-of-fact, he told Fifi she was lucky to get such an offer 
because she was just a little streetwalker. Fifi didn't argue with him. She 
paid the waiter for her meal and walked out without saying a word to Alfred. 
He called after her, but she ignored him and never came back...." 

"Where's Fifi now...?" 

Steffi stared at me. 

"You don't know...? I thought I told you...! I guess you were so wrapped up 
with your Alex, we never had any time to have a long gab fest. Fifi is 
married!" 

"You kidding me...?" 

Steffi laughed. 

"Why? Does it sound so impossible...? I've got to tell you the whole 
story...." 

"First tell me who she got married to...." 

"A handsome young guy in Switzerland ... he's a rich watch manufacturer in 
Zurich...." I sat there gaping. 

"Shut your mouth, Pepi, before a fly gets into it," Steffi warned. "Come, 
let's go and have some coffee in that little place we discovered a few weeks 
ago. You know, the Cafe Hungaria ... I'll fill you in on the whole story. 
Yes, Fifi is much smarter than she ever let on...." 

Steffi paid and we walked the two blocks to the Cafe Hungaria. We sat down 
at a small table on the terrace that was surrounded by oleander bushes, 
protecting us from curious pedestrians. As soon as the waiter had put our 
coffee with a hood of whipped cream in front of us, Steffi began: 

"Didn't you notice how Fifi joined us only every other day in our little 
cafe on the Alser Street last spring...?" 

"Yes, now that you mention it, I remember she said she had a steady customer 
who kept her busy...." 

"There was no such thing! She went to the dancing school of Professor 
Ellmayer and took lessons...." 

"That's ridiculous! Fifi could waltz as well as any of us...." 

"Waltz nothing! She studied to be a stage dancer ... a little ballet and 
some folk dancing ... she became so good that Professor Ellmayer got her a 
booking at a swank nightclub in Zurich...." 

"In Zurich? Why not here...?" 

"She wanted to get out of here where she was a streetwalker, silly! Besides, 
you don't know Swiss men! If you think our Viennese are a horny lot, you 
should meet a few Swiss! If they see a halfway pretty broad, they get a 
hard-on that you can see from across the street...." 

"How come they are so especially horny...?" 

Steffi grinned. 

"I've been told the Swiss women aren't famous for beauty. They're either 
large and bony or the tiny, washed-out type. But the men are very handsome. 
At least most of them. Tall, athletic and full-blooded. You never had a 
Swiss customer...?" 

"No, I don't believe so...." 

"Well, baby, I had two of them once. A couple of friends from Basel who were 
spending their vacation here. They picked me up in front of the Opera and 
took me to their hotel room. My, was that a night...! They were both 
good-looking boys, in their late twenties maybe. Built like Greek statues, 
but when they were lying on top of me they sure were no statues, but devils! 
And what vigor! When one was screwing me I had to do a hand-job on the other 
one. And that went on all night...." 

"But that must have been wonderful...!" Steffi laughed and shrugged her 
shoulders. "You should try it once! Those guys didn't know anything but 
straight fucking and hand jobs. When I tried a blow job on one of them, he 
pulled his prick out of my mouth just when I thought he was going to come. I 
asked him whether he didn't want to come. 'Oh yes,' he said, 'but I want to 
come in you ...!' And he shoved his large engine into my cunt and after 
moving in and out a few times he unloaded a flood into me...." 

I was getting horny listening to this and said: 

"You're getting me all worked up with this story. How often did each of them 
come...?" 

"I guess eight times, or even more...." 

"I'll go to Switzerland tomorrow...." Steffi had a fit of laughter and 
asked: "And what about your career...? I thought you wanted to become a 
famous demimondaine like Mrs. Benesch?" 

"I sure want to, but I'd love to get screwed for the fun of it, too...!" 

Steffi at once became serious. 

"I've told you many times that you can't always have your cake and eat it. I 
got sidetracked anyhow. I wanted to tell you about Fifi...." 

"Oh yes! Go right ahead...!" 

"Fifi is a smart cookie, she knew she had to postpone pleasure for the sake 
of landing her fish! She posed as a virgin, pure as the freshly fallen 
snow...!" 

"Now you're kidding me...." 

"The hell I'm kidding you! Now prick up your ears and listen! You can learn 
something from this. The first night she danced at the Monseigneur...." 

"What's that...?" 

"The name of the most elegant nightclub in Zurich, stupid! Anyway, she 
noticed a handsome young guy sitting all by himself at a small table in 
front of the little platform where she danced. He kept staring at her like 
she was the Queen of Sheba or something. Fifi didn't give him as much as a 
smile...." 

"But, damn it, why...?" 

"Shut up and listen! She had to come on twice each evening. Before she 
danced the second time that night, the wardrobe mistress came to her 
dressing room with an enormous bunch of beautiful red roses and a little 
note. 

Fifi was surprised that it was written on a regular visiting card, giving 
the name of the guy who was no other than one of the richest watch 
manufacturers in the country. After she had made sure it was that 
good-looking chap who'd sent it, she asked the wardrobe woman to translate 
the message on the card . . 

"Whaddya mean 'translate'...?" 

"It was written in French ... The nightclub had advertised her as a French 
dancer, 'Ginette from Paris'...." 

"What did the message say...?" 

"The guy invited her to have supper with him when she was through with her 
second appearance that night. Fifi did some quick thinking and told the 
wardrobe woman to tell the man that she was from Vienna and didn't speak any 
French, and, second, she was not in the habit of dining with men she hadn't 
met socially...." 

"But that was foolish...!" 

"Foolish my ass! The wardrobe woman pleaded with her because the man had 
given her a large tip, but Fifi knew what she was doing and insisted on her 
refusal." 

"What happened next...?" 

"Fifi calculated right. The next evening the guy was sitting there again, at 
the same table in the front row. After her first dance number she found he 
had already come backstage and was standing in front of her dressing room 
door. 'Would you please let me pass?' she asked him. 'Not before you've 
promised to dine with me. Now you've met me in person. So why don't you say 
yes?' Fifi gave him a haughty look and said; 'Oh, I see, just because I'm a 
nightclub dancer and am alone here, you think you can take advantage of the 
situation. If you are a gentleman you'll let me go into my dressing room now 
... ' " 

"I still don't understand why Fifi behaved that way...?" 

"If you'd shut up and not interrupt me as usual, you'd soon find out...." 

"Sorry, please go on...." 

"Fifi, as I said, had come to know men when they are horny. The young guy 
looked sad and apologized for being so insistent and Fifi told him it was 
quite all right and she hoped he'd come again to see her dance. Five minutes 
later the wardrobe mistress brought her another bouquet, this time of rare 
yellow roses. The message attached to it was in German. It said: 'You are 
the most beautiful girl I've ever met. Please, don't be cruel! I admire and 
respect you. Paul.' Fifi looked only at one word: 'respect'! That's what she 
wanted him to think of her, that she was a respectable girl, no matter that 
she danced in a nightclub...." 

"Ah, I'm beginning to see the light...." 

"No you don't ... not yet ... the guy came every night and sent her more and 
more costly flowers. Once, a case with a diamond bracelet in it was tied to 
the bouquet and Fifi promptly told the wardrobe woman to take it back. When 
the man came backstage and begged Fifi to accept the bracelet, she said: 
'Why do you spoil everything by being so thoughtless? You should realize by 
now that I can't accept gifts like that from a strange man! Flowers are 
different. They are a homage to me as a dancer ... ' 

"'...Also to a beautiful woman ... ' the man added. 'Please, don't torture 
me any longer. Why don't you come with me tonight and have at least a 
snack...? ' Fifi actually liked the guy. He was very handsome and had good 
manners. He also had a terrific hard-on that seemed to burst through his 
trousers. 'After I'm through here, I've got to go to my Pension and sleep. I 
get up early in the morning and have to rehearse new dance numbers. I can't 
afford any night life. But if you'd like to, why don't you take me out to 
lunch tomorrow? That would be nice ... ' 

"Paul grabbed her hand and pressed a fiery kiss on it. 'Oh, thank you,' he 
stammered, 'why, of course, I'd love to take you to lunch tomorrow. May I 
call for you at your Pension?' "Sure, Mr. Ingall. I'll be expecting you a 
little after twelve...." 

"But why did she call him by his last name...?" 

Steffi slapped my wrist. 

"I shouldn't have to explain that to you. In good society it takes quite 
some time to get on a first name basis. Fifi behaved like any lady would! 
Get it...?" 

"Yes, now I do . . 

"To make a long story a little shorter, Paul took her to lunch the next day 
and she permitted him to stay with her in the lobby of her Pension. She 
couldn't have invited him up to her room anyway. Switzerland is very strict 
on stuff like that. Young men don't visit women in hotel rooms unless they 
are old grandmothers or have a chaperone around." 

"Wasn't Paul wondering why Fifi was called Ginette from Paris...?" 

"She explained that to him right away. He was a man of the world and 
understood, of course. He liked her honesty and admired her only more, if 
that was possible. Every night he sat at his small table at the 
'Monseigneur', and every other day Fifi permitted him to take her out to 
lunch. After ten days of this, he couldn't stand it any longer and . . 

. and kissed her...?" 

"Shut up! You underestimate Fifi! No, he proposed marriage to her. She 
played her part so well that he felt he couldn't get her into bed any other 
way...." 

"But how could she be so sure...?" 

"She gambled ... and she won...!" 

"She was smart to accept his proposal at once...!" 

"Ha! That's where you're wrong...!" 

"You mean ... she didn't say yes immediately...?" 

"No, she didn't...!" 

"But ... that's crazy...!" 

"No, it isn't. And you'll see why. When Paul proposed, on his knees of 
course, in her dressing room when they were alone for a few minutes ... Fifi 
made him get up. 'The wardrobe mistress may come in any minute! Sit down 
over there in that chair. Now, understand me right, Mr. Ingall! I'm greatly 
honored by your proposal. But after all, we've known each other only a 
little over a week. Let's discuss it tomorrow after lunch, will you? I'll 
expect you at the usual time. And now you must excuse me, I've got to change 
for my next number ...!' And with that she gently pushed him out of the 
door...." 

"Yes, I see...! Fifi IS a smart cookie. I wouldn't have had the guts to play 
the game that way . . 

"You've got to play it that way, Pepi, if you want to win for good. But 
listen to the end ... after they had had lunch the next day, Fifi played her 
trump cards. 

"'I want you to be reasonable about this, Paul,' she said, 'I may call you, 
Paul, is it all right she asked innocently. 'Of course,' he assured her, 
covering her hand with kisses. Fifi drew her hand away and said: 

"'First of all, what is your family going to say if you marry a nightclub 
dancer...? ' 

"'I have no family! My parents died when I was a boy. Now I'm 27 and am not 
accountable to anybody for my actions ... I can marry any girl I feel like 
marrying . . 

"'That's fine as far as you are concerned,' said that smart Fifi, 'but my 
family is still alive. My folks are working people and very poor. I learned 
dancing on my own because I love to dance and want to make a career as an 
artist. Men didn't have any place in my life 

"The nerve of that girl...." I couldn't help exclaiming. 

"Yes, but she risked playing it for keeps...." 

"And that Paul Ingall believed her...?" 

"He sure did. He not only ran around with a continual hard-on, but Fifi can 
act like a great lady any time she wants to and be very convincing. She made 
Paul promise a few things in case she was going to marry him. She wanted to 
learn languages, like French and Italian. Paul said yes to everything. But 
if he had hoped she'd hop into bed with him before the whole affair was made 
legal, she disappointed him. He couldn't get into her until they were lying 
in the marital bed in his gorgeous mansion . . 

"Did she pretend she was still a virgin...?" 

"You bet she did. For a girl like her that was mere child's play. But Paul 
was very gentle and she didn't have to put on too much of an act. Don't 
forget, she was quite hot for him, too. You can imagine she didn't 
disappoint him after they'd gone through the first number on the wedding 
night...." 

"When did you hear about all this...?" 

"Fifi wrote me several letters and described all the details. She also said 
that if she ever came visiting here and we meet, we are, of course, strictly 
'social' acquaintances. She needn't worry, I always know what to do and not 
to do . . 

"When did you get the last letter...?" 

"About a week ago. Paul didn't seem to have had much experience with women 
or he might have become suspicious of Fifi's tremendous sex knowledge. She 
made him completely dependent on her so that the guy wants to spend all the 
time in bed . . 

"Well, do they...?" 

"Fifi knows better than that. On the contrary, she makes Paul mind his 
business affairs. She learned shorthand and doubles as his secretary at the 
office. Paul was delighted to see what a smart business sense his wife has, 
but she is also smart enough not to make him feel inferior. And when, for 
the first time, she locked the office door and straddled him on his swivel 
chair with his cock buried in her cunt, he found out that sex at the office 
can be just as nice as sex in bed...." 

"They do it at the office every time...?" 

"That's what Fifi wrote me. Paul is very strongly sexed, like most Swiss 
men, and Fifi has convinced him by now that no other woman could ever 
satisfy him the way she does. And boy, she does it so thoroughly that she 
makes him come six times a night and at least four times during the day . . 

"And what about herself .. 

"She is wise! She's got to keep her wits about her. She says she tries to 
get all the pleasure out of their screwing that she possibly can, hut that 
often she had to pretend she's coming, because Paul is capable of giving her 
five, six orgasms per hour if she'd let him. The first week she was so 
sleepy all day that she had trouble keeping her eyes open. He'd made her 
come about fifteen times the night before . . 

"Other people have all the luck...!" 

"Don't you fret, Pepi, your time will come. And you'd better use your head, 
too, like Fifi. 

You can't let your cunt run your life, you know . . 

"You're damned right I won't let it run my life, but I hope it will run the 
life of several men, one after the other . . 

Steffi measured me with her dark eyes. 

"Why, don't YOU want to get married too...?" 

"I don't know, Steffi. I still love to play the field before I decide one 
and the same cock is enough for me. I told you how my mother had to suffer 
from my father's weak performance. She'd never have let that Mr. Eckhart 
fuck her if father had been the man a husband is supposed to be. No, before 
I decide to be faithful to one man I've got to make sure I can do it. If 
he's a guy like Fifi's Paul, or your Fritz for that matter ... hey! What 
happened to Fritz? I forgot all about him...!" 

Steffi looked a little sad. 

"I don't know. Seems, he became disgusted after what happened when Alex 
surprised us. He knows where he can find me, but he's never showed up...." 

Suddenly Steffi stood up. 

"Come on, let's pay and get out of here. We've been sitting here for an 
hour. And don't let's talk about Fritz again. I made a big mistake there. 
Whores like us who want to go places can't afford to become sentimental 
about handsome young guys who've got nothing besides a good body and a big 
tool." 

Steffi went inside the cafe and paid the waiter. When she came out she was 
smiling again. 

"Well, don't you feel like hunting up a good customer for a change?" 

"What d'you suggest I should do...?" 

"You really don't need me to give you any advice, do you, Pepi...?" 

I laughed. "Well, it's been quite some time since I've tried to pick 
somebody up...." 

"Nonsense! Any healthy male that looks at you would want to fuck you right 
on the sidewalk if it were possible ... you know that...!" Steffi was right. 
The men that looked at us in the street were already fucking us with their 
eyes. All they needed was for us to let them know we were ready. 

"Okay, Steffi ... I'll walk down to the Prater and see what's cooking 
there...." 

"Not a bad idea. After all, that's where you picked up that damned Alex. I 
hope he doesn't spot you there. He'd love to see you're trying your hand at 
streetwalking again...." 

"It's not my hand I'm trying, although a hand-job always comes in handy. 
Don't you worry, Steffi, I'll avoid the swank promenade on the Main Avenue. 
The way I feel today, I'd like to find a guy who gives me a good fuck even 
if he doesn't pay very much...." 

Steffi looked at me like an indulgent mother whose daughter is proving 
incorrigible. 

"In God's name...." she sighed, "but don't forget you want to make a big 
career very soon ... first, money! Then, pleasure!" 

She waved good-bye and disappeared around the corner. 

Steffi was right, as always. But before a woman can exploit the fact that 
she's a woman, or rather, an attractive woman, she's got to feel like one. 
And what better proof can she get than to feel a virile male between her 
legs? This is the eternal conflict a whore has to face: she has to live on 
selling her cunt and shouldn't give it away. On the other hand, she can't 
afford to let herself become an automaton, a mere fucking machine without 
any feelings. 

I took the streetcar to the Praterstern where several avenues lead into the 
forest-like Prater. Instead of walking down the broad Main Avenue where the 
rich crowd shows up on nice afternoons, I took a path that leads to the 
so-called "Wurstelprater," the amusement park, with its hundreds of 
merry-go-rounds, Punch and Judy shows, shooting galleries, freak shows, 
fortune tellers and also small diners that sell hot Wiener sausages on rolls 
with mustard and corn on the cob. There are also little restaurants with 
simple tables, meaning some boards placed over two trestles where one can 
get some hot goulash and a glass of beer for little money. 

A young, good-looking cop watched me when I walked past him for the third 
time. He stood next to "The Hungry Lion," one of the better restaurants 
where soldiers on furlough liked to dine or relax with a beer after visiting 
the various booths close by. They had a weakness for the shooting galleries 
and drove the owners to desperation by winning all the prizes offered to 
good marksmen. 

I knew that soldiers had not much money to spend, but at least they were 
young and healthy. Their sexual tastes had not been perverted like those of 
the richer, middle-aged businessmen. Beginning to ply my old trade again, I 
didn't want to cater to characters who had to be beaten until their tired, 
wrinkled old pricks got hard, and similar nonsense. At least not the first 
week. There was time enough once I got my bearings again. Now I wanted to 
feel a young, healthy soldier stick his ever-ready tool into me. I wanted 
some real men for a change. 

The young cop eyed me suspiciously when I stared at several soldiers who 
were sitting in the small restaurant garden enjoying a bite and some beer. I 
decided to make a play for them when they came out and noticed me walking 
slowly up and down. That's when they would try to pick me up. When I passed 
the cop he addressed me: 

"You know it's against the law to pick up men. I've watched you for the past 
hour. Why don't you move on?" 

I smiled at him and said in a hushed voice: "Shush! Not so loud! I'm trying 
to catch my fiance here with some other girl! That no-good guy is unfaithful 
to me even before we get married...." 

"You ... what...? Your fiance...? Is he a soldier...?" 

He didn't seem to believe me. I looked at him with obvious admiration in my 
eyes. 

"Yes ... but he's not so handsome as you.... 

I wish you were my fiance...." 

Now he knew that I was making it all up, but he also felt that I was 
attracted to him. He winked at me. 

"Why don't you cut out all this malarkey? 

I knew all about you when you walked by here the first time. Okay, I don't 
want to be a spoil-sport. Wait at least until I've walked away from here. 
It'll take me about half an hour to make the rounds. You should be able to 
land a customer by that time." 

He blushed while he talked and I knew that he wasn't indifferent to my 
figure. He kept glancing at my firm teats that were almost visible under my 
thin blouse and I also noticed a slight bulge in his pants. 

"You are very kind," I gushed and held out my hand. 

He took it and pressed it firmly and then looked to the right and left to 
see whether somebody was watching. I liked him more and more. 

"Please, let me walk with you for a while. You can show me your beat. It's 
much safer to walk with a strong policeman like you and ... well ... I like 
to hear you talk...." 

He blushed stronger than before and seemed to hesitate: 

"Are you sure you want to walk with me for a while...?" 

"Quite sure! ... I like you...!" 

The bulge under his fly became stronger and bigger. 

"All right ... let's go...!" 

I fell into step with him. We walked on a narrow path among the trees and 
when I grabbed his hand, he led me behind a thick growth of shrubs that 
sheltered us from the curious eyes of anybody who might have chosen this 
small path. He leaned me against a tree trunk and kissed me full on the 
lips. I pressed my abdomen against his and felt his stiff tool straining 
against the inside of his pants. I quickly unbuttoned his fly and closed my 
fingers around that big joy-stick. He was so excited that he began moving it 
in my hand. I didn't want to lose a minute of feeling that wonderful 
specimen in my cunt, and quickly lifted up my skirt and guided that precious 
dick to where it belonged. He drove it into me up to its roots so that I 
felt his pubic hair touching mine. 

"Ahh...." he groaned, "you feel good ... much too good for doing it with so 
many guys ... you've a tight hole like a virgin ... it's incredible...." 

He began to move faster and pressed his lips on mine. When he felt me 
coming, his thrusts became wilder. He reminded me of a stallion I once saw 
covering a mare. If only I could have that guy in bed, both of us naked, I 
thought-and I came the fourth time. I pressed my tongue between his lips and 
he responded by plunging his tongue deep into my mouth, moving it in all 
directions so that it felt like a penis. A sudden twitching of his dick 
announced he was about to come and soon he spurted a rich load into me. 

"Ah...." he moaned, "ah ... this is good ... this is good ... you're 
sweet...." 

He kept moving while filling me full with his juice and with a last, hectic 
thrust he stopped and rested his face on my hair. 

What a pity, I thought, that I can't have a guy like this for myself. In 
some ways he reminded me of Fritz, the handsome, blond student. I comforted 
myself with the resolution of making enough money to be able to afford a 
virile male like this some day. 

My young policeman had meanwhile brought out a large handkerchief from his 
pocket and tried to dry the spot between my legs. I thanked him and showed 
him the little towel that I carried with me in my purse for such purposes. I 
used it now to dry his half-stiff dick. 

"I could go on like this for a while," he said laughingly. "You really are a 
find, girl. Do you have to earn your living that way...? Why don't you try 
to marry a nice guy...?" 

"If a nice guy like you would marry me, I might do it," I said. 

"With what I'm making I could not nourish a wife...." he whispered. "Here's 
a little present for you...." 

He handed me a silver guilder. I didn't touch it. 

"You are not a customer! Put that immediately back in your pocket...." 

"No, you must take it," he insisted, "or I'll think you wanted to bribe me 
by letting me do it with you . . 

"Bribe you...? Nonsense! I told you I like you ... d'you know how a girl 
like me appreciates a handsome nice fellow like you? Most of my customers 
are fat, elderly bastards who think they overpay me if they give me a few 
lousy guilders ... no, keep your money. I loved doing it with you. Any time 
you want to do it again, say so! I'll be around . . 

"Hey, hey! That really sounds like a bribe! I've got to watch out, you know, 
I can't make a habit of going behind the hedges with you when I'm supposed 
to be walking my beat." He had adjusted his pants and now put his hands on 
my shoulders. 

"Anyway, I enjoyed it. Let's be sensible about it. If I see you again, we 
can still decide what we want to do. But you must understand that I'd have 
to take you to the station if I catch you accosting men on my beat. You 
never can tell ... a supervising officer might watch ... I've got to be 
careful. You'd better run along now...." 

I got up on my toes, put my arms around him and kissed him hard on the lips. 
He returned the pressure and I could feel his dick getting hard again. He 
gave me a slight slap on my buttocks and said: 

"I've got to go now. I still say you're too good for what you're doing ... 
see you some time...!" 

He walked with me until we reached the path again and there we parted. I 
walked slowly back to The Hungry Lion while he moved in the opposite 
direction where some music blared from a merry-go-round. I felt so good that 
I was debating with myself whether I should call it a day or hustle up some 
business. It would be a pity to ruin this pleasant experience with the young 
cop by yielding to some disgusting jerk for a little money. 

Just when I approached the entrance to the restaurant two young soldiers 
came out and nearly collided with me. 

"Oops...!" said one, "how lucky can you get! Running into the very thing we 
need!" He held me by my shoulders. I looked at his smiling eyes and liked 
what I saw. 

"Thanks for not knocking me down," I said, "you and your buddy must be in a 
hurry to get what you need, as you call it...." 

They both laughed. I quickly added: 

"Other people need something too! For instance, me! I haven't earned my 
dinner yet...." They looked at each other and the taller of the two, who 
hadn't said anything yet, spoke up: 

"If you can take us to a place where we can be alone, you might earn a 
couple of dinners. How about it, girlie...?" 

"Well, the next hotel I know of . . 

Both interrupted me right there. 

"Hotel? Hell, we can't waste so much time to walk to the Praterstern ... we 
need it badly ... why not pick a nice quiet spot here ... there are lots of 
trees and shrubs all around ... there's nothing like nature when you want to 
do something natural...." 

"All right, fellows! Come with me ...!" I led them to the same spot where 
the young cop had screwed me so passionately. It's a nice superstition to 
believe that at a spot where you had a good lay you will always get another 
good one. But I wasn't expecting what the two soldiers were up to. 

It was quite dark among the trees now and the boys asked me to get out of my 
skirt. At the same time they took off their pants and shorts. The next 
moment they had jumped on me like two hungry tigers. One pressed against my 
belly, the other rubbed his enormous tool against the cleft of my fanny. The 
one in front pushed his dick into my hole. He had to bend his knees a little 
to hit the right spot. His hands grabbed my buttocks quite firmly. His buddy 
had the good sense to put plenty of saliva on his prick before he tried to 
stick it into my ass; it still hurt like hell. He took hold of my teats and 
kneaded them, which relaxed me somewhat. After a few seconds I felt his big 
tool almost in my intestines, but the guy in front had begun to move in me 
and soon the pain in my rear was exceeded by the pleasure in front. 

It was the first time that I had the pricks of two men in me at one and the 
same time. After a few minutes of being fucked that way I felt as if I had a 
whole regiment plunging their cocks into me and giving me the works. The 
boys began to moan and stammer all sorts of nonsense. 

"Ah ... what a tiny asshole ... Hans, I feel your cock moving in her 
cunt...." 

"Yeah...." said my front-fucker, "and I feel yours moving in her ass ... 
let's get this organized ... when you push it in, I pull mine back ... and 
when I push it in, you pull back ... we don't want to split the poor girl 
apart...." 

I was grateful for that consideration because when they had both pushed into 
me simultaneously I actually thought their cocks were touching each other 
inside me. But now they didn't crowd me or each other any more and I began 
to enjoy that double-fuck the more it progressed. They both discharged into 
me at the same time, squeezing me with their hands so that I almost yelled 
with pain, but they soon let go of me and dropped onto the grass. I flopped 
down too and bedded my head on my skirt that was lying there. I felt like 
falling asleep. 

I must have dozed off, because I was startled by feeling something hard slip 
into my cunt. It was the tall soldier who was ready for a solo lay. He took 
his time and seemed to want to give me some satisfaction, too. 

"That's fine ... girlie ... I feel you're coming ... you're really good ... 
yes ... move your little ass ... that's it ... Ah ... I'm coming myself now 
... ah...." 

And with a violent end-thrust he spurted his juice into me. He'd made me 
come twice. Now his buddy was ready to take over. He didn't even give me 
time to let all that liquid run out of my hole. It was just as well to let 
his oversized prick move in my richly lubricated slit. 

"I was wrong, girlie...." he mumbled, " ... you're just as tight in front as 
you are in your rear ... ah ... this is something...!" 

His big cock stimulated another flow of juices in me and I heard myself 
moan: 

"Yes ... yes ... that's good ... don't come yet ... ah ... you're making me 
come all the time . . 

I was throwing my hips in all directions and almost made him slip out of me. 
But he was soon firmly in control and moved in me faster and faster. 
Suddenly I felt his buddy's prick in my right hand. This wild lay right in 
front of him had speeded his recuperation and he wanted me to give him a 
good hand-job, which I did, with great pleasure. 

Again they both came at the same time. When my rider squirted his semen into 
me, his buddy's prick exploded its load into my hand and beyond it in the 
grass. They had the decency to lend me their handkerchiefs to dry my hand 
and other parts of my anatomy that were smeared with a sticky wetness. They 
also helped me pull on my skirt, but I sat down on the grass again while 
they put their pants on. I was tired. First a young, vigorous cop and now 
these two sex-starved soldiers-I couldn't complain of not having obtained my 
full share of pleasure. 

They pulled me to my feet and Hans, the smaller of the two, pressed some 
coins into my hand. 

"Here you are, girlie...." he said and kissed me lightly on the cheek. 
"Nobody should say we soldiers are ungrateful . . 

They gave me a mock salute and marched off toward the lights of the small 
avenue among the trees. I followed them slowly and looked at the coins when 
I had reached a lantern. Four silver guilders! Quite a generous sum for 
soldiers who were not overpaid themselves. 

I didn't want to spend anything on a fiacre this time; I had to keep my 
money together. Slowly and almost sleepily I walked to the Praterstern where 
I boarded a streetcar for home. To my surprise, Steffi was already there and 
told me she was a little concerned about how I'd make out. When I told her 
of my adventures, she laughed and said: 

"This time you did get your cake and could eat it too. I came home because 
I've got some news for you. Tomorrow we're going to see a friend of mine ... 
he's not exactly a friend ... a guy who's headwaiter in a swank nightclub 
that provides its rich customers with all sorts of unusual 
entertainment...." 

She saw me yawn and exclaimed: 

"You are pooped! Did you have something to eat...?" 

I yawned again: 

"No ... and I'm much too sleepy to feel hungry...." 

Steffi began to undress me like a child. 

"Off to bed with you! I'll tell you all the details tomorrow over our 
coffee...." 

I was grateful for her understanding. I must have fallen back onto the 
pillows when she was still slipping my nightgown over my head. Nothing makes 
a woman sleep more soundly than a good lay, or several of them. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

CAFE AND SEPAREE 

The smell of coffee woke me up. Steffi had it sent up from the cafe across 
the street. There were also two crisp Kaiser rolls with butter. The tray was 
waiting on the table near the window. 

I got up and put on a dressing gown to join Steffi who had already begun to 
sip her coffee and munch a roll. Neither of us liked breakfast in bed on 
account of the crumbs that invariably slipped among the bed sheets. I took 
my first sip of coffee and felt wonderful. My sexual bout of the previous 
evening had stirred my ambition again. I was a good-looking wench, there was 
no doubt about it, and men did get a hard-on when they looked at me. And 
that was all I had to remember, to realize that much depended on myself to 
reach the goal. 

For a moment I toyed with the thought of how I'd like to marry a nice, 
virile guy like the cop of last night. He was exceptionally nice, even 
affectionate. And, no matter how much I longed "to have it regularly," to 
feel a powerful prick stimulate my cunt the way the young cop had done, I 
knew I was a sucker for affection because it was a rare thing to get from a 
man. Most of them wanted mere genital sex, without any sentimental nonsense. 
And that was all right with me-as long as they paid me decently. But deep 
down I was a real woman who craved romantic love. I'd never felt it so 
distinctly as, first, with Fritz, the blond student friend of Steffi, and 
again last night with that charming policeman. 

"You look as if you had to solve a deep problem," said Steffi, interrupting 
my thoughts. "You haven't touched your roll yet. Look how much butter they 
spread on it before they sent it up. That waiter must be in love with 
us...." I took a hearty bite out of the roll and washed it down with coffee. 

"Well ... it just occurred to me that a whore has to make a lot of money, 
first, before she can afford to be a woman, too...." 

"Oh, oh...." said Steffi, "you sound like you're still dreaming of the lays 
you got yesterday. Pepi, Pepi! There are lots of nice guys around, even 
those with money! And that's what you have to concentrate on from now on! 
And now listen to the good news. You know the Cafe Oberlecliner on the 
Opernring, don't you?" 

"Sure! It's a first-class cafe next to the opera. I once looked in there, 
but all tables were taken. I saw a few single women sitting alone at small 
tables. I recognized one. She's a high-class whore, I was told by Poldi who 
was with me. Picking up her customers only in nightclubs and hotel 
lobbies...." 

"And that's what you are going to do from now on...." 

At Steffi's suggestion I put on one of my better dresses that wasn't too 
showy and went to the Cafe Oberlecliner, where a fat, bald headwaiter led me 
to a table by one of the large windows. I had told him I was a friend of 
Steffi and she might join me soon. 

Franz, that was his name, smirked and said: "Well, if Steffi is late, you 
won't get bored here. There are a lot of professional men who come here: 
doctors, lawyers, even judges. But we have one rule that you've got to 
remember. No picking up on the premises! If you think that a man looks at 
you with special interest, look back at him, smile, and leave. He'll soon 
call me and pay also for your coffee and go after you. If you walk slowly, 
he'll soon catch up with you and make a deal with you...." 

"Thanks for telling me all that, Franz ... but before you bring me some 
coffee...." 

"I don't bring you any coffee. I'm the headwaiter here ... I just take your 
order...." He turned to a young waiter who passed by: "Ferdl, one coffee for 
the lady. And plenty of whipped cream on top...." 

"Thanks again," I said, "but what did Steffi mean when she said something of 
a nightclub...?" 

Franz was busy putting a few newspapers and magazines on a chair beside me. 
Every cafe, even the smallest, subscribes to them for the convenience of the 
customers. 

"What nightclub...?" 

"Steffi said there are places that have several private rooms...." 

Franz laughed and pretended to clean the marble top of the table with a 
napkin. 

"That's not a nightclub ... there are several restaurants in town where you 
find small private rooms on either side of the main dining room. Some can be 
closed by regular doors, and some by thick curtains ... the French call them 
chambres separees ... you haven't been around much, have you...?" 

I felt Franz was trying to put me down and wanted to show him I was not the 
naive beginner that he seemed to take me for, but he excused himself 
abruptly. A customer sitting across the room wanted to pay and leave. 

I watched Franz talking to the man with great deference, counting out the 
change and bowing quite low when he got his tip. Apparently a big one. It 
was an older man, perhaps in his early sixties, with a gray moustache and 
short beard, in an elegant black suit, white shirt and black tie. The coat 
into which Franz helped him had a fur collar. He looked very dignified and 
stern, like a retired school principal. Before he left, he gave me a 
serious, almost reproachful look like a teacher who was reprimanding a 
pupil. Franz again made a deep bow when the man went out of the door and 
then he came back to my table. 

"You've already made a conquest ... by the way, what's your name...?" 

"Pepi. Pepi Mutzenbacher...." 

"Yes, Pepi, the Herr Hofrat asked me to give you this message ... here ... 
he wrote his address on this piece of paper. He said you should come right 
up to his place after fifteen minutes ... he's paid for your coffee, 
too...." I was flabbergasted. 

"Are you kidding...? The stern-looking old guy is interested in me...? How 
come...? And he is a Hofrat, Privy Councillor...?" 

"Yes, but retired ... has quite a lot of money and is not stingy when he 
gets what he wants ... you'd better go right after him now . . 

I looked at the address, written in a small pedantic script. It was quite 
near the cafe. I was still hesitating. 

"Thanks a lot, Franz, but ... but I can't believe the man is really 
interested in me ... he gave me such a stern look, like he was angry at me 
or something...." 

Franz was chuckling. 

"Never mind that! I know, he looks like he's always mad at something, but 
... that has its reason. And you'll soon find out what it is...." 

"Oh no!" I said, "not one of those sadists who beat hell out of you...." 

Franz put his hand on my arm. 

"Nothing to be afraid of, Pepi ... you can trust me. And you won't regret 
it. It'll be worth your while ... now you'd better go...." I opened my purse 
and gave Franz half a crown as a tip. He took it at once, thanking me 
politely and bowing when I got up. He must have gotten a nice tip from that 
Hofrat, too, but I understood that he never said "no" when offered even a 
small tip. Steffi explained to me, later, that's how many of the better 
known headwaiters grew rich. Those in the larger cafes and restaurants and, 
of course, in nightclubs. If they didn't pander, they took care of other 
kinds of "little jobs" to oblige a well-tipping customer. 

"Never forget to tip a headwaiter...." Steffi added. "Don't ever believe 
he's doing something for you for nothing...." 

"But suppose I'm broke...." I said. 

Steffi nodded wisely. 

"Yes, that can happen ... but a good-looking girl can always pay ... with 
something! Even if it's not cold cash!" 

I remembered this when I walked toward the building where the stern-looking 
Hofrat had his apartment. It was he who answered the door when I had 
discreetly rung the bell. His stern expression had disappeared. Now he 
looked embarrassed. 

"Come in, please!" 

His voice was low-pitched, almost gentle. He led me straight into what I 
thought was his study. Black upholstered furniture and thick, dark-green 
curtains against the tall windows. No pictures or photos on the white walls. 
The Herr Hofrat helped me out of my overcoat and put it over a 
straight-backed chair in the corner. He asked me to sit down in the armchair 
next to the huge desk and lowered himself in the comfortable swivel armchair 
behind it. 

Now he assumed the stern expression I had seen at the cafe. If possible, he 
looked even sterner, almost angry. I felt a little anxious and must have 
shown it in my face, because he seemed to like it. Undoubtedly a sadist, I 
thought. 

"I don't know whether the headwaiter has told you that I need a good 
secretary...." 

"A secretary...?" I exclaimed. 

"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking!" He'd raised his voice and glanced at 
me sharply. 

"Watch your manners, above all! As I've said, I need a good secretary who 
can take dictation...." 

I couldn't help interrupting him again. 

"Excuse me, Herr Hofrat, but I've never done anything of that sort ... I 
don't even know whether I can spell correctly...." 

"Never mind ... he cut in, in a rough voice. "Nobody but I will decide how 
eligible you are. And now, take off everything except your chemise. And then 
sit down over here at the small desk in the corner...." 

He turned discreetly away while I took off my shoes, stockings, dress and 
panties. When I was about to sit down on the straight-backed chair before 
the small writing desk he had indicated, I noticed a hole in the middle of 
the chair. It reminded me of the ring-shaped seat cushions for people 
suffering from piles. 

The Herr Hofrat squatted next to me and stuck his finger through the hole 
and played a little with my pubic hair without touching my hole at all. 
After a while he said, again in a serious tone: 

"And now write the following letter...." 

I found a batch of writing paper lying on the large blotter and dipped a pen 
into the inkstand and waited. 

"Write ... 'Dear Sirs'...." 

I hesitated. 

"Do you spell 'Sirs' with one or two r's ...?" He looked at me forbiddingly 
and stood up. He reminded me of one of my teachers at school who loved to 
slap our wrists with a ruler. When he noticed that I seemed to be afraid, he 
nodded as if he'd expected it. I saw that he was actually glad. It gave me a 
good idea how I was to behave to satisfy this peculiar customer. 

"A good secretary...." he began, after clearing his throat impressively, "a 
good secretary has to know that! Incidentally, what is your name...?" 

"Pepi...." I whispered. 

"All right, Miss Josephine! I must punish you now...." 

He sat down in his swivel chair and put me over his knee. Then he took a 
very small ruler from the desk and beat me with it on my naked behind, but 
very lightly. I found that so funny that I shook with silent laughter and 
tears came to my eyes. When he told me to get up, he saw how red my face 
was, but he thought I had cried from pain and looked highly pleased. Now I 
was quite sure of what he wanted. I faked a little sob as a special favor. 
Now he opened his fly and brought out a little, wrinkled, grayish old thing 
that was supposed to be a penis. He took it carefully between two fingers 
and moved it from side to side. Then he said: 

"Let's go ahead with the letter. 'Dear Sirs ... In reply to your latest of 
...!' " 

"Please, Herr Hofrat, do you spell 'latest' with an 'a' or with an 'e'...?" 

This time he made me get up and bend over. He gave me one slap on the right 
buttock and one on the left. We continued with the dictation for about a 
quarter hour and I interrupted every moment with some silly question. He 
slapped me each time with the small ruler and increased the number of slaps 
by one on every occasion. I sobbed dutifully, but it didn't hurt a bit. My 
fanny didn't even become red as I noticed when I looked in a mirror that 
hung quite low on the wall. 

I acted as if I were terribly afraid of him, which made his old sunken dick 
come to life a tiny little bit. I didn't even sit down anymore, but wrote 
standing up. Now I pretended I couldn't write any of the words correctly. He 
kept belaboring my fanny with the small ruler and I whined and sighed as if 
he were actually hurting me. At last his dick stood up straight, but the 
next moment it collapsed again and not even one drop appeared on its tip. 

The Herr Hofrat quickly turned around and put his face in his hands as if he 
were very sad. Then he stowed his wrinkled dick away in his fly. I suddenly 
remembered that Steffi had told us girls of some crazy old Hofrat who used 
to be a regular customer of hers. That's exactly how he used to act, 
according to her story. 

I pretended to cry silently, although I was inwardly shaking with laughter. 
The man seemed to be really gullible. He brought a wet towel and cooled my 
abused fanny. 

"I'm really sorry, Miss Josephine...." His voice sounded quite gentle this 
time. "But punishment has to be as you know...." 

"Of course, Herr Hofrat...." I said with a final sob. 

"You will make a good secretary, Miss Josephine! Now we shall continue with 
our letter next Thursday. I'll be expecting you . . 

He gave me a sealed white envelope and let me out of the apartment. To 
satisfy him even more, I made a shy, awkward curtsy before I walked out the 
door. He looked quite pleased and then said with a stern voice: 

"Don't forget! Next Thursday at exactly four in the afternoon! Be punctual, 
or I'll have to punish you . . 

I quickly ran downstairs. I opened the envelope before I stepped into the 
street and found two brand-new ten guilder bills. Not bad, I thought, 
considering the guy was one of the most acceptable sadists I'd ever met, or 
ever was to meet again. 

When I went back to the Cafe Oberlecliner I found Steffi waiting for me at 
the same table I had occupied earlier. She was talking to Franz. When I came 
in they both were looking at me, grinning from ear to ear. I sat down with a 
contented sigh. 

"Well...." asked Franz, "did you have to suffer much?" 

I laughed. "No, I'm not sighing because it hurts to sit down...." 

Steffi laughed too. 

"I hear you were picked up by my crazy, old Hofrat. Did you turn out to be a 
good secretary...." 

"I hope not...." I said. I waited until Franz followed a call from some 
customer. He didn't have to know everything. 

"I am such a lousy secretary," I continued, "that I earned twenty guilders 
in hardly more than one hour. How's that...?" 

"Twenty...?" Steffi wondered. "I'm going to be jealous of you. The old 
geezer never gave me more than ten. But, of course, that was last year ... 
what else did he do but tickle you with that little ruler...." 

"Nothing at all ... when his antique little prick stood up at last, it 
shrunk again the next moment ... that was all...." 

"Ah...." said Steffi. "I guess that's it. He seems to feel guilty now and 
pays more. You see, last year he could still keep up his erection for a few 
minutes. He used to rub it against my buttocks, but nothing came. Yes, the 
dear old Hofrat is getting old...." 

We both laughed and Steffi said: 

"Franz thinks you are very pretty and he could recommend you to the 
headwaiter of The Green Anchor...." 

"What's that...?" 

"That swank restaurant in the Seiler Street, you must know it...?" 

"I guess I passed it quite often. Is that the place where they have those 
separees...?" 

"Yes! And the customers there are all very rich people, often with 
well-known names. Let's go now, I paid Franz for our coffee before you 
came...." 

"But doesn't he have to give me a recommendation to the place...?" 

"I've got it here in my purse. Take it and don't lose it...." 

Steffi handed me the ace of hearts that belonged in a stack of cards 
somewhere. 

"Here! You give this to Rudolf, the headwaiter of The Green Anchor, and say 
that Franz sent you...." 

"An ace of hearts ... what sort of recommendation is this...?" 

"Don't be silly," Steffi chided me. "What sort of introduction do you 
expect? Something like, 'This is to introduce Pepi Mutzenbacher who's a 
first-class whore and will please all your customers ... ' Franz can't 
afford to put anything in writing. He and Rudolf have a special code of 
their own. When he sends a girl to Rudolf with, let's say, an ace of clubs, 
she's nothing special and Rudolf will use her only if he's short of 
'material.' If the girl shows him an ace of spades, it means Rudolf can fuck 
her himself as often as he wants to...." 

"I don't quite get the idea...." 

"You see, Rudolf works very hard and has little time to pick up girls. He 
can't use those that are exclusively for his customers, for various reasons. 
But Franz is obligated to him for all sorts of favors and that's the way he 
reciprocates ... he sends him a nice piece of ass from time to time...." 

"I wonder what Rudolf does for Franz so that he feels like sending him 
gratis lays...." 

"Never mind, Pepi! It doesn't do much good to get too curious around these 
guys. Don't you know that waiters are all potential detectives? They know a 
lot about a lot of people! And headwaiters are almost like secret service 
men ... they often know more than the police would like to know. Never 
underrate them! They can help you in more than one way...." 

"Yes, I'm beginning to believe that." 

Steffi snapped her purse shut with a bang and said: 

"We'd better get some dinner now and then you put on your best dress and 
take off for The Green Anchor. Let's go...." 

We nodded to Franz who was busy across the room and he gave us a polite bow. 
After all, we looked and behaved like ladies and it was in his own interest 
to treat us that way in front of his customers. 

We had a quick dinner at a small place near Steffi's rooming house and then 
went to her room where I freshened up and chose a really costly dress that 
was one of Alex's presents. Wine-red velvet and genuine lace around the 
d'collet'. It also had a little train that made me look taller. It was clear 
that I'd have to hire a carriage in this sort of getup. Instead of a hat I 
put on an opera shawl of tulle with silver sequins, and to look like a real 
lady I put on a pair of long black gloves that came up to my elbows. 

Steffi thought I looked my best and was going to be a smash hit. 

"I've got to run, Pepi...." she said, I'm already late for my date with my 
doctor friend. He's getting laid every Thursday, just like your new 
customer, the crazy Hofrat. You look stunning ... just do everything Rudolf 
is going to tell you and ... be careful...!" 

And she was gone. I spent some time before the full-length mirror and 
admired myself. I wished it was already two years later and I had become the 
mistress of a millionaire. He wouldn't have to be ashamed of me, at least 
not as far as my looks were concerned. 

I splurged and hired a fiacre to take me to The Green Anchor. A fat, 
friendly little man in tails received me inside. It was Rudolf, the 
headwaiter. When I handed him the ace of hearts, he looked perplexed. 

"So help me God, I wouldn't have suspected you're one of Franz's 
prot'g'es...." 

Who did you think I was...?" I asked, greatly flattered. 

Rudolf grinned and made a bow. 

"If you had come with an escort, I'd have taken you for a baroness, at 
least...." 

"I'm glad to hear that because I wanted to make a good impression on you. 
Franz wouldn't have given me the ace of hearts for you if he didn't set high 
hopes on me . . 

Rudolf took me to a sort of dressing room that was next to his office. 

"Lady customers use this very often to adjust their coiffure and readjust 
their toilettes...." 

I winked at him. 

"I suppose their coiffures and toilettes need to be readjusted pretty 
often...?" 

He laughed discreetly and said nothing. I sat down on an upholstered chair 
and said: "Please don't let me detain you. I know you're a busy man. D'you 
think there will be something for me tonight...?" 

"That's what I was going to find out a while ago. Excuse me a minute, I'll 
have to look over the list of reservations . . 

I was alone in the elegantly furnished room that reminded me more and more 
of the dressing room of an actress ... I stepped in front of the mirror to 
see whether my coiffure didn't need any readjustments, but I couldn't find a 
hair out of place. It would probably look different before I left The Green 
Anchor later. 

Rudolf came back and seemed a little excited. 

"You really are a godsend tonight. It doesn't happen often that I make a 
mistake, but I just discovered that I accepted a reservation for a very 
important gentleman and forgot to notify the lady that usually entertains 
him here. I bet he won't mind to find you as a replacement...." 

"Who is he...?" 

Rudolf put his index finger before his lips. "No names of course! If a 
customer wants to introduce himself to you that's his own business. All I 
can tell you is that he's a member of high society. I'm going to see whether 
he's ready to be told about you...." 

"Where is he now...?" 

"He's already in the separee waiting for his 'lady' and doesn't know yet she 
won't be here tonight. I'd better tell him about it and do some 
apologizing...." 

Rudolf disappeared and was back in five minutes, radiating all over his 
broad face. 

"His excellency was very gracious about it and would like you to join him 
for dinner. Follow me!" 

Rudolf stepped close to me and whispered fiercely: "And don't ask him any 
personal questions...!" 

We went down a narrow hallway that was separated by heavy curtains from the 
general dining hall, on one side, and from a row of private rooms, the 
separees, on the other. It was in front of one of the latter that Rudolf 
stopped and drew the curtains aside. He bowed and said: 

"This is the lady, your excellency!" 

Making a deep bow, he stepped aside and let me enter. A tall gray-haired man 
got up from the ottoman in the corner and met me halfway, taking my hand and 
kissing it. Fortunately I had thought of taking off my right glove before I 
entered. 

"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," he said in a low-pitched voice. 
And turning to Rudolf who had entered and closed the curtain behind him: 

"You certainly had no reason to apologize for bringing me such a beautiful 
guest, Rudolf. On the contrary, I am greatly obliged to you...." 

And turning to me again: 

"Why don't you sit down, my dear, right here at the table ... Rudolf, please 
open the champagne and tell them to start serving...." With a loud noise the 
champagne cork popped against the ceiling and Rudolf again apologized, this 
time for forgetting the duties of an experienced headwaiter who should have 
opened the bottle with a minimum of noise. 

"Oh, that's quite all right," said my host. "Such a festive occasion must be 
greeted with a gun salute to the charming visitor ... I forgot to ask your 
name, young lady...?" 

I made a slight bow. 

"Pepi Mutzenbacher." 

"Ah, Mademoiselle Pepi then! We shall drink on your visit...." 

Rudolf had filled the two chalices and my host, touching my glass, said: 

"To the beauty of Mademoiselle Pepi!" 

"And to your health, sir...." I added. 

I drank only a little of the bubbling liquid. Steffi had warned me always to 
leave the unrestrained drinking to the men. 

Rudolf left and my host sat opposite me at the nicely laid table; everything 
was silver and crystal. 

"By the way, Mademoiselle Pepi, tonight you don't have to stand on ceremony. 
I'm neither to be called 'sir', or 'excellency' by you. I am simply Anton!" 

"Thank you, your excel ... I mean, Anton...!" 

There was a clatter of plates and dishes outside and soon two waiters came 
in, loaded down with trays, which they deposited on a small sideboard. It 
was an excellent dinner, or rather supper. Six courses and no wines except 
the dry champagne. Rudolf opened the third bottle before the dessert 
arrived. 

"Thank you, Rudolf. We don't need anything after that...." said Anton, as I 
called him now. 

When Rudolf left with a deep bow, he pulled a sliding panel from one side of 
the wall which served as a door, apart from the draw curtains. 

As soon as we were alone, Anton wanted me to drink some more of the 
champagne. 

"You had only two glasses ... he said. "Don't you like it...?" 

"It's delicious, but I don't like to drink very much. You don't want me to 
fall asleep." 

"No! At least not without me...!" said my host, laughing at his own remark. 

I politely joined in his laughter. His face was quite red and I could see 
that he was trying to find an appropriate transition from polite 
conversation to getting down to brass tacks. I decided to make it easy for 
him. The champagne and the closed room had made me feel quite warm, I began 
to fan myself with a napkin and asked: 

"It's quite warm in here, Anton. Do you mind if I take off my shawl...?" 

I still wore the tulle shawl with the sequins on my hair. He jumped up and 
had to steady himself on the back of my chair. Laughingly he said: 

"I guess the champagne is quite strong. Permit me to help you with the 
shawl...." 

"No, thanks! I've got to do that myself. It's fastened with hairpins...." 

"Ah, why don't you want to be a good sport and let down your beautiful 
hair...? Please, let me do it myself...." 

"If you promise to be careful...." 

"I promise...." 

With trembling fingers he removed the two pins that held the shawl in place 
and then gently removed all the other pins until my rich hair fell over my 
shoulders. 

"How beautiful...!" he exclaimed. "You look like a real nymph...." 

Oh God, I thought, remembering my crazy "satyr" of the Vienna Woods. Not 
that again! 

"My dear...." Anton said, still standing behind my chair, "why don't you 
open your dress a little to be less bothered by the heat...? Come, let's sit 
down on the sofa there...." 

He led me to the ottoman and made me sit down. 

"It's kind of you to let me open my dress a little," I said, looking up at 
him, "but you'll have to help me open the two buttons on my back. It's 
difficult for me to reach them, especially after a delicious supper like 
that...." 

Anton leaned against me when he tried to search for the buttons of my dress 
below my neck and I felt his stiff dick touching my face. Of course, it was 
still inside his trousers. But I was ready for some good healthy fun and 
while he was busy with the buttons of my dress, I opened the buttons of his 
fly. To my great consternation his erection collapsed as soon as I touched 
it. 

Anton quickly stepped away from me. His face showed anger. 

"Don't ever touch me unless I tell you...." he said with a voice a little 
heavy from the wine. 

I knew I'd made a mistake. Apparently Anton did have his peculiarities and I 
had to be very careful about dealing with him. I quickly apologized. 

He had drawn up a chair and sat down a little away from me. His breath was 
almost audible. 

"Mademoiselle Pepi, you're supposed to do only what I tell you. Hasn't 
Rudolf prepared you...?" 

I became somewhat disturbed. 

"Prepared...? For what...?" 

Anton came over to me and pulled my breasts out from the opened dress. His 
flushed face was close to mine now. 

"For my specialty! Because I have my own manner of enjoying a beautiful 
woman...." In spite of his being quite drunk, he must have sensed my growing 
uneasiness. He stroked my cheek and said: 

"There's nothing to be afraid of. Just do only what I tell you and you won't 
regret it...." He made me get up as carefully as his condition permitted, he 
pulled the dress off me. He seemed quite satisfied to find me willing. 

"Now let me look at you ... ah, I knew you'd look divine in your lingerie 
... not every woman looks good in her undies ... it's got to be a special 
type, like you, for instance ... and now let me strip you down more and 
more...." 

I must admit he tried not to tear any of my lingerie. Piece after piece came 
off until I stood there nude, except for my shoes and silk stockings. 

"We'll leave those on...." he said when he thought I wanted to take them off 
too. 

He asked me to recline on the couch and came over to me. I could see that 
his dick was bursting against his fly. His hands touched every part of my 
body and while he kissed my navel he had opened his fly and I could feel his 
prick touch my legs. 

"Don't move now...!" he warned me. 

His mouth moved toward my grotto and his able tongue began to play with my 
clitoris, but when I reacted accordingly and jerked my body, he stopped and 
said: 

"Don't move...! I want you to lie still...!" That's a nice way of having 
sex, I said to myself. He gets me all worked up, but doesn't want me to show 
it. Other men get a kick out of seeing how the woman reacts to their 
caresses, but my "excellency" had what he calls his "specialty." I wasn't 
even quite sure whether what he was doing at the moment was already the 
specialty, or whether I was in for a surprise of some kind. 

I couldn't prevent myself from coming and was afraid he might resent it. But 
as soon as my juices were flowing, he slurped and licked up every drop. Then 
he grabbed the freshly opened champagne bottle from the ice bucket, filled 
his glass and chased my glandular secretions with the good, dry champagne. I 
wondered whether I should take this for a compliment or for an offense. 
Perhaps my vaginal juice tasted good with a chaser of champagne, or he 
wanted to get rid of the taste. Anton didn't enlighten me on this point. 
Instead he announced: 

"And now comes my specialty...." 

He filled a glass full of champagne and dunked his dick in it. I thought the 
cold wine might make the erection collapse, but it didn't. The tickling of 
the bubbles seemed to stimulate it all the more. Now Anton placed himself in 
front of my face and commanded: 

"Put it in your mouth and show your skill. And tickle my balls very gently 
with your fingers...." 

I did as ordered and soon my "skill" had the desired effect. It was the 
first time I had to do a blow-job on a dick bathed in champagne. When Anton 
discharged he grabbed my head and pressed my face against his belly. He 
almost choked me with his large prick so that I had difficulty in swallowing 
his semen. The next moment he let go of me and poured some champagne in my 
glass on the table, brought it over to me and said: 

"Drink...!" 

I did and was wondering whether that was the end of it. I was quite worked 
up and wanted to feel that big stick of his in my cunt at long last. But he 
readjusted his pants and told me to rest for a while if I felt like it. He 
took a few banknotes from his wallet and put them under my champagne glass, 
then he put on his overcoat and, half turning in my direction, he said: 
"Rudolf will see that you get home, Mademoiselle Pepi. See you again some 
time...." And he was gone. Tired though I was, I jumped up and looked at the 
banknotes on the table. Five twenty guilder bills! That was the biggest sum 
of money I'd ever received from a one-night-stand customer. I was a little 
disappointed that he had made his departure so abruptly, in contrast to his 
very courteous welcome two hours before. But I realized that as soon as he 
wasn't horny any more, Mademoiselle Pepi had become a better-class whore who 
wanted to get paid. For one hundred guilders I'd accept any lack of 
chivalrous courtesy. 

Suddenly the sliding panel moved again and without any warning Rudolf 
appeared between the parted curtains. I instinctively put my hand in front 
of my mound, but Rudolf laughed. 

"A beauty like you doesn't have to be ashamed to be seen naked. His 
excellency told me that you might like to get something stiff between your 
legs...." 

Before I had the time to realize what he said, he had pushed me on my back 
on the couch and was kneeling between my thighs and pushing his bared prick 
into me. It was not too long, but reasonably thick, and he moved quickly 
back and forth. He was considerate enough not to put his fat red face too 
close to mine and kept moving in a fast but regular rhythm. When I came, he 
said: 

"I knew you'd enjoy it ... my prick is not as big as the one of his 
excellency, but it can do a good job ... you have a very small hole, Pepi 
... that's mighty good ... you ought to be able to go places with a cunt 
like that ... ah ... I'm coming now ... ah...." 

And with a last violent thrust he unloaded into me. He got off me and dunked 
a napkin into some champagne and cleaned my mound and the hair around it 
almost affectionately. "You've got a fortune here...." he said. 

He helped me get into my clothes and asked me to sit down for a minute 
because he had to tell me something important. He went out and came back 
with two cups of strong coffee and urged me to sip it. He took a sip from 
his own cup, looked at me in a speculative sort of way and then said: 

"Pepi, I know you've made good money tonight. But you could do much better! 
I'd hate to lose you as an 'entertainer' in this place, but I can make a 
better deal for both of us...." The coffee was hot and strong and helped me 
to think and listen attentively. 

"What d'you mean, for both of us...?" 

Rudolf fixed his shrewd little eyes on me. 

"It means that I'm not going to lose anything by getting you a better job . 
. 

"A job...? What are you talking about...?" He was silent for a minute and 
seemed to ponder how he should formulate his next sentence. At last he 
asked: 

"How would you like to work in a fashionable house of assignation, Pepi...?" 

I nearly hit the saucer with my coffee cup when I put it down with a bang. 

"Let's call things by their proper names, Rudolf. You mean a whorehouse, 
don't you...?" He laughed, but added quite seriously: "There are whorehouses 
and whorehouses, Pepi. When I call it a house of assignation, I mean of 
course a very high-class whorehouse...." 

"High-class or not," I said, "I'd be under the supervision of a madam and I 
have more than an idea of what madams do. They get all the money and the 
poor girls keep owing them percentages ... they're like slaves who can never 
get out of there again...." 

Rudolf put his coffee on the table and paced up and down in front of me. He 
talked slowly, as if choosing his words. 

"If you think that I'd propose that sort of establishment to you, we'd 
better stop talking about it ... you seem to take me for a cheap panderer 
and pimp...." 

I remembered Steffi's exhortations and said quickly: 

"No, Rudolf ... I don't think that at all. But I tell you quite frankly that 
I want to get out of these one-night stands ... I already had a rich friend, 
but he got tired of me ... or, the truth is ... I behaved stupidly...." 

Rudolf was listening intently now. He asked: "You mean Alex Feringer...?" 

I was quite surprised. "How d'you know...?" 

"Things get around among headwaiters in this town ... I heard about you 
before you came here tonight...." 

"You mean one of Alex's friends told you ...?" 

"Never mind ... names don't matter. But I'm glad you told me the truth. That 
gives me some hope we can do some business together...." 

He pulled up a chair and sat facing me. "Listen, Pepi! I'm getting on in 
years and want to quit this headwaiter racket. I've saved enough money to 
retire, but not enough to live comfortably the way I want to. Now I know the 
madam of a very exclusive place. I recommended a very attractive girl to her 
a few years ago and earned a very nice percentage from it...." 

I was about to speak, but he silenced me with a gesture. 

"No, the girl didn't have to pay me. The madam shares part of her income 
with me. She used to be a well-known demimondaine in her youth...." 

"Like Madame Benesch...?" 

He grinned. "No, not quite of that class, but still far above the 
average...." 

"And what happened to that girl...?" 

"Believe it or not, but she's been married to a count for two years now...." 

"You're kidding me ... how can a count marry a whore...? She can be his 
mistress, but ... a wife...?" Rudolf sighed and said: 

"If you'd only let me talk first before you jump at conclusions. It's an 
Italian count ... Of course, no Austrian aristocrat could have married her, 
but that Italian could take her to his palace in Rome where nobody knew 
anything of the girl's past ... but the fact remains that when that girl 
left, Madame Yvonne lost one of her biggest attractions . . 

"Madame Yvonne...? In the Kruger Street 

"Oh, so you've heard about her...?" 

"Yes, my friend Steffi mentioned her once. The Kruger Street, that's close 
to the opera ... that's the best section of town...." 

"See? I told you it wasn't any of those cheap joints ... now I'll be quite 
open with you. I'm sure Madame Yvonne would be glad to get you. She never 
keeps more than four girls ... now she's left with only three. If I 
introduce you to her, my percentage will be enough to let me retire ... 
there! Now it's up to you...!" He was so serious that I knew he had spoken 
truthfully. But I still had my doubts. 

"What about the percentage that the girls have to give to Madame Yvonne...?" 

"None! That's the big difference between Madame Yvonne's place and a second 
or third-class brothel. She gets paid by the customer. And whatever the 
girls receive is theirs. What's more, if you need any lingerie and good 
clothes, Madame gets them at a discount price for her girls and for herself. 
She still has connections from the days when the newspapers described how 
she was dressed when she appeared at the races with a rich friend. You can 
believe me! 

I'm not doing this for your sake only! It's me I'm thinking of. You see ... 
I speak quite frankly...." 

I began to yawn and got up. 

"Please, help me into my overcoat, Rudolf, and then call a cab for me. I 
appreciate your offer, but I want to talk it over with Steffi, my girl 
friend. She's got more brains than I have...." 

Rudolf held out my coat for me. 

"You're quite sharp, Pepi. And you got all the rest...." 

He pressed his palm around my breasts when he helped me to button the coat. 

"... a girl like you is wasted in separees, or being picked up in cafes. 
I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll have my after-lunch coffee at the Cafe 
Oberlecliner tomorrow. Why don't you meet me there no matter how you decide. 
How about it...?" 

"Fine! I'll be there. The Oberlecliner is always a good place for a girl ... 
and yes, thanks for tonight...!" 

I stooped a little and kissed Rudolf on his shiny bald head. A waiter on the 
other side of the curtain announced that Rudolf was wanted. He accompanied 
me to the entrance and was about to whistle for a cab when a one-horse 
carriage pulled up, and a late customer got out and paid the driver. Rudolf 
made me get in and called: 

"Don't forget ... tomorrow after lunch...!" I told the driver Steffi's 
address and arrived there in fifteen minutes. The driver seemed to know what 
a single female was doing at The Green Anchor late at night, because when I 
handed him the fare and a good tip, he grinned and said: 

"Thanks! I wish all the ladies who come from The Green Anchor and want to 
get home in a cab gave me such tips ... good night ... countess!" 

Viennese cabdrivers bestow nobility on everybody who gives them a good tip. 
I thought I was perhaps a little too generous. To give him less and be 
called baroness would have been sufficient. I still had to learn to keep my 
money together. 

Steffi was already asleep. She woke up when I came and mumbled: 

"I'm dead tired, honey. I'll go right back to sleep. I'll listen to your 
report tomorrow at breakfast. Sleep tight . . 

I undressed as noiselessly as I could and lay down next to her. I thought I 
was going to doze off immediately, but my thoughts kept me awake. 

I was glad to be with Steffi who had always given me good advice. And now I 
needed it more than before. If Rudolf had told me the truth about that girl 
who hooked an Italian count, the place of Madame Yvonne might prove a good 
hunting ground. On the other hand, I disliked the idea of not being free, of 
being part of an "institution." I also thought that there were three other 
girls with whom I'd have to get along ... how does one get along with the 
competition, I wondered. Each one of them was waiting for a count, a prince 
charming, or some fat old millionaire to take her away. That's as far as my 
thoughts carried me. The next moment I'd fallen asleep. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

THE PEEPHOLES 

My breakfast conversation with Steffi, next morning, was shorter than I'd 
expected. She listened to my tale very attentively and the first thing she 
said was: 

"Before we go to the Oberlechner we'll go to the Bankverein and deposit your 
one hundred guilders on a savings account...." 

The Bankverein was one of the largest Austrian banks. It was characteristic 
of Steffi that her first reaction to my report had nothing to do with 
Rudolf's proposition, or anything concerning the future, but the present. 
The money I'd earned must be preserved. 

"I guess you're right, Steffi," I said. "But why d'you say we go to the Cafe 
Oberlechner...? You mean you want to come with me ...?" 

"Sure! I've plenty of time. My doctor friend had a big surprise for me 
yesterday. He presented me with a bank book ... look! Here it is . . 

Pepi took it from her purse and opened it on the first page. I had to look 
twice to believe what I saw there. 

"But ... but, Steffi, it says one thousand guilders to your credit...." I 
left my mouth open. 

Steffi laughed happily. 

"Yes, you're not dreaming it ... neither am I! The doctor inherited a big 
amount from some aunt who died last month. And he started a savings account 
at the Bankverein in my name with these thousand guilders.... 

"But that's wonderful ... he must be in love with you . . 

"Well, yes, more or less. At his age it's more a paternal kind of love. But 
he thinks I need some rest from 'doing business.' He said I was too pale and 
too thin, although I eat like a horse. But he's right! I've overworked my 
cunt lately . . 

I felt guilty. 

"Damn you, Steffi...! And you never wanted to take any money from me. You 
kept feeding me and paying for me in the cafes ... that's not fair to 
yourself...." 

She shushed me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. 

"Don't be silly, Pepi. Two persons can live as cheaply as one ... if you 
know how to go about it ... you haven't made me poor. But it's true I've 
taken on too many customers and I didn't tell the doctor that almost all of 
them were young and pleasant and very good lays ... I've been indulging, 
that's all. I was preaching to you ... but I myself ... well...." 

She smiled and sipped her coffee. All young and pleasant lays, she had said. 
Suddenly I understood. She couldn't get over the loss of her handsome 
student, Fritz. The scene at Alex's place must have been too great a shock 
for him and he never looked around for Steffi since then. 

Naturally, she took on a lot of healthy young guys and I suspected she 
didn't make too much money from them. It's the middle-aged and elderly 
customers who have the dough. I couldn't help respecting Steffi for her 
complete lack of self-pity. I wish I could be like that, I thought. 

"You haven't said a word about Rudolf's idea to unload me on that Madame 
Yvonne...." Steffi put her coffee down with a final gesture. 

"Come on, let's get dressed and go to the bank. You know me by now. If I 
don't say anything, it means I'm not against it...." 

"You mean I should accept Rudolf's proposal...?" 

For a minute I had the sneaking suspicion that Steffi wanted to get rid of 
me because I'd become a kind of burden to her, but the next moment I was 
ashamed of such a thought. 

"I think it's the best thing that could happen to you ... at the moment! I 
know that Madame Yvonne is on the level. I've never met her, but I've seen 
her in public. She puts on the Ritz and plays at being the great lady, but 
... she does it very nicely. She's a good actress. I know she comes from 
very poor people in Ottakring like you and me. When you hear her talk in her 
cultivated stage German you wouldn't believe she grew up like we did. I bet 
if she forgets herself she can spout good old Viennese dialect like any cab 
driver...." 

"So you think I should do it...?" 

"Definitely! Put on the same dress you wore when you went to the 
Oberlecliner and leave the rest to Yvonne's knowledge of human nature. 
She'll see that you got what it takes ... now hurry ... get dressed and do 
your hair...." First we went to the Bankverein on the Schottenring and I 
noticed that most of the tellers were young and quite handsome guys. 

"Many of them are students," Steffi explained. They work part-time to pay 
for their tuition. I'll take you to the one at window four. He looks like a 
good lay to me...." 

Steffi was a good judge of men. I also noticed that the clerk of window four 
looked very much like Fritz, tall and blond, with regular features. Steffi 
did all the talking for me and it was obvious that the teller couldn't make 
up his mind which of us attracted him more. I decided to come here some day 
and find out whether he could do more than just look at me. 

We ate lunch at a small place near the opera so that we didn't have to walk 
too far to get to the Cafe Oberlecliner. When we got there, Rudolf was 
already sitting at a table by the window. Franz stood by him, gesticulating 
with his hands. When we joined them, Rudolf got up politely and held our 
chairs for us to sit down. Franz looked at me and said: 

"What's this I hear...? You're going to leave me in the lurch? What about 
your poor old Hofrat, next Thursday...? Have you no feelings...?" 

He winked at me and I said: 

"It's you who have no feelings, letting two ladies sit here without giving 
them some coffee and some of that nice pastry I can see over there on the 
tray in the glass-case...." 

"Okay, okay...." Franz exclaimed. "We'll fix you up right away...." 

A young waiter brought us our coffee and the "pastry girl" came over with 
the tray of goodies. Steffi and I chose an eclair each, with lots of whipped 
cream. While we enjoyed our dessert and sipped our coffee, Rudolf looked at 
me questioningly, but didn't say anything. 

"Well, Rudolf," I said at last. "Are you ready to take me to ... how did you 
call it ... the house of assignation...?" 

He laughed and asked us whether we'd mind if he lit a cigar. We didn't, and 
he spoke to Steffi first. 

"I can see you've given Pepi some good advice...." 

Steffi cut him short. 

"That's because I have confidence in you...." Rudolf laughed again and said: 

"Ah, you know how to flatter a guy like me...!" 

One could see that he was flattered, nevertheless. He looked at her 
curiously and asked: "How come you've never thought of becoming part of 
Madame Yvonne's household? You would be welcome there, I'm sure...." 

Steffi stuffed the last bite of her eclair into her mouth and licked the 
whipped cream from her upper lip. 

"See...?" she said to Rudolf. "I don't eat like a lady ... what would I do 
at such a fine place like Yvonne's...?" 

"You don't fool me a bit...." said Rudolf. "I'm serious ... have you never 
thought of working at her place...?" 

"Yes, I did ... at some time or other. But, let's face it. I know I'm not 
bad-looking, but I can't compare with Pepi here...." 

"I wouldn't say that...." protested Rudolf. "Shush! You know better than 
that. Not everybody who has a good voice has enough talent to be an opera 
singer. Some can perform only in concerts, and some ... well, some sing in 
churches and clubs, or just sing only for their own pleasure. It's the same 
with whores, if you will excuse the expression...." 

Rudolf laughed and puffed at his cigar. He looked at Steffi like a teacher 
when a pupil of 

"his "had given Mm a good answer. He turned to me. 

"You've a clever friend, Pepi. Watch out! She's going to surprise all of us 
yet some day!" 

"And don't I know it," I said. "But why don't we go to that place now ... 
that is if you think we should, Rudolf." 

"By all means! I had lunch with Madame Yvonne an hour ago and told her about 
you. She's very eager to meet you. Would Steffi perhaps want to come 
along...?" 

We could see he said that merely out of sheer politeness, but Steffi kidded 
him about it. 

"I wouldn't want to spoil Pepi's chances! You said a while ago that that 
Yvonne woman would like to have someone like me...." 

Rudolf said sheepishly: 

"She'd keep both of you, Pm sure ... all right, Pepi, let's go now...." 

Steffi pressed my hand encouragingly and said: 

"If you don't come home tonight, I'll know you've been 'engaged' as a new 
member of that glorified fucking team of Yvonne's. Don't worry, I'll see 
that your clothes and things are sent to your new address. And you know ... 
if you don't like things, Aunt Steffi is taking it easy for a while. You're 
always welcome to come back...." 

I felt my eyes water up and asked Rudolf to be a nice guy and hold my 
overcoat for me. Although Steffi said she'd pay for me, I again left a 
half-crown for Franz on the table. Rudolf saw it and remarked under his 
breath: 

"You're either very smart, or have the instincts of a real lady. Let's go!" 

When. I thought back, to that little detail I realize that Rudolf wasn't so 
wrong. It's true that I was born in a city slum and spent my youth more or 
less in the gutter. But somehow a lady's instinct must have been born with 
me, or it couldn't have been drawn out of me later on. I've seen lots of 
countesses who were taught the right manners, but they never impressed me 
like real ladies. And I've known many a proletarian girl who had made her 
way to the top of society and whose graceful manners were often part of her 
nature. And I still say that a real lady is either a great demimondaine, or 
a real noblewoman. None of those "respectable" bourgeois women can ever be a 
great lady. I'd even go so far as to say that a female who doesn't know how 
to use her cunt, being married or single, can't be made into a lady. It's 
just my opinion, and nobody has to accept it. 

The building in the Kruger Street where Madame Yvonne had rented the whole 
second floor, had a marble staircase with statues of naked Greek gods placed 
in regular intervals on the balustrades. It was really a swanky place. 

Rudolf rang the bell on the second floor and a dignified elderly maid opened 
the door and led us into a plushy waiting room, full of all sorts of bronze 
statues and Chinese vases filled with yellow and red roses. 

"Madame will see you in a while," the maid said and left us alone. 

We didn't have to wait long before the door opened again and there was 
Madame Yvonne, clad in a purple silk dress. As a necklace she wore a golden 
cross on a thin gold chain. Her earrings were simple but costly pearls. We 
got up and Rudolf presented me: 

"Madame, here is the young lady I told you about . . 

Yvonne pressed my hand very warmly and said in cultivated German, but 
affecting a slight French accent: 

"Charming! Really charming! I'm glad you came to see me, my child. Have you 
ever worked in a private institution before...?" 

I don't know why all this play-acting made me angry, but it did, and I 
replied in the Ottakring dialect of my childhood days: 

"Nope! Never worked in a whorehouse before!" 

I saw Rudolf becoming pale, but Madame Yvonne looked at me with surprise and 
then laughed out loud and gave me a sound slap on the fanny. 

"Attagirl! That's how I like it! I wish I could afford to speak my good old 
Viennese dialect as in my younger days. But them days are over! You are Pepi 
Muzenbacher, correct? Rudolf told me everything. I like you, Pepi, you are 
no phony! And the other girls will like you too, I'm sure. And my customers 
will crowd you every time you show yourself. You have to excuse me now, I'm 
busy with the tailor in another room. Some of the girls have to try on some 
new gowns ... why don't you come here at about nine in the evening. You've 
time to pack and bring your stuff with you. Our houseman will get it 
upstairs for you. None of our customers come here before ten. You'll have 
plenty of time to get acquainted with your three colleagues. But watch out! 
We don't talk Viennese dialect here. Rudolf told me you speak a very nice 
High German ... but we'll tell you the details tonight. I'm glad you're 
joining the family. You'll like it . . 

She gave Rudolf her hand to be kissed and kissed me lightly on my cheek. 
Then we were dismissed. Rudolf hailed a cab for me, while he walked back to 
the Cafe Oberlecliner for another chat with Franz, as he said. 

Steffi helped me get my things in two large suitcases. I didn't know at the 
time I'd pestered Alex to buy them for me that I'd have to use them so soon. 

"There's no need to say good-bye ... said Steffi, "we can always meet at the 
Oberlecliner. Now that I can afford to be a lady of leisure for some time, I 
can take my afternoon coffee there. Yvonne will let you go out in the 
daytime as often as you want to. And by the way, don't forget to insist on 
one free night, too! Don't let her persuade you by any seductive talk of 
money to give up a free evening during the week. You'll make plenty of dough 
there. But you'll need a free evening too. You've got to promise me 
that...." 

I promised and was on my way. Yvonne kept her word and had retained the 
houseman to carry my suitcases upstairs. I was shown to my private room 
which was not the one in which I would have to entertain customers. It was 
small, but light and friendly, with a comfortable bed and a large wardrobe 
to hang up plenty of clothes. I must say this for Madame Yvonne: she looked 
after her girls like a housemother. There were two large bathrooms with 
those newfangled gas-heaters which could get a warm bath ready in fifteen 
minutes. Not quite so modern as Alex's fancy bathroom, but good enough for 
the hygienic needs of Yvonne and the four girls, myself included. 

The girls were very good-looking and friendly. There was a tall Hungarian 
girl, Ilona, who was introduced to customers as Mademoiselle Carmen from 
Madrid. She didn't know a word of Spanish of course. Another one was a 
Viennese like myself; she went under the name of Mademoiselle Jeanette from 
Paris. Her real name was Gusti. The third was from Prague and spoke with a 
slight Bohemian accent; that's why Madame insisted on calling her Tatyana 
from Moscow. I never found out what her actual name was because all the 
girls called her Tanya, which is short for Tatyana. 

I was glad that the girls volunteered to help me unpack my suitcases. All my 
dresses had to be given to the maids to be ironed. Madame had a 24-hour maid 
service. Three maids working an eight-hour shift each. 

"You won't need any of your elegant dresses during working hours," said 
Tanya. "We all wear what we have on now, a gauzy gown that covers us 
completely, but is transparent and lets the customer see everything. You can 
choose your color. What would you like...?" 

"Do you have anything in blue...?" 

"Sure, let me get one for your size...." 

" After a few minutes she was back with a lovely light-blue gown that was in 
reality a large veil with sleeves. Under it we wore equally transparent 
chemises and short panties. It was good to notice that the premises were 
nicely heated, because we might as well have been naked; those gowns were 
make-believe. 

The girls kissed and hugged me so that I soon guessed they didn't mind a lot 
of lesbian pleasures. I think Tanya was almost completely lesbian, although 
no customer ever complained of any lack of passion in her. They all stood 
around me when I changed into my "work-clothes" and insisted on touching me 
all over my body when I stood naked for a while. Gusti caressed my slit and 
exclaimed: 

"Gee, Pepi, you're still like a virgin...." 

I laughed at her and said: 

"No such thing, but if you want to tell the customers that I'm still 
innocent, I could ask for a higher price...." 

The girls, all at once, talked at the same time. "Now be careful, Pepi! 
Never ask for money, that's a house rule! The men pay without being asked. 
And never name a price. If a man should ever ask what he owes you, say 
simply that it's entirely up to him. That way you often get far more than 
what you'd have asked for...." 

"Well...." I said, doubtfully, "what do they usually give a girl here...?" 

Tanya spoke up: 

"That depends sometimes on the various tastes of the customer...." 

"Yes...." Ilona chimed in, "take this handsome officer from Budapest, a 
landsman of mine, who comes at least once every month. He's a real man ... 
he wants to fuck you as often as possible ... he often does it five or six 
times in a few hours...." 

Gusti interrupted her: 

"But you should see his instrument ... eight inches long and over two inches 
thick...." 

"How d'you know it so exactly...?" I asked. The girls broke into laughter. 

"We measured it, that's how! He's so proud of his tool that he invited us to 
bring a tape measure and see for ourselves . . 

"But that's like the cock of a horse...." I said. 

"Yes, and he fucks like a stallion...." exclaimed the girls. 

Gusti seemed to be the one who preferred a regular lay to all substitutes. I 
noticed that Tanya mentioned more the customers who loved to eat her pussy. 

"Okay girls...." I said at last. "Now what does this Hungarian officer 
pay...?" 

"Arpad always gives me at least one hundred guilders for a whole night...." 
Gusti said. 

"What! For regular fucking? No perversions at all...?" 

"No, not Arpad...." said Gusti. "I told you he's a real man. He loves to 
push into a woman all the time. He's very strong and healthy. He's only 
twenty-two! Quite broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. And full of 
muscles! You should see his arms and thighs ... ah...!" 

"Stop it, Gusti" I said, "you get me all hot and bothered. I hope I'll meet 
him soon...." 

"Why not? He hasn't been here for almost three weeks. He might be in any 
evening now...." 

The door opened and Madame Yvonne came in. 

"Well girls, let me take a look at you ... Ah, Pepi, you look lovely. That 
blue goes well with your blonde hair and your blue eyes...." She came over 
and groped at me all over. I suspected that she wasn't antagonistic to 
lesbian pleasures herself. A madame seldom is. Most whores love to play with 
each other, especially when there are no males around. 

"Oh, we'll have to give you a nice French name ... What about Josette...?" 

"Oh please, Madame, let me keep my own name, Pepi! The girls have all 
outlandish names anyway. The Viennese Pepi makes a good contrast ... and ... 
I am Pepi ... my name suits my personality very well...." 

Yvonne thought for a minute, then she said: 

"All right! It might be a good idea. You're as Viennese as they come. I 
ought to know. And there are quite a few customers who might like that...." 

So I was Pepi among Carmen, Jeanette and Tatyana. Yvonne warned me to get 
used to calling the girls by their assumed names. 

"Be careful not to slip up in front of the customers," she said, "they try 
to keep up an illusion and we help them. You can trust me, I know my 
business. Mademoiselle Jeanette goes over much better than a simple Gusti. 
But in your case we can make an exception ... we'll see how it works. And 
now girls, let's go to the reception room. Customers might show up very 
soon." 

The reception room turned out to be a very large hall, hung with tapestries 
and pictures of classic nudes, male and female. Sofas were lined up against 
all four walls and a few tables and stuffed chairs were placed all over the 
room at convenient intervals so as to leave enough space for walking around 
and serving drinks and snacks, Yvonne served regular meals at demand. A good 
chef took care of orders and two elderly waiters brought food and drinks, 
mostly wine and beer. 

In the corner opposite the entrance was an upright piano on which a 
good-looking young man played soft music. Gusti, or rather Jeanette, 
whispered to me that the handsome pianist was taboo for us girls. 

"He takes care of Madame," she said. "Poor guy, she's making him give it to 
her almost every night...." 

"So what...?" I said. "He's still young ...!" 

"Even a young guy can get tired of shooting off his gun half a dozen times, 
night after night after night...." 

"What...?" I nearly yelled. "That old cow has to get fucked six times every 
night...?" 

"Shsh! Not so loud! She will hear you...!" Jeanette looked around, but 
Yvonne was talking to the young pianist at the moment. "Not only does she 
make that nice fellow ride her regularly, but often she asks one of us to 
assist...." 

"Well...." I said, "in that way a girl might get him between her legs, 
too...." 

"Fat chance...." sighed Jeanette, "she doesn't even let him look at us. She 
only wants a girl to assist by sucking her teats...." 

I grew angry. "Sucking her teats...? For nothing...? I was hired here for 
outside customers, but not to suck Madame's teats, or kiss her ass...." 

Jeanette looked around anxiously. 

"Don't let's talk about it now, Pepi. Anyway, she mostly asks Tatyana to 
assist at those sessions. She doesn't mind. I believe she prefers women to 
men anyway...." 

So I was right, I thought. Suddenly the bell rang outside. 

Yvonne joined us and clapped her hands. "Customers arrive. Distribute 
yourselves in nice postures, girls ... you, Pepi, recline here on the sofa 
in front. People have to see we have a new girl...." 

The door opened and two elderly men came in, both with greyish hair and 
solemnly dressed in black. 

"Oh God...." Carmen sighed, "here goes our lesbian act again...!" 

Madame Yvonne welcomed the guests with her phony French accent and told one 
of the waiters to bring an ice-bucket with a magnum of champagne. I saw how 
she pointed with her chin in my direction while talking to the men. 
Evidently she told them of "the new girl." Carmen's remark proved correct. 
The two men, "high government officials," Madame said, asked for Tatyana and 
myself. We accompanied them to another room, much smaller than the reception 
hall, but nicely furnished with soft couches and an open bed. A waiter 
brought in the glasses for Tatyana and myself. Since we were to be the 
"performers" we merely took a small sip from our glasses. 

The two oldsters sat down on one of the couches next to each other. 

"All right, you may begin...." said one who was addressed by Tatyana as 
'General." 

She whispered to me: 

"You'll have to play it by ear, so to speak. We get into bed and you try to 
do to me what Pm going to do to you. Use your experience and imagination ... 
the wilder you carry on, the better ... act, if necessary ... we may each 
get one hundred guilders...." 

That's all that was necessary for me to know. We lay down on the bed and I 
sensed that Tatyana was not going to act much. She kissed me full on my lips 
and let me feel her tongue, but only for a second. Then she turned around 
and got ready for a "sixty-nine," a mutual pussy-eating. Her tongue got me 
really in the mood and I did my best to reciprocate. We actually came at the 
same time, and Tatyana's loud moan reminded me that I had to do likewise. 

When I looked over to our two guests, I saw they were busy massaging their 
medium-sized pricks while their eyes were glued to our performance. They 
were strictly "voyeurs," onlookers. 

"Now we've got to do some pussy-rubbing...." whispered Tatyana. She 
straddled me like a man and I felt her stiff clitoris against my slit. After 
a while she managed to touch my clitoris with hers and when she saw that I 
got a little excited she began to suck my nipples. She really did a good job 
and I was startled to discover that I was moaning loudly. Again we came 
almost simultaneously and fell backward on the bed. 

Our two customers must have discharged too, because each was busy cleaning 
his prick with a handkerchief. Soon they called us over and poured some more 
champagne in our glasses. This time we drank greedily because we were 
thirsty. I wondered whether we would get any customers who might want to 
watch me doing it with a man, like that nice pianist, for example. 

Tatyana asked the men whether they'd like to eat something, but they 
declined and got up, ready to leave. The "General" pressed something into 
Tatyana's hand who thanked him with a deep curtsy. I followed her example 
which seemed to please both of them. They didn't say a word and merely 
nodded and left. 

Tatyana held two hundred-guilder bills in her hand and gave me one. 

"Not bad, eh, Pepi...?" she asked. 

"No, not bad at all ... but when, for God's sake, can we eat something...?" 

"You hungry...?" she asked quite astonished. "Madame permits us to eat at 
any time when we don't have a customer. Only when someone is waiting for us, 
we can't afford to dawdle. I'll have the waiter bring you something. What 
would you like...?" 

"Oh just a bite, so I can be ready for another customer, who'll come soon 
... I hope...!" Tatyana laughed and went back to the reception hall. I 
followed her because a maid had come in to put new linen on the bed where we 
had given our lesbian performance. I found out that food was served to us 
only in that big room and I sat down at one of the tables where one of the 
waiters had put a nice portion of cold roast and some salad. I ate with a 
good appetite. I even got a small glass of beer when I asked for it. 

So far, so good, I thought. One hundred guilders for a mere performance 
without being touched by a customer was not a bad beginning. I didn't 
dislike doing it with a woman but, unfortunately, it stimulated my desire 
for getting a good stiff prick into me. 

I had just finished eating and wanted to go to the bathroom to rinse my 
mouth and wash up when the bell rang again. I didn't wait to see who it was, 
but left through one of the side doors. When I came back after a few minutes 
I saw all three girls and Yvonne sitting around a young man in the 
resplendent uniform of a Hungarian hussar officer with all red and gold 
piping around the shoulders. 

I guessed correctly: it was Arpad, Gusti's idol. When he saw me he stood up 
and bowed. Lady or whore, a Hungarian officer will always treat her with 
great courtesy. He seemed delighted to see me. He kissed my hand near my 
wrist and I felt a little tickle from the tip of his tongue. Very promising, 
I thought. 

"That is Mademoiselle Pepi," Yvonne introduced me. "Our new hostess!" 

Mademoiselle Pepi sounded silly to me, but it didn't seem to bother Arpad, 
nor did it seem to bother the other girls that he neglected them and pulled 
me down on one of the sofas and asked the pianist to play some nice music. 

"And where did you come from, little goddess...?" he asked me, trying to 
take in my face, bosom and legs at one glance. 

"I joined Madame's household because I heard she has such handsome guests 
like you...." I said, while looking him squarely in the face. 

He kissed my hands, one after another, and protested: 

"But no! This is not in order. It is the man who must pay compliments to the 
lady ... it is you who are very beautiful ... may I kiss your lips...?" 

Without saying anything I approached my lips close to his. He embraced me 
passionately and closed his mouth over mine, probing with his tongue in all 
directions. My tongue soon met his and did it full justice. His face was 
flushed which suited his handsome features. He was one of the handsomest 
devils I'd ever met. And the uniform only emphasized his athletic figure. 

The tight pants also emphasized his terrific hard-on. 

Madame Yvonne had approached discreetly and said: 

"Baron, would you like Mademoiselle Pepi to invite you to another room...?" 

Arpad was visibly embarrassed. 

"Oh Madame, I'm sorry ... I forgot myself. I thought I was already in a 
private room with this divine creature ... I must congratulate you on this 
acquisition ... yes, I'd very much like to be alone with her...." 

I thought the room where Tatyana and I had done our lesbian act would serve 
the purpose again. Yvonne seemed to agree. 

Arpad and I had hardly closed the door behind us when he embraced me again 
and rubbed his stiff member against my belly. I thought it best to leave it 
up to him when he wanted me to undress, but I needn't: have worried about 
being so discreet, because he tried to undress me with his own hands. 

"Wait...." I cried, "you'd better let me do it." 

He at once released me and began to get out of his uniform. By the time I 
had taken off my flimsy garments Arpad was completely nude. He looked like a 
combination of Hercules and Apollo. The ripple of his mighty thigh muscles 
made me shudder in anticipation of feeling their touch. But most promising 
of all was his central muscle that raised its rosy head and was twitching 
with impatience. 

I lost my self-control and pulled him after me onto the freshly made bed. 
Arpad, too, couldn't wait and, without any further preliminaries, buried his 
tremendous dick in my already moist hole and lay still for a minute, trying 
to reach my nipples with his lips and letting his tongue play over them so 
that I began to let my fanny dance up and down. I just couldn't wait any 
longer. Nor could Arpad. His hands covered my breasts while his lips went 
over my eyes, cheeks, mouth and his prick moved in me with a wildness I had 
never experienced with a man before. 

I came almost immediately, but Arpad went on unperturbed and after a few 
minutes I came again. His breath began to hiss but he didn't utter any 
words. He let his prick speak for itself, but I started to mumble all sorts 
of incoherent words, forced out of me by this violent pleasure. 

"Ah, Arpad ... you're the only real man I've ever had ... fuck me ... fuck 
me ... you must always fuck me ... you're driving me crazy ... I can't stand 
it any more ... ah ... Arpad ... I'm coming again...." 

He was still moving in me like one obsessed and I felt I was going out of my 
mind with sheer bliss. One sobering thought crossed my mind suddenly: "And 
for this I'm going to get paid!" It suddenly seemed unfair to me that he 
should pay me instead of the other way around.... 

Suddenly Arpad's movements became faster, if that was still possible. And 
now I heard him stammer: 

"I love you ... Pepi ... you feel wonderful ... ah ... your sweet little 
hole is what a man like me needs every day ... I love you ... I love you ... 
ah ... now ... now ... I'm coming ... ah...." 

The sluice-gates of his seminal tract opened and released a veritable flood 
into my cunt. At the same time he yelled with pleasure so that everybody 
outside must have heard him. 

(They did. And the girls told me later that Arpad was the only man they knew 
who always yelled when he came. It was sometimes embarrassing when a 
customer had to be told that it was a yell of pleasure and not of pain.) 

Since I had nearly fainted after coming the sixth time, Arpad's yell sounded 
as if it was coming from a distance. It seemed quite natural that a male who 
could fuck a woman like me into unconsciousness should yell that way when he 
discharged. 

A small voice in me spoke up and warned me: Watch out, Pepi, this is a man 
who could be dangerous for you! He could fuck all your ambition and 
will-power out of you and where would your career be? 

But at the moment I merely enjoyed the heaviness of Arpad's limbs on my 
body. I wanted him to lie on me forever. A kiss on my shoulder indicated to 
me that my lover wanted my attention. I opened my eyes and saw him smile. 

"How d'you feel, Pepi...?" 

"I wish we could stay like this for always...." 

He moved his still rigid prick in me and murmured : 

"That's exactly how I feel myself...." 

I felt him begin to move in me, first quite slowly, but soon speeding up. I 
couldn't believe that he was going to carry on like that, but he did. 

"You're the best woman I've ever had...." 

I heard him say. 

"Say that again, Arpad...." I begged. 

"I'll do better than that ... I'll prove it by action ... ah ... how I love 
to fuck you, Pepi ... my prick has never felt so good in any other cunt ... 
I've been in plenty ... but you beat them all ... you feel like silk and 
velvet ... you drive me nuts ... ah ... I want to go on like this all night. 
. 

I could hardly believe what I felt. I kept coming every two minutes. I 
actually was afraid I'd faint, but Arpad couldn't control himself and, 
letting out a wild roar, he came again and collapsed on me. 

We both must have fallen asleep, because when I came to I noticed he had 
dozed off with his head lying on my bosom. I stroked his blond curly hair 
and with a big sigh he opened his eyes and smiled at once when he saw me. 

"Let's lie like this for a while...." he begged like a little boy. 

"Sure, Arpad ... are you sleepy...?" 

"Not really ... how about you...?" 

"I don't know ... all this seems unreal to me...." 

"Unreal...? Am I not real enough for you...?" 

He sounded disappointed. 

"You don't understand, Arpad. The fact that you are real seems unreal to me 
... to make it quite clear ... I ... I...." 

I quickly shut my mouth. At the last moment I realized I was about to say "I 
love you...." That would have been the end of my career. Arpad might have 
been sobered by it and finished our intimacy at once. I stammered around and 
said, instead: 

"I ... I ... just never had a man like you! All others seem like little 
boys, or old women...." 

It was the truth too. Arpad suddenly kissed my lips with great passion. 

"I believe you, Pepi. A few women have told me that before, even when I was 
sixteen. I started very early ... I first fucked the governess of my younger 
sister. She was a French girl, oh, about thirty, I guess, but very 
attractive. I was only fourteen, but I wanted to fuck every female I laid my 
eyes on ... and I did ... after that governess initiated me ... I fucked 
almost every night for a whole year...." I listened with great interest to 
his story; here was a man, a Hungarian baron, not a boy from Ottakring like 
my brother Franz who learned to fuck when he was only nine. But still, to 
start at the age of fourteen was quite a feat for a boy of rich and noble 
people. I told Arpad what I thought. 

He laughed and said: 

"We Hungarians are a sensual race! I said I had my first real woman when I 
was fourteen ... I mean I went into her as it should be. But I rubbed my 
prick on girls several years before that ... once my father caught me in the 
act and he nearly broke his riding crop on my fanny...." 

"Who was the girl...?" 

"The young daughter of one of our farmers ... my father owned a large estate 
of many thousand acres ... and dozens of peasants worked for him ... to some 
he had leased the land ... others worked in his employ ... well, that girl 
was only nine ... a mere child ... but she didn't protest when I lay on top 
of her and rubbed my prick on her belly ... she seemed to like it ... we 
were doing it behind a stack of hay and my father was just riding by ... 
well, I got it. I couldn't sit for a week. But it didn't keep me from trying 
again after a while. Only I made sure that nobody could see us. So you 
understand, I am a very passionate man ... it's my nature. And you, Pepi, 
you're a very passionate woman. I can feel it ... when did you start to make 
love...?" 

I told Arpad of my precocious childhood, but I didn't feel like telling him 
of having it done with my brother and later with my father. My description 
of Father Mayer's method of hearing confession made him laugh heartily. He 
guided my hand to his aroused prick and said: "Since you are confessing to 
me, now, I should act like Father Mayer ... how would you like that...? " 

He didn't wait for my answer but spread my legs apart and I was all ready to 
receive his big club in my moist hole. Suddenly he changed his mind and 
reversed his position, seeking my clitoris with his mouth while his tool was 
knocking on my cheek. I put it dutifully in my mouth which was quite an 
undertaking. My mouth should have been twice as large as it was. As a 
consequence my lips enclosed the ever-swelling prick very tightly and a loud 
moan from Arpad proved that he enjoyed this position. His tongue got to 
working on my clitoris and went deeper into my grotto, alternating from one 
to the other. It aroused me so strongly that I had to be careful not to 
close my teeth around his prick which was moving in and out of my mouth. 

In spite of getting an immense pleasure from this sixty-nine position, I 
hoped he would come very soon, because my mouth began to hurt. I'd never 
believed I was able to open it that wide. I reverted to a little trick to 
make him discharge. I got hold of his tool with my hand and prevented it 
from plunging into my mouth more than a few inches and let my tongue play on 
the glans which was the size of a large egg. Arpad's tongue had made me 
explode my juices three times and when he felt how I licked his glans his 
tongue redoubled its activity in my cunt. It felt like having a prick in 
there and I trembled with every muscle and nerve in my body. My own tongue 
worked feverishly now and suddenly a violent twitching of the fleshy stick 
announced the arrival of the discharge. A river of semen shot into my throat 
and I had to swallow immediately to take care of that enormous quantity. It 
was the fresh, youthful semen of a young athlete and I had not the slightest 
aversion to imbibing it. 

Up to that moment I'd always swallowed a man's seminal fluid, let's say, out 
of courtesy to the customer. It was Zenzi, the young streetwalker who had 
initiated me into the business when I was only thirteen, who had told me 
that a man might feel offended when he sees the women spitting out his 
semen. 

"Never mind if it doesn't taste like whipped cream...." she had said. "You 
must never show that you feel any disgust, even if you feel it...." 

Throughout the years I'd come to know that the younger a man is the less 
unpleasant his semen tastes. That also pertains to the smell. In that 
respect a man's secretion is-at least to me-more acceptable than a woman's. 

Having tasted the genital fluids of many thousands of men and I might say, 
hundreds of women, I came to the conclusion that both the taste and odor 
vary greatly with age and also with the difference of race. The semen of 
Italians and Spaniards, not to speak of Turks and Arabians, smells far more 
acrid than that of northern men like Swedes or Norwegians. But the seminal 
odor of virile young men of Western and Central Europe has really an 
agreeable, almost exhilarating smell. 

Steffi told me she had learned from her doctor friend that the acrid smell 
of semen has a lot to do with emotional excitement, while purely physical 
exercise like dancing and gymnastics makes it smell more aromatic. 

Arpad's semen was exactly like that, aromatic though slightly pungent. Of 
course, after several lays the semen tastes and smells less pleasant; it 
becomes stale. 

It was quite a relief to feel Arpad's tool go slack in my mouth. I was glad 
he didn't invite any conversation because my jaw muscles hurt so much that I 
wouldn't have been able to talk immediately. His head was lying on my mound 
and I felt how his tongue was licking up every trace of moisture in and 
around my slit. He went about it so thoroughly that I had to smile. For a 
sensual fellow like Arpad this sort of diet seemed to be a gourmet's treat. 

At last, he turned around and kissed me so that I could feel the taste of my 
own secretions. On the lips of Arpad it tasted good. He got up and stretched 
his tall figure and gave me a big smile: 

"You know," he said, "I've never felt so satisfied before, at least not in 
this place...." 

"Be careful," I said, "the other girls will scratch my eyes out if they hear 
you...." 

His face became serious and he frowned. 

"I quite forgot about the other girls ... as a matter-of-fact, I forgot 
about every other girl in the world . . 

"Oh, come on, Arpad ... I'm not that good...." 

"Yes you are! At least as far as I'm concerned. Do you think Madame Yvonne 
would give you a short vacation...?" 

"My God...." I exclaimed, "how could I think of asking for a vacation now 
... today has been my first day here ... it will take some time for me to 
get used to the place and the people...." 

Arpad sat down next to me and played with my breasts. His hands were both 
firm and tender. 

"Perhaps you won't have to get used to this place at all...." 

"What exactly do you mean by that?" 

"I mean you could come with me to Hungary and be my guest for a few months 
... wouldn't you like that...?" 

Watch out, Pepi, a small voice in me spoke up. This is the great temptation 
of which Steffi had always warned me. The same temptation she had to 
overcome when she was about to fall in love with Fritz, the tall blond 
student. 

I saw that Arpad was bewildered by my silence and I quickly said: 

"Naturally, I'd love to come with you as your guest ... but ... you must 
give me a little time to think things over...." 

"What's there to think over...?" His voice sounded almost irritated. "You 
simply tell Madame Yvonne that I invited you, or better still, I'm going to 
tell her myself ... So what's the problem...?" 

The problem was that I couldn't afford to acquaint Arpad with the problem of 
a young and upcoming whore who wanted to become an expensive demimondaine as 
long as she was still in her early twenties. I had to say something, though, 
to make him see that every madam who treats her girls well deserves a little 
loyalty, too. 

"It's like this, Arpad," I said, stroking his powerful thigh, "Madame Yvonne 
engaged me because she was one girl short. Did you know the girl that used 
to be here until last year...?" 

"Oh, you mean Anna who married that young devil, the Count Orsano...?" 

"So you know all about it...." 

"How come you know about it...?" 

"I was told about it only last night ... Arpad grinned now. 

"And you'd like to do the same thing...? Marry a count...?" 

I felt I had to be careful. 

"I don't want to marry at all. Not even a baron from Hungary . . 

He guffawed and kissed me. 

"Believe it or not, I'd ask you to marry me right now if my late father 
hadn't complicated my life for the next few years...." 

"How...? Or would you rather not talk about it...?" 

"Hell! Everybody in Hungary knows about it. My old man knew I have an 
excitable prick and wasn't to be trusted with much money even when I became 
of age. So he decreed in his will that most of the money that he left was to 
be tied up until I was thirty ... that's eight more years...!" 

"Thirty...? Why, that's quite a long time...!" 

"Yes, the most beautiful years a man can have. But father believed that I'll 
have learned some self-discipline by that time. As if a thirty-year-old man 
couldn't be pussy-crazy like a twenty-year-old...." 

"But ... but you've got to be able to live decently until then...." I probed 
discreetly. 

"Oh, I've got enough money to tide me over until I inherit my father's 
millions ... why, are you afraid I couldn't afford you as my guest for some 
time...?" 

"No, no, it's not that...." I said quickly. "I was thinking of you, not of 
myself...." Which was not quite untrue. 

Arpad slapped my fanny and gave it a little pinch. 

"Don't worry your pretty head off over me. I'm quite all right. Now ... what 
do we do about your coming with me to Hungary...?" 

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Arpad. I'd like to talk with Madame Yvonne 
myself before you mention anything to her. She might prefer to hear the news 
from me or she might think I was just hiding behind you...." 

"That sounds reasonable...." said Arpad and began to put on his undershorts. 
He seemed to know this place better than I did because he opened a chest of 
drawers and took out an elegant dressing gown of pure silk. He laughed when 
he noticed my astonishment. 

"That proves that you are new here! There's a whole stack of nice robes for 
the use of customers here. I don't want to put on the tight uniform for a 
while...." 

He looked nice and comfortable in the dark blue robe that was big enough for 
his athletic figure. I too got back into my chemise and gown and bound my 
hair up in a shawl I found in one of the drawers. It looked like a turban, 
Arpad said. Since I was to be with him for the night, I didn't want to get 
my hair up with the help of a dozen bobby pins. 

"Why don't you talk to Madame Yvonne right now...?" Arpad said. "I'm going 
to have a little snack. Shall I order something for you, too? I hope you'll 
join me, soon...." 

"Why don't you have it served right here...? They can put up a small table 
next to the couch over there. I'd like to be alone with you...." 

He laughed and chucked me under the chin. "Are you afraid that one of the 
other girls is going to take me away from you...?" 

I didn't like that remark. He was very nice and the best fucker I'd ever 
been to bed with, but his youth began to assert itself. Of course, I'd made 
a mistake by letting him see what a good number he was and how crazy he 
could drive me with his big tool working in me like the piston of a 
locomotive. Let a man see you're hung up on him, Steffi always said, and he 
can do with you what he wants. 

"You forget," I replied in a light tone, "that no girl has a monopoly on any 
customer, but that a customer has the right to monopolize any girl he 
prefers. So it's entirely up to you, and you'd better make up your mind, 
lover!" He looked at me, surprised. 

Before he could say anything I went to the door and said: 

"I'll send a waiter in to you so you can give him your order...!" And I 
slipped out. 

The heavily curtained door was almost soundproof. That's why the tinkle of 
the piano had not quite penetrated to the boudoir where Arpad and I were 
amusing ourselves. Now I saw three couples dancing a waltz while Madame 
stood next to her darling, the pianist, and was watching the three guests 
waltzing around with the girls. When she saw me she beckoned me to follow 
her to a cabinet through a small door next to the piano. 

"First let me send a waiter in to Arpad," I said. He's hungry and thirsty. 
He also wants to order something for me ... but I'd like to talk to you 
anyhow." 

She gave me a searching look and then told one of the waiters to get his 
order from Arpad. She lifted the curtain in front of the cabinet and made me 
enter first. The light was a dim pink. 

"This is our conference room," Yvonne said dryly and sat down, asking me to 
do the same. "Now, what gives, Pepi...? I can see you are preoccupied...." 

I thought it best to tell her of Arpad's invitation without adding comment. 
She listened, watching my facial expressions all the time. At last she 
spoke: 

"You didn't tell me what you said to Arpad...." 

"I thought you could take it for granted I said that I couldn't do such a 
thing to you ... that this was my first day here ... and that you'd be 
without a fourth girl...." 

I couldn't quite make out her face because the light was too dim. She came 
over to where I sat and said: 

"Move over, Pepi, I want to sit beside you . . 

I did. She plumped her heavy figure on the couch next to me and put her be 
ringed hand on my shoulder. 

"I want you to know that I'm not a monster, Pepi. You don't have to worry 
about me not having a fourth girl, in case you leave, although I appreciate 
your thoughtfulness. I know that Arpad is an extremely good lay and a very 
handsome young man. Many a girl would lose her head over him, even women of 
my age! All I want to tell you now is that a great demimondaine can't afford 
to be in love with the man whose mistress she is. She must keep a cool head, 
all of the time. But you'd better go back to Arpad and eat your snack. He 
wants to spend the night with you as I can see now. I make it a rule never 
to ask a customer, at least not one like Arpad, how long he wants to stay. 
It's better that way, because a man feels free to change his mind several 
times during the evening...." 

She kissed me on the cheek with a warmth that wasn't exactly maternal. Oh 
boy, I thought, having a lesbian bout with her might be the price I'd have 
to pay for getting her consent to go with Arpad to Hungary. But I was 
willing to do it. What was far more important to me was to find out whether 
I should let my pussy drive me in one direction while my brain began to 
suggest more and more that I should think of my career. 

I returned her kiss, with less passion of course, and went to join Arpad. He 
was eating some cold roast beef like a hungry wolf. 

"Love gives you an appetite ... he ex claimed when I entered the boudoir. A 
bucket with two champagne bottles stood on a chair next to the table. He was 
sitting on the couch and patted the place next to him, inviting me to sit 
there. 

"You'd better eat your portion, Pepi, or I'll clean up everything. And let's 
drink a toast to our trip to Hungary...." 

We clinked glasses and I emptied the whole content. Arpad refilled my glass. 

"What about downing this one too...?" 

"No," I said. "I was thirsty, but now I'm all right. But I want to eat. This 
looks like good roast beef...." 

"Yes, and it doesn't merely look it! And Madame always has some good 
pumpernickel to go with it ... wait until you taste our Hungarian bread! Our 
peasant women bake it in a communal oven ... it's delicious...! 
Incidentally, did you have a chance to tell Madame Yvonne about our 
Hungarian trip...?" 

"Yes...." 

"Well...? What did she say...?" 

I took my time to chew the morsel I had in my mouth and then washed it down 
with some more champagne. I made up my mind to let Arpad dangle a little 
concerning that invitation. I knew now that he was a fantastic lay, but I 
also knew that I had to keep the upper hand. Not only with him, but with any 
male I was to deal with in the future. 

"It's like this...." I began, taking my time. "Madame, naturally, wasn't 
exactly delighted when I told her you want me to spend some time with you 
away from here. After all, she is a business woman . . 

"But she mustn't show it too much . . 

"Who says she does? I was merely reminding you of the fact. And besides, she 
would like to discuss the whole thing with me first. You realize that I do 
have to agree to that...." Arpad had had a little too much of the champagne. 
His voice rose: 

"Couldn't you have told her that you love me...? And that...." 

My expression stopped him short. Tipsy as he was, he could see that I was 
serious. I looked straight in his eyes. 

"Just a minute, Arpad ... how do you know that I love you...? Would you tell 
Madame Yvonne that you have fallen in love with me, for instance...? You 
know that woman has been around...." 

That made him sit up. 

"Well ... but ... but you do love me don't you...?" 

"What gives you the right to think so...?" 

"But when we were in bed together...." 

"So what...? Didn't you repeat like a madman 'I love you, I love you' about 
twenty times...? And when? When you were in my cunt! How would you like me 
to take you up on it...?" 

His face was a study. I felt sorry for him, because he was very young and 
his success with women had made him overconfident. And now a young whore had 
to tell him the facts of life. He reached for my hand. 

"You mean ... you don't love me...?" 

"I didn't say that, did I? I really don't know. Suppose I did, would that 
change anything between us...?" 

He drained his glass and again poured it full to the brim. 

"I told you why I can't marry you...." he said, almost plaintively. 

"Why the hell should you believe I want to marry you? Or anybody for that 
matter? And just because that Italian count happened to marry my 
predecessor, does that mean that aristocrats are in the habit of marrying 
whores out of a brothel...?" 

It pained him to hear me talk like that, but I knew I had to make the 
situation quite clear to him. Perhaps I was a little too sharp with my 
words, but it did me good to feel that I had not fallen under his influence. 
I knew deep down that I had been far too careless about letting him impress 
me with his incredible potency and personal charm. He had stirred up my guts 
so much that I forgot to use my wits. When a woman feels she could easily 
become the sexual slave of a man, she wants to get back at him. The war 
between the sexes is no joke. It exists and girls like me must be especially 
careful not to forget it. On the other hand, one has to know how much one 
can afford to hurt a man's vanity without losing him. I thought I had shown 
to Arpad that I had a mind of my own, no matter how often I gave him my 
pussy. 

He shook the robe off his shoulders so that I could see his muscular torso. 

"It's getting warm," he said. "Why don't you do like me ... make yourself 
more comfortable...?" 

He tried to pull the gown off my shoulders and kissed me on the neck. 

"It's no good arguing so seriously," he said, "let's have a good time. We 
don't have to worry about love and all that ... do we...?" 

"I wasn't, but you were...." I couldn't help reminding him. "Why don't you 
let me order some more champagne ... I'm thirsty myself," I said. 

"That's the best idea you ever had ... giggled Arpad. He was pretty high by 
now. 

Now that he was getting drunk, the young boy in him came out. He began to 
act like an exuberant fifteen year old. How amazing to get insight into 
one's own delusive thinking. If a well-built youngster with an enormous 
prick gives us a good going over, we are apt to think of him as a man. He's 
not a man, but a youngster who's a potent male. That is all. 

As soon as I saw Arpad for what he was, my sexual interest cooled down and 
went back to normal, which means I still wanted to get laid by him, but I'd 
know I was getting screwed by a boy who still had a lot of growing up to do. 

When the champagne was brought in, I used that age-old trick of emptying my 
glass into the bucket when Arpad wasn't paying any attention and I saw to it 
that he was draining one glassful after another. After the fourth bottle was 
half empty, he could hardly keep his eyes open. And that's what I wanted. 

"Come on ... Pe ... Pepi...." he stammered, "let's go to bed...." 

"Sure...." I said, and helped him up, but he couldn't keep his balance and 
always fell back on the couch. It's just as well, I thought, and took a 
pillow from the bed and put it under his head. After two minutes he was 
blissfully snoring. 

I silently closed the door behind me and told the girls and the waiters 
outside that Arpad mustn't be disturbed. Yvonne gave me a questioning 
glance. 

"Yes," I told her. "He got soused and has to sleep it off now. Why don't we 
have our little talk if you can make the time now...?" 

She looked around the room to see whether everything was under control. 
Tatyana and Jeanette were in other rooms with customers. Carmen was playing 
cards with a very senile-looking old man. 

"That's a retired Imperial Councillor...." whispered Yvonne. "He can't have 
sex any more ... too old and impotent ... so he comes here 'to enjoy the 
atmosphere,' as he calls it. He pays like any regular customer and the girls 
like to keep him company in that harmless manner. You can be sure he'll give 
Carmen at least fifty guilders when he leaves...." 

Imperial Councillor! He reminded me of the old Hofrat, which was about the 
same rank on the Civil Service list. In a few years he too might wind up 
playing cards instead of tickling girls' buttocks with that ridiculous small 
ruler. It was touching to think that merely being in a whorehouse became a 
good substitute for real sex to old guys like that. 

Madame took me into the narrow corridor that ran around one length of the 
reception room. I hadn't seen it before. It was quite dark. The only light 
came through five or six circular openings in the wall. I looked through one 
and saw that it permitted the view of a bedroom where Tatyana was being laid 
by a middle-aged gent. I felt Madame's hand pulling me to the third 
peephole. Through it I could watch Jeanette and a man concentrating on a 
wild sixty-nine. When I wanted to ask Yvonne what this was all about, she 
put her hand over my mouth and pulled me along until she reached a hidden 
door on the other end of the corridor. 

We entered what seemed to be her private bedroom. It was covered with 
Persian rugs and looked altogether luxurious. In one corner stood a huge bed 
with an old-fashioned canopy as I'd seen in illustrations of gallant French 
novels. The bed was open and inviting, but Madame made me sit in a large 
armchair and chose one beside me. I couldn't control my curiosity any 
longer. 

"What's the meaning of all those peepholes...?" I asked. 

Yvonne laughed at my apparent naivete. "That's what they are: peepholes! You 
must have heard of voyeurs, I'm sure...?" 

"Voyeurs...?" I gasped. "But that's what our first customers were tonight. 
Those two men who watched Tatyana and myself doing a lesbian act...." 

"Don't use that word...." Yvonne sounded quite irritated. I soon found out 
why. 

"When two women make love to each other they don't have to be lesbians...." 
she explained. "Have you never felt pleasure with a woman...?" 

Aha! Now comes the great seduction scene, I thought. She's going to make me 
pay for accepting the invitation of Arpad by taking me to bed with her. 
After all, why not? She was not quite young and a little fat, but definitely 
not unappetizing. I was told she took a bath twice a day and used a lot of 
beauty aids. Her costly perfumes came from Paris and she knew how to use 
them discreetly. No, Yvonne was no cheap madam. The golden cross worn around 
the neck was the only error of taste she permitted herself. Otherwise she 
could behave like a real lady. 

I didn't mind pouring it on a little thick. "Doing it with a cultivated 
woman like you," I said as sweetly as I could, "would certainly be a great 
pleasure. Not to speak of your great experience...." 

I seemed to have gone too far. 

"Are you alluding to my age...?" she asked. "Not at all, Madame...!" 

"When we are among ourselves you don't have to call me Madame, except of 
course before the other girls." 

"Thank you ... Yvonne...." I said as tenderly as I could and got up. I bent 
over her and kissed her lightly on the lips. She pressed my head against her 
and the kiss became less light. She stood up, too. 

"You know, Pepi, you're the first girl I engaged without seeing her in the 
nude. Of course, it wasn't necessary to examine you ... I could see at once 
you had an excellent figure and I knew your skin was ideal...." 

She stopped herself, realizing she had said too much. That bastard Rudolf 
must have told her he had seen me in the buff that night in the separee. I 
wondered whether he'd also let her know that he'd taken advantage of the 
situation and given me a quick banging. 

"I'd love to let you see me the way I am...." I said in a sugary tone and 
began to strip down to nothing. Yvonne's breathing became immediately 
faster. She walked around me, taking her time to touch me at all places. Her 
voice sounded quite husky. 

"Ah ... like a goddess ... really ... your teats are like a virgin's ... and 
that flat belly ... ah ... what soft skin you have . . 

Her face became flushed and her hands were all over me, probing, kneading 
and pinching. At last, her fingers slipped down to my middle. She was very 
excited by now. 

"Ah, honey, your hole is quite moist ... you do react nicely ... why don't 
you undress me...?" 

I undid the buttons of her dress and went from one thing to another ... It 
took quite some time, because her groping hands were always in my way, but 
at last she was quite naked like myself. Before I could take a good look at 
her figure she had her arms around my middle and rubbed herself against me. 

"You feel good ... Pepi ... let's lie down on the bed...." 

She tried not to flop down with a thump, but to lower herself as gracefully 
as her plump body permitted. She didn't look bad at all. A Turk would have 
thought her quite desirable. Those Mohammedans love fat women. The fatter 
the better. But our young, nice piano-player wasn't a Turk and I wondered 
how much pleasure he got out of screwing Yvonne every time she dragged him 
to bed with her. 

"Hold still, honey...." she said now. "I'll be good to you ... just hold 
still and let me do all the work...!" 

She hadn't promised something she couldn't keep. I lay on my back with 
closed eyes while she got busy with her hands, fingers, legs, and toes, 
caressing and stimulating every part of me. It was as if she had many 
tentacles like an octopus. I still don't understand why she was so sensitive 
about calling lesbianism by its proper name, because she was a past master 
at the art of rousing and satisfying a woman's lust. Sappho, the ancient 
Greek poetess of the island of Lesbos, would have devoted several poems to 
her. What I liked especially about Yvonne's manner was that she had nothing 
masculine about her, either in her personal manners or the way she made love 
to me. I could as well have been a man she tried to please, the great 
difference being her great knowledge of a woman's erotic anatomy. 

Since she had forbidden me to move, I couldn't even reciprocate her 
caresses, but I made a calculated guess and tried anyhow. I somehow managed 
to introduce my fingers into her slit and felt a tremor going through her 
compact body, but she didn't protest. Encouraged by this, I slipped under 
her belly and began to let my tongue work on her large, prominent clitoris 
that reminded me of a small penis. That was perhaps the reason for my 
performance becoming more and more enthusiastic. By now Yvonne had silently 
agreed to our assuming a mutually pleasing sixty-nine position and both of 
us had the satisfaction of making the partner come several times. At last, 
with a deep sigh, she lay back on the large head-pillow and put my head on 
her shoulder. That was the only quasi-masculine gesture she permitted 
herself. But it could equally be interpreted as her motherly protectiveness. 
That motherliness became more and more apparent in her treatment of me, now 
and later. 

"It's a real pleasure to be in bed with you...." she said now. 

"I have to pay you the same compliment, Yvonne . . 

"Now, now ... you don't have to flatter me...." 

"You're right, Yvonne! I don't have to flatter you, because you must have 
been told the same thing by dozens of men and women who have seen more of 
the world than I have . . 

She liked that. Turning on her side and facing me, she said: 

"You and I have the same kind of background, if you want to call it that. 

I started out exactly like you and I don't think I've been a failure. I 
don't see why you can't do the same thing. I know you want to go with Arpad 
to his parental estate. We call him Arpad here, or rather that's how like 
likes to be called. But his real name is Ferry von Ofaley, but never call 
him Ferry. I don't know why he doesn't like it, it's such a nice 
abbreviation for Ferdinand! Arpad was an ancient Hungarian king, I believe, 
and our handsome lieutenant identifies with him. So Arpad it is...." 

"His family name is von Ofaley, you said...?" 

"Yes, d'you know the name...?" 

"I believe I saw it in the papers some time ago...." 

"That must have been last year, because his father died in the spring. He 
was prime minister of Hungary...." 

"What about the mother...?" 

"Oh, she died when he was still a little boy. He grew up among men and 
learned all sorts of things very early...." 

"Yes, he told me how he screwed girls when he was only fourteen or so, and 
how his father caught him and gave him a terrific beating...." 

"Old Ofaley should have remembered that the boy had caught him more than 
once with a maid at odd places in the old mansion. Arpad is a chip off the 
old block...." 

"Did you know his father...?" 

The question seemed to stir some unpleasant memory in Yvonne. She frowned 
for a while. Then she said: 

"Did I know him...? It was that old bastard who once got me pregnant and 
didn't want to pay when the child had to be given to foster parents. It was 
lucky for the poor little worm when it died after two months...." 

"So quickly...?" 

"Yes! Got the measles and wasn't properly treated ... but let's stop talking 
about it. Sorry it was me that mentioned it! Anyway, Arpad found an old 
business card of mine in his father's desk and that's how he found me. He's 
a steady customer...." 

"How long has he been coming here...?" 

"About two years, since he was twenty. But this is the first time he's 
invited one of my girls to accompany him home to the family place. It's a 
huge farm, or rather several farms rolled into one. They still live like 
feudal lords there in the Hungarian plains. Huge cornfields and thousands of 
cattle! When Arpad is thirty he'll be a millionaire. But don't marry him 
even if he goes down on his knees and begs you...!" 

"And why not...? Is there something wrong with him?" 

Yvonne lifted her head and supported it with her hand. 

"Why do you ask that...? Did he tell you something?" 

Now my interest was thoroughly roused. 

"No ... he didn't say anything, but...." 

I tried to make a stab in the dark. 

"... when he gets drunk he changes somehow ... I can't quite put my finger 
on it...." Yvonne grabbed my chin and made me look at her. 

"Promise me you'll keep it to yourself. His mother died in a mental 
hospital. So did a younger brother of hers. There's been lunacy in her 
family for generations...." 

I was shocked. 

"Does ... does Arpad know about it...?" 

"His father may have told him, or he may have not. I don't know ... and now 
you know why I said you shouldn't marry him. And be damned careful not to 
let him get you pregnant ... you don't want a child that might be mentally 
sick...." 

The idea of becoming pregnant occurred to me very rarely in those days. We 
used our sponges and men used those fish-bladder condoms if we asked them 
to. But Steffi had promised me that her doctor friend would help me if it 
came to the worst. Discreet abortions were always possible for rich women. 
The family doctor arranged everything. It cost quite a bit of money though. 
And it was not without danger, even when performed by a regular doctor in a 
regular hospital or a legitimate private clinic. 

Yvonne suddenly got up and told me to do the same. 

"Put on your gown and things, because the time has come to show you our 
peepholes when they are used by customers. Don't make any noise, I'll lead 
you by the hand. And don't try to look through a hole that's occupied by 
somebody else. A man pays up to a hundred guilders to spend a few hours 
watching others fucking my girls, or lesbian acts . . 

"Ah, see? Now you used the word yourself...!" 

"To hell with it...!" Yvonne laughed at her slip of the tongue. "Let's go 
and do a little sightseeing now...." 

When my eyes had got used to the darkness of the narrow corridor, I could 
make out three men sitting in front of the first three peepholes. Each had 
his eyes glued to the pane covering the hole and at the same time was 
jacking off. I suppose Yvonne's cleaning women had to wash the floor and 
walls in that corridor every morning to remove ounces of dried semen. 

The men were so absorbed in the spectacle that they didn't notice Yvonne and 
myself sneaking by behind them. We stopped by two peepholes that were not in 
use at the moment. To my amazement I noticed our young pianist lying naked 
on Jeanette and fucking hell out of her. I turned to Yvonne who was looking 
through the hole next to me. She put her fingers warningly to her lips and 
then whispered close to my ear: 

"Yes, he's our show-fucker! Many customers like to watch a regular lay 
between a man and a woman. Usually there are enough customers here so that 
Ludwig can stay at the piano. Tonight there's only Arpad and he's asleep. 
The three men that are here are voyeurs ... so-Ludwig had to fill the gap. 
You must admit he's an experienced gap-filler ... that Jeanette is enjoying 
it too much ... look, you can see only the white of her eyes ... that little 
bitch...." 

I understood immediately. Yvonne was jealous. The handsome pianist was hers, 
but I thought it was her good business sense that let her use him in a 
pinch. He looked quite good in the nude. I wouldn't have thought he had such 
nicely developed muscles on his thick thighs. I got turned on by watching 
him doing it to Gusti-Jeanette. 

Suddenly I was shaken by a violent suspicion : did the room in which Arpad 
and I had enjoyed ourselves have peepholes, too? I didn't like the idea of 
being watched without knowing it. I had to ask Yvonne and didn't want to 
wait a minute longer. I put my lips close to her ear and told her to be 
quite frank with me about it. 

"No, you weren't watched...!" she whispered back. "Arpad pays enough for his 
privacy...." 

"But you said these voyeurs pay up to a hundred guilders...?" 

"And Arpad will leave around three hundred guilders here when he leaves 
tomorrow. That includes the money you're going to get...." Those figures 
didn't make any impression on me. All I heard was that Arpad would be 
leaving the next day. I had to come to a decision. I took Yvonne by the hand 
and pulled her from her seat. She understood I wanted to get out of that 
corridor with the peeping-holes and the masturbating customers. We left 
through the opposite door that led into the hall from which one could enter 
any other room on the floor. But one had to know where and how. There were a 
lot of secret doors that had no handles and could be opened only by pressing 
on certain parts of the wallpaper design. To the uninitiated they looked 
like part of the walls. 

Through one of those secret doors we regained Yvonne's bedroom. She sprayed 
some perfume behind her ears and refreshed me, too, with a few squirts of 
the atomizer. 

"What is it now...?" she asked. "Would you like to leave with Arpad 
tomorrow? You don't have to worry about my getting short. There are not too 
many customers around this time of the year. After New Year when the 
carnival season begins we'll be working overtime...." I did some quick 
thinking. 

"Yes, if you really don't mind, I'd love to go to Hungary with the boy. I've 
never been out of Vienna...." 

"What? Oh, then you definitely must go and have a good time ... but I want 
to give you a warning. Arpad likes to fuck all the time, it is true. But you 
don't know him from another side. That young buck is also a voyeur! Yes, 
don't look so surprised. It's not only the older guys who get a kick out of 
seeing others fuck. Healthy studs like Arpad get quite stimulated by 
watching others...." 

"I don't quite understand ... you mean he would make me watch, too?" 

"No, silly!" Yvonne laughed. "He will be watching you when others fuck 
you...." 

"What...!" 

"Yes! He's got lots of lusty males around his estates. Healthy farmer boys 
and girls and there's a lot of group-fucking going on during the grape 
harvest. Also at other times. Sex knows no season in those parts. Hungarians 
are like bulls and stallions. I know them, Pepi...." 

"I've never had one before Arpad. But he seems to be a good representative 
of the people there. Thanks, Yvonne, for being so good to me. I'll have no 
time to write a few lines to my friend Steffi. You've heard of her from 
Rudolf, I'm sure. You'd do me a favor to let her know, perhaps through 
Rudolf, that I'll be in Hungary for a few weeks...." 

"You can count on it, Pepi. And now you'd , better get back to your Arpad. 
He might wake up and lie there with a hard-on ... you wouldn't want the poor 
boy to jack off like these old guys before the peepholes...?" 

"You bet I wouldn't like him to use any hole except mine ... he can even 
peep in there if he wants to." 

Yvonne quickly put her finger under my gown and tickled my slit and then 
gave me a good slap on my buttocks before pushing me through another one of 
those hidden doors. 

I found myself in the carpeted boudoir where Arpad was snoring. I sat down 
on the bed and it squeaked a little. Arpad groaned, stretched and yawned and 
opened his eyes, blinking in spite of the soft light. 

"Hello, beauty...." he greeted me, sitting up and immediately falling back 
like a boy who doesn't like to get up in the morning. 

"You slept like a baby, Arpad...." 

He pointed down to a suspicious bulge under his nightshirt. 

"Do babies wake up like that, too...? Why don't you come over here and give 
me your breast...?" 

"Why don't you come over to me? It's nicer to be in a bed than on a couch . 
. 

He really got up, tore off his shirt and lay down by me in all his nude 
glory. After a few minutes I was just as nude and his hands, knees and 
thighs were rubbing against me on all sides. He turned me around like a 
doll, kissing me wherever his mouth could reach. At last, he encircled me 
with his legs and held me quietly. 

"You still owe me an answer, Pepi...." 

I felt his stiff prick twitching on my skin, but he didn't move. I wanted to 
avoid a long conversation and get laid instead. Arpad was the very type who 
was made for fucking, not for arguing. He was still too immature for clever 
repartee. His wonderful prick was his best argument and I wanted to give him 
plenty of chance to use it. 

"I'll give you the answer, Arpad. And it's this: I'll come with you tomorrow 
if you show me now that you really enjoy making love to me. I want a 
foretaste of the wonderful time we are going to have in Hungary...." 

He pressed his mouth on mine and probed with his tongue between my lips. It 
was strange how that boy could use his tongue and make it hard like a real 
prick. I was quite horny in no time and could hardly wait until he put his 
shaft to my slit. This time he took his time sliding it into me so that I 
pressed my hands against his ass to push him in quickly. 

And now that rascal stuck in me without moving so that I had to begin 
swinging my hips making his prick move. Suddenly, without any transition, he 
started to race back and forth in me like a piston. I came at once and felt 
his tempo increasing. The moisture in my hole seemed to stimulate him to a 
wild frenzy, as if he needed any stimulation. His face became flushed and 
his eyes larger and more luminous. The facial muscles were quite tense so 
that he really looked like a young boy. I felt again the well-known 
fascination come over me, but this time I could control it. 

"This is a marvelous stud," I said to myself, "a fucker par excellence! How 
I love that big, stiff, fleshy shaft of his working in me with this wild 
fury! Yes ... a stud ... a boy who's potent as hell ... ah ... how I love to 
feel him ... I love being fucked ... being fucked ... nothing more ... this 
time it's Arpad who's fucking ... ah ... it feels good ... and when he takes 
me to Hungary I'll let some strong young peasant fuck me ... and he may 
watch ... why not? ... Yvonne said so ... ah ... I'm coming every few 
minutes ... I wish he'd go on for ever .'. . that stud...." 

That was my method of not being carried away again and mistaking sheer lust 
for love. After all, what is love? All love comes from the body...! Even 
parents who fondle their babies delight in the physical touch ... sure, it's 
not sex, but it's pleasurable. If I fondle a dog or a cat, I do it because 
it gives me pleasure. 

I was glad my thoughts kept running that way, it was a good defense against 
Arpad's sexual charm. I've had thousands of men since then, but no other 
exerted that charm on me like that virile stud of a boy. 

His piston was racing in me so fast that I couldn't help yelling, no matter 
how I tried to control it. He began to cover me with little bites on my 
chin, my ears and nibbled on my nipples. It all felt like being fucked by 
several men at the same time. 

"Pepi ... oh Pepi...." his breath came in gasps, "ahhh ... ahhh. I want to 
go on fucking you ... all the time ... ah ... I feel it ... I feel it ... 
it's coming ... everything in me is coming ... ah ... Pepi ... yes ... push 
against me ... that's good ... that's ... ahhh ... ahh ... now ... now ... 
oh God...." 

He yelled the last words, buried his face in my shoulder. A flood of semen 
had been squirting into me, mixing with my own secretions, and both were 
flowing down my thighs now. I felt the wetness spreading all over me and on 
the sheet under me. But I was so completely spent that I had no energy to 
move a muscle. Arpad was lying on me like a lifeless bundle of slack muscle. 
I brushed my lips against his chest and he responded by lifting his head and 
kissing my ear. 

We both fell asleep and I woke again because Arpad's weight began to hurt 
me. I moved and he rolled off me, still half asleep. 

"Pepi...." he suddenly spoke up. "I'll ring for one of the maids. She'll 
prepare a bath for us and change the sheets on the bed. My, what a mess...!" 

He laughed and kissed me quickly. We both jumped up and put our robes on. I 
had to wipe my body with a towel first because I didn't want my dressing 
gown to get dirty, too. 

When the maid appeared at the door Arpad ordered not only a bath but some 
sandwiches neatly arranged on a large tray. It was five in the morning by 
now, but Yvonne's place provided a 24-hour service, from sex to food and 
drink. 

I enjoyed the hot bath. Arpad and I were sitting opposite each other in the 
roomy tub and he amused himself by tickling me between my legs with his 
toes. We soaked for a full half hour before using a little soap and washing 
each other's back. The warm water made Arpad's sexual powers come back 
pretty soon and I had to use a lot of persuasion for him not to start 
anything in the tub. There were large Turkish towels and two robes of terry 
cloth for each of us. We dried ourselves and each other while Arpad used all 
this, of course, to play with my breasts and use his fingers to check 
whether I was really dry between my legs. I would have loved to do the same 
to him, but I wanted to get back to our room and finish the food there and 
let Arpad open another bottle of beer for us. 

At last we were sitting again in our boudoir and eating like two wolves. 

"We've got to get some sleep, too...." I said now. "When do you plan to take 
the train for Budapest?" 

"Quite simple...." he said chewing all the while. "We're going to sleep now, 
and tomorrow evening my man is going to drive us to the station ... can you 
be ready by then...?" 

"I should think so. Do I have to take many dresses with me...?" 

"Not for me, Pepi! I like you without any clothes best. This is a 
compliment! But seriously, we're not going to stay in Budapest, but drive 
out to my estate. I'll get you a nice peasant costume-and you'll look like a 
genuine Hungarian girl. On Sundays we all wear our national costumes, you 
know. You'll look beautiful in it . . 

We rang for the waiter to take the tray and plates and glasses away and 
prepared to sleep in the bed that had been provided with fresh sheets while 
we took our bath. 

"Now you'd better not touch me," I said to Arpad, "or neither of us is going 
to sleep much." 

He laughed like a little boy who is up to some devilry. But I warned him 
again that I needed my sleep. 

"Let's look in that chest again...." I said, "I'm sure we'll find there some 
fresh nightshirts for us...." 

"What do you need nightshirts for ... are you cold...?" 

I noticed the laughter in his eyes, but pretended not to understand him. 

"Look, Arpad...." I tried desperately to be serious, but it didn't sound the 
way I wanted to. "If we sleep in the nude, you know damned well that the 
slightest touch will make us, well, not sleep...." 

"And that's bad...?" 

I pulled myself together and raised my voice a little. 

"All right, my friend! I can see you don't realize that I need my rest. I'm 
going to sleep on the couch. You can stay in the bed. There are plenty of 
blankets that I can use...." 

That did it. He jumped all over me, begging me to be a good girl and sleep 
next to him. Yes, we shall put on some nightshirts. And he was not going to 
touch me. 

We found the nightshirts and put them on. Arpad, of course, had to help me 
slip mine over my head, and then he had to "straighten it out" around my 
bosom and my fanny. I slapped his hands away and climbed into bed. He got 
in, too, but by crawling over my body, pretending to be quite awkward. 

"Gee, I'm sorry, baby ... I'm so tired I mistook this for my side of the 
bed...." 

I didn't answer but curled up with my back turned to him. 

"Now, is that polite to turn your back on me...?" I heard him complain. 

"Arpad!" I raised my voice when inflecting the second syllable of his name. 
"You promised...." 

"I promised not to touch you, but you didn't forbid me to see you...." 

"You're not supposed to keep your eyes open when you are sleeping. Try to 
dream of me if you want to see me all the time...." 

I heard a deep sigh and felt him toss around for a while, then there was 
silence. Suddenly he spoke up: 

"Pepi, may I ask you something...?" 

"What is it...?" I didn't sound very encouraging. 

"Am I really good in bed...?" 

Oh God! He was either clowning or his little boy vanity needed to be 
appeased. But I knew he'd never let me sleep if I showed him he could make 
me angry. 

"Why d'you want to know...?" I asked in return. 

"Don't you want to turn around so I can see your face...?" 

"No! And I mean no!" 

"All right, please answer my question...!" 

"Whether you're good in bed...?" 

"Yes, am I ... really...?" 

"Only when you're fucking me, but not when I want to sleep . . 

I used the slang word intentionally to shock him into silence. I guessed 
that he was all ready to ride me again, but I didn't want to go on until I 
was so exhausted that I wouldn't be able to sleep well. It was a strange 
situation. Here I was lying next to the best stud in the world. I craved to 
feel his long, thick, pulsing shaft in my cunt and yet I preferred to sleep. 
But did I really? I heard a sob behind me. 

What was this? I thought. Some new trick to make me turn around. I didn't 
move. But the sobbing became quite evident and the bed was shaking a little. 
I turned around and found he was actually crying into his pillow. 

I was really confused now. My instincts told me that this was again a 
symptom of the little boy being hidden in a man's body. Was he craving some 
motherly feelings in a woman, too? Yvonne said he'd lost his mother as a 
child. She died in an insane asylum. I decided to investigate this situation 
which I liked less and less. What's the use of lying next to the body of a 
resplendent male if inside the body lived a little boy whose mental growth 
hadn't caught up with the physical one. 

Arpad wasn't aware that I had turned toward him. He was still shaking with 
sobs. I put my hand on his hair and caressed him gently. He didn't stop and 
didn't react to my touch. 

"Arpad...!" I called. "Please, stop crying...!" 

My hand continued to stroke his head and I began to massage his strong neck. 

"Arpad! Why don't you tell me why you feel so bad ... you're not a little 
boy anymore ... can't you tell me why you're crying all of a sudden...?" 

He moved his head from the pillow onto my breast. I could feel the moisture 
of his tears. It was important for me to find out what this was all about. I 
pulled him close against me and felt that he had a terrific erection, but he 
didn't try in any way to use it. He was still sobbing, though less 
violently. 

"Arpad...." I began again. "You can't go on like this without talking to 
me...." 

He lifted his head and spoke so low that I could hardly understand him. 

"I ... I ... feel guilty...." 

I was perplexed. 

"Guilty? Of what?" 

He sat up now and wiped his eyes with a corner of the top sheet. 

"I'm not what I seem...." 

I understood less and less. 

"Please, Arpad! Don't talk in riddles to me. What do you seem? And what is 
it that you are? Or that you are not, but only seem to be...?" 

He looked at me with his wet eyes and spoke with a monotonous voice as if he 
were reciting something he'd learned by heart. 

"I seem to be a good lay. Every woman tells me that. And if she doesn't tell 
me, I provoke her into saying it. But it's not true. I'm not a good lay!" 

I didn't know whether I should start laughing, or get angry. 

"You'll have to make it a little clearer to me, Arpad...." 

He swallowed and went on in the same monotone : 

"The truth is I love to fuck. And when I'm fucking I never think of the 
woman. All I am interested in is myself. I want to enjoy myself. I want to 
feel good. I know I have a big penis. It feels good to have it in a small 
cunt like yours. It gives me tremendous pleasure! But I don't care a damn 
about your pleasure. I think only of myself. And I'm always surprised to 
hear that I am giving pleasure. It's purely accidental. I don't intend to do 
it. I'm only out for myself...." 

I began to see some light, at last. He felt he was praised without really 
deserving it. Well, such a thing has happened before. Many a person acted 
from selfish motives and, without even knowing it, did some good. But I 
still didn't understand why Arpad was so shaken up by that flash of 
self-recognition. 

"Listen to me," I said, caressing his curls. "I'm only two years younger 
than you, but I've seen more of life than you have. At least, so it seems to 
me. Of course a mature man wants to give a woman as much pleasure as 
possible when he has sex with her. But I've slept with men of fifty who were 
the most selfish sons of bitches you can imagine...." 

He began to listen with visible interest. 

"It's nice of you to be so concerned about not deserving any praise for 
being a good lay. Because you are a good lay, whether you want it or not. 
You keep praising my narrow hole, but I assure you that's the way I was 
born, like a singer with a good voice. I didn't work for it. It's part of 
me, like your big penis-bless it!-which gives me and other girls a lot of 
pleasure, or your passion, which is also part of you and isn't earned ... so 
don't be childish! You're all right...!" 

He suddenly kissed me. A brotherly kiss on my cheek. 

"I hope you don't say all this just to make me feel good ... because ... 
because I want to give a lot of pleasure to a woman ... but when I get 
excited and begin to fuck her ... all that exists is only myself...." 

I was genuinely moved by Arpad's emotional dilemma, although he seemed to me 
now less the healthy, virile male that he becomes when he's sexually active. 
Looking backward, I must say that not only have I never again found such an 
excellent performer in bed as Arpad was, but I've also never met anyone like 
him who had such a conflicting approach to a sexual partner. Perhaps that 
was part of the mental inheritance of his mother. I never knew what her 
mental conflict was and I certainly could not make Arpad talk about it. 

He had listened to my appeasing words with great attention and suddenly he 
threw back the blanket covering both of us and before I knew what he was up 
to, he'd pushed my nightgown upwards and glued his lips to my grotto. His 
strong hands gripped my buttocks firmly so that I couldn't move the lower 
part of my body, but I didn't feel like moving it, because his tongue beat a 
furious tattoo on my clitoris with occasional stabs into my cunt. 

I knew instinctively what drove him to assume this position which prevented 
me to reciprocate his caresses by taking his shaft into my mouth. Arpad 
wanted to prove to me and perhaps himself that he was able to give pleasure 
to a woman without bothering about his own pleasure. All I could do was to 
entangle my fingers in his blond curls and caress his head, ears and neck. 

Pretty soon I lost all conscious control over what I was doing because that 
talented tongue of his threw me into ecstasy and I squeezed my thighs so 
tightly around his head that he had to come up for air. 

Now he couldn't hold himself any longer and, quickly shoving his knees 
closer to my middle, he plunged his hot, fleshy club into my pulsating hole 
with such force that I emitted a loud moan. 

"Am I hurting you...?" he suddenly whispered and stopped moving. 

"No ... silly ... it feels so good ... so good ... go on ... go on ... " 

I closed my hands over the small of his back and pressed him deep into my 
guts. Every muscle and nerve in my body craved to feel this virile male 
overcoming the female in me. Two currents of thought ran parallel in my 
mind. One, trying desperately to be detached and objective, made me realize 
that I was again on the threshold of yielding, body and soul, to a handsome, 
potent male and that I might renounce everything else for the pleasure of 
being fucked in this way, day and night. The other tried to silence all 
attempts at being objective and wanted me to stop thinking altogether. I 
heard my voice echoing my feelings, but I'd ceased to worry about 
everything. My whole body and mind had become one quivering something that 
was no longer Josephine Mutzenbacher, an individual, but woman, the eternal 
female principle, the cunt, to put it bluntly, sucking all the male strength 
into itself that the piston-like penis was pushing and beating into her in 
an ever increasing rhythm. The voice that I heard moaning and muttering 
incoherent words was my own, but I felt no connection with it. That voice 
went on and on: 

"Yes ... yes ... that's all I want ... ever ... your prick in me ... yes ... 
like that ... nobody can do it like you ... nobody ... ah ... fuck me, Arpad 
... fuck me ... always ... always...." 

I threw myself around so wildly that I would have unseated him if his 
tremendous strength had not kept him firmly in the saddle where his shaft 
had me impaled. Now I could hear him begin to mutter words of his own: 

"Yes ... I'll fuck you ... always ... always ... I'm giving you pleasure ... 
say that I'm doing it ... say that I'm good ... ah ... say it...." 

And like a parrot I cried: 

"Yes, you are ... you are giving me pleasure ... you're the only one who can 
do it ... you're the best fucker in the world ... yes ... go on fucking me 
... go on ... your prick is in my whole body ... it's everywhere ... I can't 
stop coming all the time ... I'm coming again ... again ... ah...." 

Arpad's hands and fingers worked feverishly on my breasts, strayed down to 
my buttocks and squeezed them forcefully for a few seconds and came back to 
my shoulders, my face, tickled my ears. 

"You ... you...." he yelled now, " ... you are all cunt ... you're the best 
cunt ... yes ... squeeze it ... yes ... like that ... I'm going to squirt 
soon ... yes ... hug me with your legs like that ... yes ... ah ... ah ... 
now ... now ... ah...." 

His voice became shrill and the almost endless flood of his semen spurted 
into me while his whole body was vibrating and twitching. His flanks fell on 
me in a last convulsive thrust which drove his prick into me up to its root. 
His teeth were biting into my shoulder so violently that I was surprised I 
didn't cry out with the pain of it. But I was only half conscious and my 
body lay there like an inert thing. Arpad's weight didn't bother me at 
first, but after ten or fifteen minutes had passed I tried to push him off 
me. He rolled over like a corpse, but he threw one arm around my waist and 
after a while he opened his eyes and looked at me. 

"Pepi...." he whispered now. He must have yelled himself hoarse. 

Instead of saying something I stroked his head. 

"Pepi...." he began again. 

"Yes, Arpad ... you're all done in, hm...?" He smiled and his face was quite 
relaxed. "Yes ... I guess I'm pooped ... how about you...? d'you feel 
good...?" 

"So good that I can't keep awake much longer. You're a sweet boy ... happy 
dreams...!" I leaned over and kissed his cheek. But he was already asleep. 
He hadn't taken his arm off my hip and I left it there. I thought it must be 
about seven in the morning by now. Yvonne didn't believe in putting clocks 
in the bedrooms where customers were entertained. The only window was 
covered by thick curtains and by green shutters on the outside. It was an 
ideal room for making love. The world was completely shut out. 

I risked to turn on my other side and felt Arpad's hand sliding off me. 
Thank God, he slept quite soundly. But though I had thought I'd doze off at 
once, my brain was still active. This had been quite a new experience for me 
and I felt it was somehow decisive. As far as I can remember, these were my 
thoughts: "Pepi, if you haven't learned your lesson tonight you might as 
well forget all your high ambitions. You will remain a horny cunt all your 
life. A whore who falls in love with fucking will never go places. She'll 
fall an easy victim to any pimp who knows how to tickle her guts. It was 
lucky for you to have met Arpad and find out how quickly a big and talented 
prick makes you forget all your good intentions. Now you know how easily a 
strong male can fuck all sense out of you. What are you going to do about 
it...?" 

That question stopped my thinking for a while. I was so tired that I 
couldn't fall asleep and I knew I'd stay awake until I had found the right 
answer to my problem. I'd read a lot of what I thought was nonsense about 
the difference between lust and love. To me the two were the same. And 
suddenly the answer came up in my tired mind: 

"That's it, Pepi! All that talking and writing about romantic love is 
nonsense! What's it mean when you say you love a guy? You want him to fuck 
you. To fuck you so well that you stop thinking and feel nothing but 
pleasure. That's your famous romantic love. That's all it amounts to. But 
... what about self-sacrifice and all that sentimental talk you hear from 
people who say they are in love? Sure, it makes sense, but not the way they 
see it. 

"Self-sacrifice for the man you love means that you're so dependent on being 
laid by him that you want to do anything and everything to keep him for 
yourself. Every little streetwalker lets herself be beaten silly by her pimp 
day after day ... and why? So she can keep him. She doesn't know that her 
cunt has blotted out her brain. She'll say she loves the guy and that's why 
she permits him to wipe his feet on her. The main thing is that he gives it 
to her every day...." 

"But what about a mother's self-sacrificing love for her child ...?" my mind 
spoke up again. But it had the answer ready: 

"What's a child? The result of being fucked by the child's father. It always 
reminds her of him. So there's the connection. Sure, as long as the child is 
small and helpless she feels like protecting it. Every bitch, every mare, 
every hen, follows the same instinct. Animals are often much better in that 
respect than people. Watch out, Pepi, being in love with fucking is just 
like being in love with eating! If you eat too much you become fat and sick. 
And it's much better to be in love with fucking than with the guy who fucks 
you. Remember that! A male is a male and a prick is a prick! There are 
millions of them around . . 

That's as far as I got before I fell asleep. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

ADVENTURE IN HUNGARY 

Madame Yvonne and the girls almost cried when they kissed and hugged me 
good-bye the next afternoon. 

"Don't forget all the things I told you ... Madame whispered into my ear. 
"Amuse yourself by all means, Pepi, but don't forget that this Hungarian 
adventure is not the end. Always look ahead...." 

I didn't mind Yvonne's preaching. She meant well and she'd come to like me 
in a very short time. On the other hand, I perhaps needed to be reminded of 
what I really wanted out of life, because Arpad had again driven me crazy 
with his passionate ministrations when we woke up at noon, and I had to 
insist on getting bathed and dressed so that we could make the train to 
Budapest on time. 

It was my first trip by train and I spent almost every bit of the time 
looking out of the window, to the great chagrin of Arpad, who had taken a 
private compartment with the idea of continuing our sexual bouts during the 
trip. I had to appease his insatiable ardor by promising him to make up for 
it when we had reached his estate. 

After Pressburg, the landscape showed the typical Hungarian features, 
numerous herds of cattle and horses grazing in the endless fields whose 
monotony was interrupted only by the tall draw wells every five hundred 
meters or so. It was already quite dark when the train stopped at the 
Budapest station where Arpad's young orderly, Jancsi, was waiting for us. He 
was a handsome fellow with a swarthy complexion and grinning all over his 
face when he saw me. 

"Welcome home, sir! I have the landau waiting outside the station for you 
and the lady...!" 

"You've done well, Jancsi...." said Arpad, giving him an approving slap on 
the shoulder. "And now show the beautiful Mademoiselle Pepi how fast our 
horses can run ... we must reach the estate in half an hour at the 
latest...." 

"I'll do my best, Lieutenant, sir...!" said the boy, leading the way through 
the large vestibule to the street where a most elegant carriage with two 
black horses was waiting for us. When Jancsi was spreading a warm blanket 
over Arpad's and my knees, his warm hands rested unnecessarily long on my 
thighs while his eyes looked into mine. Arpad didn't seem to notice 
anything. I was wondering whether Jancsi was going to be one of the males 
that were going to lay me while Arpad was looking on. I liked the well-built 
boy and his smiling face and thought he might be very good in bed. A kind of 
nostalgia overcomes me even now when I think back to those days when I not 
only could have any handsome male I wanted, but when I also had to keep them 
from crowding me. 

Jancsi knew how to handle the horses all right. In less than thirty minutes 
we drove through the cast iron gate that led to the huge mansion of the 
estate of the barons of Ofaley. It was in the middle of a huge park of old 
trees. 

All the male and female servants were assembled on the large outside 
staircase and received us like royalty. The maids were particularly glad to 
see Arpad again and it was not difficult to guess the reason. The footmen 
and other male servants kept devouring me with their eyes and I was glad to 
see that almost all of them were just as young and virile as Jansci, who was 
now leading the carriage and horses toward the stables. 

The room that was assigned to me was furnished in solid peasant style and 
contained one of those old-fashioned tall beds that made it almost necessary 
to use a stepladder to get into it. I needn't have worried, because it 
turned out that I hardly ever went to bed alone and the man, or men, in 
question always carried me like a baby and dumped me onto the sheets. It was 
a sturdy bed and could sustain the weight of three or four people, all 
active in one sort of love play or another. 

"Try to be awake early tomorrow morning," said Arpad, "because I want you to 
see everything on the estate. We'll try to find a very tame horse for 
you...." 

All this sounded very exciting, of course, but I was so tired that I fell 
asleep at once. It was still dawn when Jancsi, of all people, came to wake 
me up. I had expected a maid to be trusted with that job and was quite 
flabbergasted to see the grinning brown face of Arpad's orderly bending over 
me when I opened my eyes. His hand was stroking my bare shoulder very 
gently; that was what had waked me up. I slapped him on the wrist and asked 
him whether it was the habit in Hungary to have ladies being waked up by 
men. 

"Not as a rule," said the grinning boy, "we do that only in the case of very 
beautiful ladies as a sort of compliment. I'll send your personal maid in at 
once. Her name is Ilona. She'll be at your service, Mademoiselle." 

I sat up without realizing that my breasts had slipped out of my nightgown, 
which was the low-cut type. 

"Ah...." murmured Jancsi, "you are really very, very beautiful, 
Mademoiselle. You've got the breasts of a goddess...." 

I threw a pillow at him and he fled, laughing like a naughty school boy, but 
not before I could notice the giveaway bulge in the front of his trousers. 
It looked very promising, almost the size of Arpad's weapon. 

I was determined more than before to enjoy the passionate disposition of 
that nice boy and only hoped that it was true what Yvonne had told me about 
Arpad's voyeurism. The trouble with promiscuous males is that they, too, can 
become very jealous and possessive. I had confidence in my talent for 
intrigue and didn't worry much about how I could get Jancsi between my legs 
without upsetting Arpad. After all, there was Arpad himself, whose potency 
equaled that of ten males, and there were dozens of good-looking footmen who 
seemed all very susceptible to the charms of a young female like myself. I 
had a premonition that before I was going to leave Hungary I'd have tasted 
as many men as possible. 

Ilona, the maid, came in and made a polite curtsy. She helped me finish my 
toilette and showed me to the glassed-in veranda at the back of the house. 
Arpad was already waiting there and soon a delightful breakfast was served 
and I must admit that Hungarians know how to make good coffee, almost as 
well and sometimes even better than we Viennese can do it. Arpad was clad in 
the national manner of Hungarian peasants: wide-legged linen pants, called 
"gatya," a shirt of the same material, and over it a short embroidered vest. 

"I've changed my mind about letting you ride," he said when we were about to 
get up from the table. "Since you've never ridden before, it would be risky 
to let you handle even a comparatively tame animal...." 

"Oh ... so you want me to ride in a carriage...?" 

"Nothing of the kind...." he laughed. "You and I will ride on the same 
stallion. He is the very devil, but I'm his master...." 

Arpad was right. Hajnal, his stallion, was a beautiful beast. When being 
lifted onto the saddle, Arpad's hand gripped me at my most sensitive spot so 
that I felt myself getting moist at once. He jumped into the saddle behind 
me like a circus rider and off we went in a brisk gallop across the vast 
fields that were still covered by a light mist. Nobody could be seen for 
miles around. 

Suddenly Arpad stopped the horse, jumped down and, gripping me around my 
waist, lifted me a little and turned me around in the saddle so that I was 
facing him when he had jumped on the horse again. I didn't feel very safe in 
this position, but Arpad said: 

"Don't worry, Pepi. You're as safe as in your bed. Just lie back and lean 
your head on Hajnal's neck; it's like a pillow...." 

I did as told and was surprised at the horse's cooperation, making a nice 
pillow with his neck for me. My legs were hanging down on either side, but 
suddenly I felt a draft of air on my thighs; Arpad had slyly lifted up my 
skirt and before I knew what was going on, his tool had slipped into me. 

"Oh my God...." I thought, "being fucked on a horse must be quite 
uncomfortable. Why make things so complicated if the simpler methods are so 
much more satisfying...?" But I was mistaken to be so prematurely critical. 
Arpad clicked with his tongue and Hajnal started a rhythmic trot while 
Arpad's hands held me firmly by the waist. His prick didn't move at all. The 
horse did everything for us. Each movement of the fiery animal drove Arpad's 
prick deep into me and I was enjoying it immensely. I came after a few' 
minutes and my juices ran down and dripped from the sides of the saddle. 
Suddenly Arpad let out his lion's roar and unloaded into me. I was afraid 
the horse might do something unexpected at this moment, but it went on in 
the same tempo without paying any attention. Apparently it had been trained 
by its master to tolerate a fucking couple on its back and was also familiar 
with Arpad's loud yelling when he came. 

We stopped in a large avenue of poplars and Arpad jumped down and wiped his 
prick with a handkerchief. Then he lifted me down and bedded me on a bench 
that was standing between the trees. 

"Well, Pepi, how did you like your first ride on a Hungarian stallion...?" 

"It's difficult for me to say which is the stallion between the two of you . 
. 

He laughed his boyish laughter and bedded my head on his knees. 

"That's a good way to put it! Here in Hungary all males are stallions and 
studs. You'll find out for yourself pretty soon . . 

Aha, I thought, here it comes. Now I have to question him very carefully so 
as not to offend him. 

"You mean I'm going to find out still more about you, Arpad...?" 

"About me...? Well, perhaps! For instance, that I'm not jealous! I want all 
my boys around here to share in my pleasures. Incidentally, how do you like 
the boys you've seen so far...?" 

I was cautiously feeling my way. 

"Well ... it's a compliment to your sense of beauty and good taste when I 
say that your servants are all very handsome, the boys and the girls ... are 
some of them married...? " "Married...?" He laughed. "Only the older ones! 
None of my men here wants to marry before he is forty or so. They like to 
enjoy being young. So do the girls...." 

"So ... what do they do...?" 

"The natural thing, of course! They do it among each other. And as often as 
possible. And I help them, sometimes ... that is, when the boys get tired 
too soon...." 

"And if they don't get tired...?" 

"Ha! Then I help them anyway...." During this talk Arpad's shaft had become 
rigid again and soon we were doing it right there on the bench while Hajnal 
was grazing nearby. 

"Now it's me who's got to do the work...." he gasped. "That's why Hajnal is 
so useful ... when we do it on his back, he's doing all the moving...." 

Arpad's movements increased in speed as if he wanted to prove to me that his 
own strength was quite sufficient to perform a good lay. 

"Ahhh ... Arpad...." I sighed under him, "it was quite nice doing it on the 
horse, but this is much, much nicer ... yes ... you are doing it fine ... 
I'm coming again ... you're sweet...." 

He silenced me with a passionate kiss and his tongue was deep in my mouth, 
wrestling with mine. 

"You're sweet yourself, Pepi ... none of the girls here have such a small 
hole like you ... ah ... now ... now ... now...." 

His semen gushed into me in long squirts and, when he yelled at the height 
of pleasure, Hajnal stopped grazing and looked over at us. Was he 
disappointed that all this was not going on, on his back, or did he mistake 
Arpad's roar for something else? But after a moment he went back to grazing 
again. 

We cleaned ourselves and rested on the bench before resuming the ride. This 
time I was sitting in the saddle facing forward, which was giving Arpad the 
chance of getting his hands into my blouse and kneading my teats. Suddenly I 
noticed an old peasant coming our way who looked at us quite curiously. When 
he noticed Arpad in the saddle behind me, he bowed deeply, lifting his hat. 
His face didn't register any surprise. A sight like this must have been 
quite familiar to him. I remarked on it to Arpad and asked: 

"What would the man think if he had seen us a while ago, with me facing 
you...?" 

"He would have thought it was a pity that he was already too old to enjoy a 
woman on a horse . . 

"You mean to say he has seen you that way...?" 

"Not only me, but some of the other boys and girls too. I permit them to use 
any horse they can handle . . 

Arpad noticed my astonishment and added: "You have to know that fucking on a 
horse is an old Tartar custom. We Hungarians have a lot of Tartar blood in 
us, that's why we know how to breed horses and how to ride them. When those 
Tartar hordes stormed over our plains and far into Central Europe, they 
kidnapped thousands of women without jumping from their horses. They merely 
grabbed a woman and pulled her up on the saddle and had their way with her 
right then and there. Just as I did with you today! Didn't you like it...?" 

"Yes, more or less ... it had the charm of the newness, but I wouldn't want 
it as a steady diet ... don't you like it lying on a soft bed...?" 

"Oh sure...." he laughed. "But doing it in bed all the time can become a 
little monotonous...." 

When he saw me frown, he quickly added: "Oh ... not with you, Pepi, of 
course! But you'll admit that variety gives spice to everything, and 
certainly to sex. Don't you think so...?" 

"Yes, I do, but...." 

I wanted to find out what my chances were of getting the other boys between 
my legs. 

"... but it's not only the variety of doing it in different positions and 
locations, but also in the variety of partners...." 

Arpad jumped up quite excitedly. 

"Yes ... that's what I wanted to explain to you. Or let me put it this way: 
would you like to sleep with some of the boys you've seen...?" 

I still was afraid to be quite frank. 

"Well ... only if it also gives some pleasure to you, Arpad...." 

He kissed me and almost bit my lips. "Pleasure...? You don't know what real 
pleasure is, Pepi, until you've done it with a dozen men or so, one after 
another...." 

I found it somewhat peculiar of an "amateur" to try to teach a whore 
anything new about sexual pleasures. But I felt it would be a mistake to 
remind young Arpad that I was far more mature than he thought himself to be. 
I also knew that men love to teach women. Above all, I was eager to learn 
when all that group-fucking was going to start and whether I would be 
permitted to take some of the handsome boys to bed in the privacy of my 
room, one after another, of course, and not as a group. 

We were approaching the mansion and Arpad lifted me down while Jancsi, who 
seemed to be waiting, held the reins of the horse. 

"Could some of the maids, or perhaps Ilona, prepare a bath for me...?" I 
asked. 

"Why, Mademoiselle," Jancsi said, "it will be an honor to prepare your bath 
myself." And he made a deep bow. 

I noticed how he and Arpad exchanged a look of understanding. 

"I'm sure...." Arpad said, "Jancsi will give you much better service in the 
bathroom than any of the maids ... trust him ... he's had experience in 
serving ladies...." 

"I'm sure he has...." I said, measuring the grinning orderly with my eyes. 
"All right, Jancsi, let's see what you can do ... when will the bath be 
ready...?" 

Jancsi bowed again. 

"Mademoiselle can have it in a few minutes. I expected that after a long 
ride you'd want to refresh yourself. That's why I've been heating the stove 
for the past hour. If you turn on the water, it must be quite hot by how. 
But you needn't do anything. I'll take care of filling the tub. All you have 
to do is to tell me if the water is too warm or too cold...." 

The rogue must have known what "a long ride" with Arpad meant. 

"That's very thoughtful of you, Jancsi. Lead the way and show me where the 
bathroom is...." 

And turning to Arpad I said: 

"After the bath I'll be hungry as a wolf...." 

"Me too...." he laughed. "We'll have a very good meal. Jancsi will bring you 
to the dining room...!" 

Another groom had come and was leading Hajnal to the stable. 

"I'm going to clean up too...." Arpad said and went toward the left wing of 
the house. 

I followed Jancsi, who had politely been waiting for me. 

"Is the bathroom near my bedroom...?" I asked. We were walking toward my 
room and the boy opened the door for me and let me enter first. 

"No, Mademoiselle! It's below your room...." 

"Below this room...?" 

"Yes, in the basement. And it's done all in tiles ... look...!" 

He opened a narrow door in one of the walls that I hadn't noticed before. It 
reminded me of all the camouflaged doors at Madame Yvonne's. 

"Let me light the gas lamp on the staircase, first...." Jancsi said. 

A wooden spiral staircase led into the basement bathroom which was actually 
all covered with white tiles. The tub had enough room for two people and 
must have been specially built. The wood stove, containing the water pipes 
leading to the faucets of the tub, stood in a corner and radiated some 
pleasant warmth. I noticed at once the large couch in the other corner, 
opposite the tub. There were fresh sheets and pillow slips under the woolen 
blanket that was half folded back. 

"That's very nice, Jancsi ... and you say the water is warm enough now...?" 

Instead of answering me, the boy turned on the faucets, and steaming hot 
water mixed with cold splashed into the large tub. Jancsi said: 

"I'm ready to help Mademoiselle to get ready. Or, if you prefer, I can wait 
outside until you call me so that I can scrub your back...." 

I was getting tired of all that playacting and decided to play it straight. 
I wanted to have that strong boy between my legs, in the nude, and no bones 
about it. 

"No, Jancsi...." I said. "Since you offered your services I want to accept 
them. Stay right here and help me undress. But you must undress before me, 
because I don't want your clothes to get wet when you scrub my back. 
So-quick! Get out of your clothes...!" 

He let out a sharp whistle between his teeth and had his clothes off in a 
minute. What a wonderful body he had! Brown skin over rippling muscles on 
his back, shoulders, arms, and thighs. And his chief muscle was a sight to 
see! I had estimated correctly. It was almost the size of Arpad's tool, only 
a little thicker, if that was possible. The glans was as large as a child's 
fist and of the softest velvety purple, twitching like nobody's business, 
impatiently yearning for some shelter. Jancsi was not a bit self-conscious. 
He helped me out of my skirt and blouse, pressing his shaft against my body 
all the while. I was actually trembling with excitement and was tempted to 
let the boy ride me then and there and to hell with the bath. We could have 
that later. But he had already lifted me up in his arms and carried me over 
to the tub where he lowered me gently into the water. He must have tested 
its temperature before, although I hadn't noticed it. It was just right, 
pleasantly and relaxingly warm. I sank into it with a sigh. 

Jancsi stepped into it and reclined next to me. He put his arm under my head 
so that I could use it like a cushion. My hand went instinctively to his 
rigid tool. He closed his eyes and emitted a loud groan and at once put his 
hand over my mound, stroking it gently. 

I knew that we would start fucking in the water unless I insisted on getting 
the soaping and rinsing over with first. Jancsi treated me like a baby, 
soaping and sponging me all over with an almost tender gentleness. It was 
unavoidable that his fingers lingered between my legs much longer than 
necessary for the mere cleaning process. I reciprocated by soaping his 
enormous prick and before I knew what was happening the water was filled 
with a flood of his semen. Like Arpad he yelled at the critical moment and I 
began to ask myself whether all Hungarians had such a vocal reaction when 
they ejaculated. 

"Ah ... Mademoiselle ... you have good hands...." he groaned. 

"Let's be less formal when we are alone, Jancsi," I suggested. "That 
mademoiselle business sounds funny at moments like this...." 

He gave me a grateful look and said: "Thank you ... Pepinkam...." 

He used the Hungarian pet-name for Josephine. 

"You know, Jancsi, my handsome friend, we'd better get out of the tub and 
dry ourselves...." 

"You won't have to do anything, Pepinkam," he protested, "I'll wait on you 
like a slave on his queen...." 

"All right, slave, go right ahead...." 

He stepped out of the tub and grabbed a large towel from a chair and wrapped 
it like a Roman toga around his glistening body. Then he stooped over me and 
lifted me out of the water and wrapped another large towel over me without 
putting me down. While he held me pressed against his body, I could feel 
that his large weapon was ready for another bout. He lowered me on the bed 
and dried me very thoroughly, although he managed to excite me at the same 
time by concentrating on my teats and my slit. When he had taken a smaller 
towel and carefully wiped my hair, his own towel fell off his body and 
revealed his huge pecker in all its splendor quite close to my face. I 
couldn't resist the temptation and closed my mouth over this challenging 
stick, which elicited a cry of pleasure from Jancsi. 

He stopped drying me and without pulling his tool from my mouth and 
supporting himself on his hands, he knelt on the bed with his knees on 
either side of my head. I grabbed his buttocks with my hands and kneaded 
them, then I used my left hand to surround his big testicles with my palm 
and tickled them slightly with my fingertips. Jancsi went wild. He began to 
move in my mouth spontaneously, quite slowly, so that my fingers could still 
caress his nuts. But the sounds that came out of his mouth proved that he 
was having the time of his young life. 

"Ah ... oh ... this is the best ... I wish I had another cock to put it into 
your sweet hole at the same time ... ah ... Pepinkam ... you're a wonderful 
girl ... ah...." 

He made some gurgling sounds that were followed by a yelled "ahhhhhh" and 
his semen spurted right down into my throat; I had to swallow quickly to 
avoid being suffocated His pleasure overwhelmed him so much that he quite 
forgot he was lying on my face so heavily that I could hardly breathe. I 
loved the feel of his curly pubic hair against my mouth and nose, but I had 
to push him off me if I didn't want to choke. 

"Ah ... Pepinkam...." he mumbled, lying next to me like a corpse. " ... 
Pepinkam ... Pepinkam ... !" 

Since his discharge was unusually rich I assumed that he was really 
exhausted, but one look at his body convinced me of the opposite. His 
love-stick was as rigid as ever. I closed my fingers around it and gave it a 
slight squeeze. 

This seemed to galvanize Jancsi's relaxed body. He leaned over me and gave 
me a dozen kisses, one more fiery than the other. In between, he stammered: 

"You wonderful Pepinkam ... you're the finest guest our lieutenant has ever 
brought home with him...." 

This made me curious. 

"You mean to say that Arpad always brings a girl here, every few months, or 
so...?" Jancsi was already pressing his knees between my thighs. 

"He's done it twice before he came with you. But they were stupid cunts...." 

"And what am I, Jancsi...?" 

He slowly pressed his shaft into my twitching hole. 

"You, Pepinkam, are a lady...." 

It certainly was a peculiar situation to tell a whore she was a lady. 

"Are you sure I'm a lady...?" 

He began to move his hot prick very slowly. "Yes ... you're a lady, Pepinkam 
... from head to pussy...." 

I couldn't help laughing. 

"And what about my legs, Jancsi ... they are also part of me...." 

He began to increase his thrusts. 

"They are beautiful ... but best part of lady is pussy...." 

God knows, I needed and wanted this lay almost desperately, but I also 
wanted to keep up this dialogue which made me even more horny, if that was 
possible. 

"You're a strong boy, Jancsi, and your prick feels good ... but I want to 
know how you recognize the pussy of a lady ... how can you tell...?" 

"Pussy of lady ... Jancsi's German became less articulate the more his 
excitement grew. "Pussy of lady is smallest pussy in the world ... you, 
Pepinkam, have smallest pussy I know ... ah ... what wonderful, tight pussy 
. . 

Although I was greatly amused to hear this virile young peasant's definition 
of a lady, I soon gave myself up to the far more important pleasure of being 
fucked by one of the best lays I'd ever had, including Arpad. Jancsi was 
only seventeen and his potency was at its peak. My maid, Ilona, told me 
later that he once had fucked her fourteen times in a night. 

"Mademoiselle has no idea...." she confessed to me, "what that Jancsi can 
do. When our young master is not here we have to depend only on the men in 
the house . . 

"You mean to say that there is a sort of mass-fucking going on in the 
mansion . . 

Ilona laughed at my unabashed use of words. 

"Yes, Mademoiselle ... we are young and have to make love a great deal. But 
when the lieutenant is with us, he sleeps with each girl at least twice a 
week . . 

"But there are almost a dozen of you...." 

"That's no problem for the lieutenant. Our boys are good lovers, but the 
lieutenant and Jancsi are the best of all. They never get tired...." 

When Ilona informed me in this frank manner of the vivid love life on the 
estate, I remembered this first experience I was having now with Jancsi. 
While he was moving his precious tool within me, he sucked my teats and 
squeezed my buttocks with his strong hands and, without any warning, he 
suddenly stopped. It drove me crazy to miss the movement of his prick in me. 

"Jancsi ... go on ... go on...!" 

He didn't move, but covered every part of my body with his muscular limbs. 

"Jancsi ... don't stop ... for God's sake ... I can't stand it ... fuck me 
... d'you hear ... fuck me...!" 

I began to move my hips against his body. It was no use. He left his prick 
deep in my hole and went on sucking my nipples. I was in a sort of delirious 
excitement. I tried to reach around his buttocks and, at last, could touch 
his testicles. I knew a trick that forced any passionate male to come when I 
wanted it. Jancsi seemed immune to it, but at least my fingers on his nuts 
made him start moving again. I couldn't remember having been more aroused 
with Arpad than I was with this teenager. It was only after a few days that 
I realized Jancsi's sudden stopping was a very clever device to push me to 
the utmost limits of excitement. When he had resumed his movements I kept 
throwing my hips against him with such force that a weaker man would have 
been thrown off me. Not Jancsi! He seemed to enjoy my wildness which 
expressed itself in all sorts of incoherent exclamations. 

"Ha ... ha ... ah ... ah ... yes ... yes ... fuck me, Jancsi ... don't ever 
stop again ... I'm coming again ... ah ... again ... don't come now ... 
don't come ... Jancsi ... ah ... push deeper ... deeper ... ah ... I'm 
coming again ... you must fuck me every day ... every hour ... ah ... I'm 
coming again ... you're my sweet boy, Jancsi ... I feel you all over my body 
... your prick is pushing up to my heart ... keep pushing ... ah ... I'm 
coming all the time...." 

Jancsi was even more stimulated by my words that escaped with my gasping 
breath. His lips and tongue worked on my throat, my mouth, my nipples, on my 
shoulders. He suddenly left his position between my thighs without pulling 
out of me and then hugged me tight with his mighty thighs and legs making me 
squeeze his prick in my cunt and increasing our mutual pleasure. 

After a few minutes of this he put his knees between my thighs again and 
increased the tempo of his thrusts so that I knew he was approaching his 
climax. I had come so often that I was surprised his moving tool could still 
tickle some juice out of me, but it did. 

And soon came the great moment of his performance. During his finishing 
thrusts his abdomen hit me like a rock. Never before had I felt primitive 
male power between my legs manifested with such strength. No, not even 
Arpad! His yell started with an ever increasing moan and with a shuddering 
last thrust he began to ejaculate. I say began because his twitchings lasted 
over twenty seconds. 

I was filled so full of his juice that the last thrusts produced a squishing 
sound that might have made me laugh under different circumstances. I pressed 
his buttocks firmly against me as if I were afraid to let him ever pull out 
of me again. It was quite some time since I'd had that feeling to keep a 
male member buried within me and feel the man's body pressing down on me 
like a protective armor. 

Jancsi pressed his hot face against my neck and his fast breathing cooled my 
skin like a fan. At last it began to tickle me. That's when I regained some 
of my normal perspective. "Jancsi, my boy ... let's take a quick dip in the 
tub...." 

He mumbled without lifting his face from my shoulder: 

"I'll have to test the water first. It must be cold by now...." 

"Well ... go ahead, then ... test it...." 

With a pleasurable groan he got up and stretched himself to his full length. 
For the first time I saw his penis soft and relaxed, but even so his size 
was extraordinary. He went over to the tub and dipped his arm into it. 

"Come, Pepinkam ... the water is still lukewarm ... it will do ... or wait 
... I'll see if the water in the pipes is still warm...." 

He turned on the faucet. 

"Yes ... it's not bad ... come...." 

I stretched and felt the wetness of the sheet under me. 

"Come and get me ... slave...!" 

He laughed his boyish laughter and came and picked me up. 

"Shall I let you drop into the tub so that there'll be a big splash...?" 

I merely looked at him without saying anything. He got the message. 

"All right ... all right ... I'll be a good boy...." 

He lowered me into the still pleasantly warm water and then climbed in after 
me. 

"But now ... no monkey business, Jancsi ... let's get cleaned up and then 
get out of here. I'm so hungry that I might bite you . . 

He laughed. "As long as you don't bite me here...." he pointed to his tool. 

In fifteen minutes we were dried and dressed and walked up the stairs to my 
room. To my utter surprise there was Arpad with five of the young male 
servants waiting for us. "What the devil...." I began. 

Arpad put his arms around me and shut my mouth with a kiss. 

"Don't say anything, Pepi! Let's all go and eat, at last ... aren't you 
hungry...?" 

"I could eat for three ... but ... what have you and the boys been doing in 
my room...?" We were now on our way to the paneled dining room. The table 
was laid for two, Arpad and myself. The lord of the manor liked to share his 
sex with the servants, not his meals. When we were sitting down, I repeated 
my question. 

"Really, Arpad ... what were all of you doing in my room...?" 

The first covered dishes were brought in and Arpad gestured me to be silent. 
When the two serving girls had left the room, he said: 

"I'll show you everything after the meal. Now ... dig in!" 

I was so hungry that the good smell of the roast helped me control my 
curiosity. It was an excellently cooked lunch. The dessert was also warm. 
Some sort of dumplings stuffed with peaches from which the stones had been 
removed. I didn't know that peach dumplings were a typical Hungarian dessert 
that was later "imported" into Viennese households. 

After the table had been cleared, Arpad took me back to my room and bade me 
sit in the large overstuffed armchair. Then, without another word, he pulled 
back the Persian rug on the side near the window and revealed a panel in the 
wooden floor that looked like the lid of a trapdoor. He lifted it and said: 

"Now, Pepi, take a look below . . 

I nearly fell through that square hole, but it wasn't large enough to let me 
get through. 

I became so furious I couldn't talk. What I saw was the bathroom below where 
the gas lamp was still lighting up everything. 

Arpad was watching my face and for a moment I felt like slapping him. His 
little boy grin annoyed me. He and those boys had been watching me and 
Jancsi all the time while we were carrying on in the bathroom. My face must 
have made it quite clear to Arpad that I didn't appreciate the joke, or 
whatever it was supposed to be. 

"You're not angry, Pepi, are you...?" Arpad's voice echoed his 
disappointment at my not "seeing the funny side" of it. All I said was: 

"Does Jancsi know that one can watch from here...?" 

"Why, of course ... said Arpad. 

"Well ... that is the last straw...!" Arpad's face showed utter 
astonishment. He must have expected me to be delirious with joy at being 
watched when I least expected it. It became more and more clear to me that 
when a whore is invited to a man's home like Arpad's she must not expect the 
consideration due a sensitive woman. 

Pepi, I said to myself while keeping a stony silence toward Arpad, pull 
yourself together. 

You were enjoying one of the best lays of your young life and you thought 
you could get away with it. You must learn that a whore has no privacy until 
she becomes rich enough to afford it. You're a silly goose, Pepi. Cheer up 
and show Arpad the friendly smile that he expects from you. After all, he is 
a baron and has invited you to his estate. Sure, he wants to enjoy your body 
in various ways. Yvonne has warned you of his voyeurism. So why are you 
angry now? 

The answer that came up in my mind was not too encouraging. You are a silly 
goose, Pepi, it said. That Jancsi had excited you like Arpad at Madame 
Yvonne's. Only stronger, perhaps. He's an adolescent with the body of a man. 
Strong, athletic, virile. And his passion is contagious. His potency is just 
as strong as Arpad's, perhaps even stronger. And you, silly goose, have 
fallen for him! Why! Because you're a sucker for good lays. For good lays 
from virile guys like Arpad and Jancsi. And there will be others, you hope. 
Now get wise to yourself! It's about time! You can't lose your reason every 
time a big cock stirs up your guts! 

It was almost as if Steffi were talking to me. Anyway, I got hold of myself 
and forced myself to smile at Arpad, who had been watching me and didn't 
quite know what to make of my long silence. 

"Ah ... at last ... you're smiling again! What's come over you, Pepi? Didn't 
you know about the corridor with the peepholes at Madame Yvonne's .-. .? 
This is almost the same thing . . 

"Well ... all right, Arpad! But the room in which you were with me at 
Yvonne's had no peepholes, in case you didn't know that...." He laughed and 
pulled me toward him. 

"I wouldn't have minded at all. Of course, it also depends on the girl. 
Sometimes I want to be unobserved! That's why I paid Madame for that private 
bedroom. I wanted to get to know you. I liked you very much...." 

"And now ... you don't like me anymore...?" 

He kissed me and played with his tongue between my lips. I didn't react, 
which surprised him. 

"How can you talk like that? But now we know each other very well. Each 
thing has its time, don't you see what I mean? Now we can have all the 
pleasure we want and share it with others. Now ... tonight, my boys and 
girls will keep us company ... you like Jancsi ... you'll like the other 
handsome fellows, too...." 

So, there was going to be the much talked-about group-fucking at last. I 
decided to make the best of it and save my emotions for another time. 

"Sure, I'll like it, Arpad! I'd like to do it with each one of your nice 
boys! The more the better! And you? You're going to lay all the girls...?" 

He worked on my teats and pressed his belly against mine. 

"Of course, and you too, Pepi. You are the best of all. I've told you that 
... Jancsi told you the same thing. He spoke the truth. That kid has been 
doing it with every female under thirty within a radius of five miles. He's 
like a bull in heat, all the time ... Just like his master...!" 

I laughed and Arpad was happy to see my old gay mood come back. He didn't 
know that I had become much wiser since my bout with Jancsi in the bathroom. 

After dinner, Arpad led me into a large room in the right wing of the 
mansion. It had a high ceiling supported by oak beams. The walls were all 
paneled in the same style. There were at least half a dozen couches and 
sofas along the walls and some more near the center of the room. Heavy rugs 
covered the floor so that one could walk on it barefoot without touching the 
wooden parquet. A mass of pillows and cushions were covering all of the 
couches and were spread over the floor. That was the stage for the 
group-fucking. 

Although I tried to get rid of the shock I had felt when Arpad had shown me 
that large peephole in my room, I wasn't in an exuberant mood during the 
orgy that lasted almost until dawn. There were fourteen young menservants, 
all good-looking, with good, strong bodies. They were already stripped down 
to their shorts that didn't hide the many erections they already had before 
anything had started yet. 

The eight girls, naked under their short chemises, were all maids whom I'd 
noticed when I came. Ilona was one of them. She looked quite charming in her 
negligee that let me see her firm, round teats and her white, velvety 
thighs. For a moment I toyed with the idea of shocking everybody by starting 
a wild lesbian act with her, as a sort of revenge for being watched when I 
was laid by Jancsi. But when I looked over all those handsome males, I said 
to myself that it would be sheer waste to miss even one of those 
cock-bearers. I enjoyed female bodies to a certain extent, as I've often 
mentioned, but whenever it came to choosing between a very attractive male 
and a female beauty, I didn't hesitate for a second. I wanted a good cock in 
me, above all. 

Orgies are not easy to remember, because there are so many people who 
alternate with each other all the time, and everything becomes a big blur. I 
hold with that ancient Roman connoisseur who said that one naked woman can 
give more pleasure than a hundred of them. 

I apply this philosophy to men. One handsome, potent male can give me more 
enjoyment than a dozen of them. Group-fucking certainly has its charms, but 
not as a steady diet. And also only when the participants are all 
good-looking and young. 

Jancsi, of course, was there too, but I stalled him until the last moment, 
which was in the early morning hours. I instinctively felt that I must not 
start with him, because I might not want to let go of him. It was very 
flattering to see all the males crowd around me as soon as Arpad had given 
the signal. He himself pulled a few girls down on a couch with him and then 
I didn't care to watch him anymore. 

The first man who straddled me was perhaps in his late twenties, very tall 
and well muscled, with a prick that wasn't conspicuous by its size, but once 
he had it shoved into me, I saw again that the size of a penis is less 
important than its intelligent use. He made me come twice before he 
discharged. The next was a boy of about sixteen and seemed to be the 
youngest of the lot. What he lacked in experience he replaced with 
enthusiasm and an incredible horniness. Whenever I watched him during the 
many hours of our orgy, his tool was always standing at attention. I'm sure 
he could have gone on another twelve hours, or so. When he was fucking me, I 
first thought that his quick movements would make him come very soon, but I 
was mistaken. He worked on me for at least ten minutes before his juice 
gushed into me. That nice little fellow had made me come four times, a fact 
of which he seemed quite proud. He even kissed me very tenderly before he 
turned his attentions to another girl. 

The nicest lay during that night was one of the chaps that had watched me, 
like Arpad, through the hole in my room. He was a racy dark-haired boy of 
about twenty-five whose long tool had given me two orgasms during the first 
minute he was in me. He whispered: 

"Yes ... I envied Jancsi when the master and some of us watched you in the 
bathroom. You got me all worked up and I said to myself that I was going to 
prove to you that I can be just as good as Jancsi . . 

And he accompanied his genital thrusts with a dozen caresses of his lips, 
tongue and fingers wherever he could reach. He was the one I remember much 
better than any of the others, with the exception of Jancsi. I was glad that 
Jancsi was still around so that I could have him last, because this boy-his 
name was Istvan, I believe-was tempting me to keep him for a few other lays. 
That would have been against the unwritten rules of the orgy. Partners must 
be exchanged as often as possible. But I used a trick to get another lay 
from Istvan. When he had discharged, I told him not to pull out but to keep 
moving in me, very slowly, until he felt he could start another fuck. To my 
pleasant surprise Istvan's recuperative powers were such that he hardly 
paused after he came and immediately started on his second trip. He was 
flattered to be so distinguished by me and to be made a fellow-conspirator 
in breaking the sacred rules of group-fucking. He, too, parted from me with 
an affectionate kiss. 

I wished I could afford some day to have male servants like those boys. 
There wouldn't be a dull moment in my life. 

Dawn was already breaking when I pulled Jancsi over me. I didn't want to 
spoil this last fuck with him by mentioning that peephole in my room and 
telling him that he should have told me about it. After all, he was only 
seventeen and could never understand a mature woman's sensitivity, even if 
she was "only" a whore like me. I must have come about fifty times during 
that night, but when Jancsi worked on me and in me, my juices were flowing 
as freely as if I'd only started. He performed with astonishing vigor, 
considering that he must have fucked more than a dozen times before I took 
him on. He kissed me again and again and talked a blue streak: 

"I must meet you again, Pepinkam ... I must try to find you when the 
lieutenant takes me to Vienna again. He won't mind ... I know ... he gets 
all the lays he wants ... he is a good master ... once he and I were fucking 
the same girl in one night ... she had no peace ... but she liked it ... 
couldn't get enough of us ... ah ... Pepinkam ... I feel you're coming ... I 
like making you come ... all the time ... your hole is so small that I'll 
come very soon ... Pepinkam ... I must meet you soon ... I know I won't 
forget your little hole ... I want it again and again ... ah ... now ... 
Pepinkam ... now ... ahhhhhh...!" And the well-known shout came with 
Jancsi's violent orgasm. I was really fagged out by that time and had to say 
no when Jancsi wanted to try another ride. He offered to take me to my room 
and promised to let me sleep-alone. The last I saw of Arpad that night, or 
rather that morning, was his naked behind moving rhythmically up and down on 
one of the girls, while two others were concentrating on caressing his 
buttocks and testicles. 

Jancsi kept his word and left my room after bedding me down with great care 
and affection. Before he left, he took my hand and made me feel his 
ever-present erection as if he wanted to prove that I was the most important 
female in his life. I couldn't help smiling at this mixture of puerile 
maleness and boyishness. I felt his lips kissing me good night and was 
instantly asleep. 

I woke up late in the afternoon when something in my bed made it impossible 
for me to turn around without bumping against it. It was Arpad, lying beside 
me and waiting impatiently for me to wake up. He smiled his radiant 
egotistical smile and pulled my hand under the cover to feel his hard-on. 

"Hi, beauty...." he said, "you sleep so peacefully and look so innocent that 
I'd never believe that you like what you're holding in your hand now...." 

I at once let go of his prick and said: 

"If you want to know what I like, it's this: First get me a cup of good 
coffee and some rolls with butter. Then, in spite of what you've shown me 
under this rug, I want to take a good, warm bath ... you be a good boy and 
order all these things for me...." 

"On one condition," he said. 

"And what is that condition...?" 

"That you don't let me suffer like this...." and he pointed to his stiff 
tool. 

"Why don't you let any of your girls relieve you of that suffering?" I 
asked. 

"Because nobody can relieve it like you, Pepi...." he said and was already 
squatting between my legs. 

His knees forced my thighs apart and the next second his spear had impaled 
me. I thought it was perhaps best to let him drip off his surplus potency 
and "earn" my late breakfast in that way. 

Arpad was so horny that he didn't even notice that I let him fuck me without 
giving any counterthrusts. But the magic of his big shaft was so 
overwhelming that he had me sighing in a couple minutes, and when I came 
once, twice, during the next two minutes, he took it for something granted 
and quite natural. I sneaked my hand down to his nuts and began to work on 
them in a certain manner which speeded his orgasm. With his usual shout of 
joy he collapsed on me. I gently stroked his hair and whispered into his 
ear: 

"You're sweet, Arpad, but that doesn't keep me from being very, very hungry. 
Now-send Ilona in with a tray and tell Jancsi about the bath, will you...?" 

He kissed me on the cheek and got up, reaching for his robe that was hanging 
over the back of a chair. 

"You don't know how many admirers you've made here, Pepi. Jancsi has been 
firing that stove in the bathroom for the past hour so that you'll have a 
nice warm bath. And Ilona has already asked me twice when you might want 
some sort of breakfast at this afternoon hour...." 

I laughed. "That's nice of all of them, but you'll kindly tell Jancsi that, 
this time, I want to bathe alone! You promised to take me to the village and 
show me the surroundings of your estate. Ilona can bring in the tray half an 
hour after my bath." 

"All right, Pepi...." said Arpad grinning from ear to ear. "I'm going to 
disappoint poor Jancsi and tell him all you want is a bath...." When he had 
closed the door behind him, I wrapped a robe around myself and went 
downstairs to the bathroom where the water was already steaming in the tub. 
It had the right temperature. There was no sign of Jancsi and so I quickly 
stepped into the tub and soaked only for a moment. Then I soaped myself and 
soaked again for a few minutes. 

Just when I was getting out of the tub I heard firm steps coming down the 
stairs. It was Jancsi, dressed in white linen trousers and a T-shirt. 

"The master told me you want only to enjoy your bath, Pepinkam ... well, let 
me at least help you get dry...." 

Without waiting for my consent he had wrapped a large white towel around me 
and patted it gently around my body so that I was dry in a few minutes. I 
noticed his hard-on that bulged through his trouser front, but I pretended 
not to see it. 

I didn't protest when Jancsi insisted on carrying me upstairs, but when he 
wanted to help me get dressed I threw a pillow at his head and told him to 
get the hell out. He laughed like a boy who had played a good prank and 
left, but not without kissing me on my neck. 

Ilona had already put the tray with the coffee and buttered rolls on the 
table, and I ate and drank with a healthy appetite. I noticed a bell on the 
desk in the corner and rang it to see what would happen. Ilona came in and 
asked: 

"Do you want more coffee, Mademoiselle...?" 

"No, Ilona, thanks! But if you'd help me get into one of these delightful 
peasant skirts and the embroidered blouse that Arpad wants me to wear, I'd 
be dressed in no time...." Ilona made me admire myself in the full-length 
mirror next to the door and when I didn't say anything, she exclaimed: 

"But you look beautiful! Don't you like it ...?" 

I had to admit that the Hungarian national costume did something for me and 
decided to wear it every time Arpad was taking me out to show me off. 

This time we didn't ride on horseback, but drove in an elegant English 
dogcart, a light, open carriage on two wheels. Arpad handled the racy horse 
like an experienced sulky driver. Just when we were about to enter the 
village we met a group of about fifteen young officers from Arpad's 
regiment, all on horseback. They crowded around our dogcart and were 
introduced to me. All were very good-looking and in their twenties and early 
thirties. The oldest, a herculean major, looked like forty and was extremely 
attractive. He sat on his horse as if he and the animal were of one piece, 
like a centaur. Everything about him exuded controlled virility and 
strength. I was immediately attracted to him. 

All officers kissed my hand when Arpad mentioned their names, but the major, 
a Baron Palfy, turned my hand around and pressed his lips into the fleshy 
part of my palm. At that moment I wished I could have him in bed. 

Arpad noticed my reaction and smiled, but I could see he was not a bit 
jealous, rather proud of my immediate success among his military brothers. 

"That's wonderful," he exclaimed, "that I met you all here. I was going to 
send you invitations to celebrate Mademoiselle Pepi's visit at Ofaley. We 
are going to have a wonderful shindig next weekend. It starts on Friday 
evening and lasts until Monday morning. I know you all can get a weekend 
leave...." 

They all yelled "hurrah!" and promised to come. 

"So long, boys!" Arpad shouted. "I'll see you all then, on Friday evening. 
You know one always has a good time in my place! Bring a healthy appetite 
with you ... and not only for food...!" 

They all laughed and saluted nicely and rode off. Arpad turned the carriage 
into the main street of the village and said to me: 

"You do know a good lay when you see one...!" 

I thought I knew what he meant, but I wanted him to say it. 

"What are you talking about, Arpad...?" 

He grinned. 

"That handsome Major von Palfy! He's a devil in bed, I assure you...." 

"More than you...?" I teased him. 

"Well...." he hesitated for a moment. "He is, let's say, different. I love 
to fuck a woman the regular way most of the time. But that Palfy ... he can 
do all sorts of things. Well, you'll find out next Friday!" 

I didn't know whether I should be glad of getting into bed with so many 
young and virile men, or whether I should resent Arpad playing the pander to 
his men friends. I decided to enjoy myself and forego all ideas of prestige 
and stupid pride. A whore can't afford these luxuries. Not before she has 
made the big time. 

The village was no great shakes. Arpad ordered a tremendous amount of cakes 
and other desserts from the bakery, because, as he said, his cook and her 
helpers could not possibly cope with all the officer guests by relying on 
their own ovens. The people and shopkeepers we met were all very friendly 
and, though they seemed to know I was not exactly a baroness, they treated 
me with almost formal courtesy. Hungarians are that way, especially in the 
country. 

The days until Friday were spent according to the pattern I have already 
described. Arpad fucked me in all possible and impossible places, in and out 
of the manor, while Jancsi and some of the other boys sneaked into my room 
at all hours of the night so that I had to sleep mostly in the morning and 
seldom got up before noon. But it was highly enjoyable to feel so many young 
male bodies against my own, and to have them squirt the essence of their 
manhood into my entrails. I ate, drank, fucked and slept. It was a 
paradisiacal life. 

At last, Friday arrived and the preparations for the shindig had everybody 
running around carrying things from the basement to the various rooms, or to 
the attic. The big, high-ceilinged hall where we always had our 
group-fucking was decorated with garlands and bunting in red, white and 
green, the national colors. The girls had washed and pressed their own 
costumes and those of the boys. Everybody looked scrubbed and at his best. 

When the sun was settling on the horizon, the first guests arrived. On 
horseback, naturally, and in their splendid uniforms with a lot of gold 
braid. The first thing they did was to change into light linen pants and 
shirts: the official peasant dress. 

Dinner was served in barbecue style, in the open. A huge kettle was 
suspended over a fire kept burning by logs of wood that were continually fed 
into it. The goulash could be smelled for miles and it seemed to me that not 
even twice as many people could empty that steaming kettle full of juicy 
meat cubes, paprika, potatoes and tomatoes and a lot of herbs of which I 
didn't even know the names. A dozen barrels full of red wine had been rolled 
into the court, ready to be used. 

The tables were simple boards placed on trestles. Equally simple wooden 
benches served as seats. Soon the feasting began and I was pleased to occupy 
a place of honor between Arpad and the handsome Major von Palfy. 

The wine, potent Tokay, grown in the vineyards of the estates, was 
continually filled in the waiting glasses. The goulash was the real thing 
and, therefore, made one thirstier and thirstier. I had to watch myself 
because that wine went easily to one's head and, what was perhaps better, to 
the genitals of males and females alike. 

Palfy, who'd asked me to call him Pali, or Paul, must have felt that I had 
become slightly noticed it and took! my other hand to make me feel his 
erection. This gave me the idea not to wait until Paul would do the same, 
but to anticipate this move. When I discreetly touched him on his fly and 
felt the tremendous bulge there, he put his palm on my hand and pressed it 
more firmly against his pulsating tool. 

I noticed that the hands of most of the other officers and the girls were 
doing all sorts of things under the table. Arpad had asked four of the 
youngest girls to sit at the table like guests and keep the officers in a 
good mood. They did an excellent job. By the time the dessert was served, 
deliciously light cheese dumplings, each officer had released his stiff tool 
from the prison of his pants as if the cool night air might do it some good. 

When the endless toasts started, it was really a strange view to see one 
officer after another get up to make his speech, while his bare penis was 
resting on the table in front of him. All toasts were, of course, in honor 
of that "wonderful paradise that every woman had between her legs and where 
every man, upon entering it, became a god!" 

Paul whispered something to Arpad, while bending across my figure, using 
this position to press his hand against my mound. Arpad nodded smilingly and 
slapped the major on the arm. 

"Naturally, Pali! Pepi will show you the way! She is an excellent hostess . 
. 

I had guessed correctly. Paul wanted to be alone with me. He helped me to 
get up and I had to make a little effort to walk straight, but after the 
first steps I stopped faltering. Paul had put my arm under his and I led 
him, straightaway, to my room and immediately turned the key in the lock. 
Before I could walk toward the bed, Paul had stripped me naked with an 
uncanny skill that made me suspect he was an expert in undressing women. He 
kissed my nipples and my navel and pressed me gently down on the bed. In a 
few seconds he was completely naked and joined me in the bed. 

What happened next and afterwards has become a pleasant blur in my memory, 
because, first, I was not quite sober, if not really drunk, and, second, I'd 
never felt a man doing all the things to me that Paul contrived to do. His 
caresses, coming from his fingers, palms, arms, elbows, knees, thighs, hips, 
yes, from every part of his nude, warm body, covered me like a net that held 
me captive. I could not think anymore, but felt myself sinking into depths 
of unspeakable delight and bliss. I could vaguely feel his tongue on my 
nipples, but the next moment they were covered by his fingers, while his 
tongue caressed my clitoris, and then the inside of my thighs. 

I began to whimper and moan like a mad woman: 

"Oh, Paul ... Pali ... my love ... you're killing me with sweetness ... ah 
... let me return your love ... left me caress you...." And my hands reached 
out, groping for his penis that I felt slapping against various parts of my 
body whenever Paul moved around me. At last he put it into my hand and I 
felt something so big that I had to open my eyes and look at it. I thought I 
was dreaming when I touched and saw that royal penis that exceeded all that 
I had seen before, not excluding Arpad's and Jancsi's. It was good that the 
wine had clouded my thinking. Because otherwise I'd have been seriously 
afraid to let a man press such a phenomenal shaft into my small hole. 

Paul must have felt that I had become slightly uneasy when I saw his cock, 
because he stuck his finger into my hole to see whether it was well 
lubricated. It was, but he wanted to reassure me by putting lots of saliva 
on his glans before he approached the mighty instrument to my grotto. 

Slowly and very cautiously did Paul make that pillar of passion slide into 
me. It didn't hurt a bit so that I tried to push my hips against him and 
suddenly I felt as if a whole man, Paul himself, had slipped into me and was 
moving in me. To my delight, and also dismay, I heard myself yelling, 
something I'd hardly ever done before. At least not so loud that the whole 
mansion must have heard me. But the pleasure I felt was so compelling that I 
didn't care who heard me and what they heard. I was delirious, even more so 
than when Jancsi had given me the business. 

"Ahh...." I shrieked, " ... ahhh ... you are a god ... I love you ... I love 
you ... yes ... move slowly ... that is wonderful ... ah ... you make me 
come every moment ... you are a god ... Pali ... Pali ... ah ... your hands 
on my breasts feel so good ... and your lips ... ah ... try to push a little 
more ... oh yes ... I'm going to die ... I'm losing my senses ... now ... 
now ... I'm coming again . . 

I was throwing my upper body in all directions, but Paul pinned me down by 
pressing his lips against mine. I heard him murmur between kisses: 

"Pepi ... Pepi ... my darling ... I loved you when I first saw you ... I 
wanted to have you ... to fuck you ... like this ... you are a little 
goddess yourself ... I've never felt so good before in a woman ... I'll fuck 
you all night ... do you want me to...?" 

I hardly understood him except that he asked me a question. Do I want him to 
be with me. That's what I'd understood. Did I want him to be with me! 

"You must stay with me...." I cried, "you must never leave me ... I want you 
in me ... all the time ... you must never pull out of me ... oh, Pali, my 
love ... yes ... now you're becoming faster ... that's wonderful ... I'm all 
dissolving inside ... I'm flowing like a river ... ah ... now again ... 
again ... I'm coming all the time...." 

I heard Paul's breath become like the kissing of a steam engine while his 
speed almost doubled. My cunt was so wet and smooth by now that it could 
have contained even a bigger cock than Paul's gigantic machine. He moaned 
and grunted and I loved the sound of it. I felt his large testicles bump 
against my perineum and that contact only increased my happiness. He put his 
mouth to my ear and whispered: 

"I'll come soon ... I can feel it coming up in me ... Oh, Pepi, Pepi, you're 
the only woman for a man like me ... yes ... keep pushing against me ... yes 
... now ... now ... now...." 

His voice rose with every "now" until it was a shout. 

"NOW...! Ahhhh ... Pepi ... Pepi ... Ahhhh...!" 

His discharge was even more copious than that of Jancsi's. His body vibrated 
and twitched violently as if he were in pain. But it was lust at its 
highest. I felt the warm liquid rush into me and then I lost consciousness. 

I came to only when I felt the smell of some eau de cologne bathing my 
temples. I opened my eyes and saw the anxious and pleased face of Paul 
watching me like a doctor aiding a patient. 

"Thank God, Pepi...! You had passed out and I couldn't rouse you for ten 
minutes. What happened...?" 

I smiled weakly. 

"I ... I don't know ... all I know is I've never been so happy before...." 

Paul put the cotton, drenched with eau de cologne on the night table and 
took me in his strong arms. 

"I wouldn't be a man, Pepi, my dear, if I didn't feel proud to hear you say 
that. But you have made me very happy too! You are quite unique! Do you know 
that...?" 

I didn't know what to answer. But I felt I had to be more careful than ever. 
First it was Arpad who threw me for a loop at Madame Yvonne's. Then when I 
had hardly come to my senses again and realized that a man who can give me 
good orgasms must not make me deviate from pursuing my goal, I fell for 
Jancsi, the sweet devil. Again I had to pull myself together and think of my 
future. And now.... 

I looked in Paul's jet-black eyes and saw great tenderness mixed with deep 
passion. All kinds of crazy ideas raced through my head. Why should I want 
to become the great and expensive demimondaine, another Madame Benesch, or 
perhaps even more famous, if I could spend my life with a male like Paul? He 
was almost forty, although he looked much younger. But he was a mature man, 
a baron.... 

Here I hesitated. A baron! Well, couldn't a baron marry me just as that 
Italian count had married my predecessor at Madame Yvonne's? A count was 
more than a baron, although these Hungarian aristocrats think they are 
better than all the nobility in the world. 

While all this was going through my mind, I heard again that other voice, 
perhaps I should call it the voice of reason. It almost sounded like 
Steffi's voice. 

"You know what you must do whenever you lose your head and fall in love with 
a man? Take on as many men as you can handle in a day! Try to get laid by 
lots of handsome guys for a week, for several weeks, until you realize that 
a big cock has made you lose your common sense for a while, and that you can 
always get laid by a lot of big cocks if you look around you!" 

I also remembered what Madame Yvonne told me when I said good-bye to her. 

"You know our good old Viennese saying that when a man's cock gets hard, his 
brain becomes soft. It's a little bit like that with us women, too. If the 
sight of a handsome stud, like Arpad for instance, makes us get moist 
between our legs before he's even touched us, then it's high time for us to 
watch out! If you want to make a career in our profession, don't ever permit 
yourself to get hung up on a man, not even if he's a combination of Hercules 
and Apollo...!" 

And that's exactly what Paul, Baron von Palfy, was: a combination of 
Hercules and Apollo. A very dangerous combination for an impressionable 
female like myself. While Paul kept brushing his lips all over my skin, I 
lay with closed eyes and pursued that line of thought. And I found a good 
solution. 

All the fourteen officers who, by now, were probably fucking all the girls, 
in the company of their horny host, were virile, handsome fellows. They all 
had come because their pricks were pussy-hungry and needed appeasement. 
There was no bordello in the small village of Ofaley and the chance for 
other local lays was small. They would be only too glad to ride me as often 
as possible, no matter that they had already laid the girls a few times. 

"Your brother officers are pretty nice guys...." I murmured sleepily to 
Paul. 

He lifted his lips from my belly. 

"That's true! And especially to pretty women! Those studs can take on a girl 
ten times during a night and then ride out in the morning without showing a 
trace of fatigue." 

I pretended to be skeptical. 

"I could believe this of you, Pali, but not of every other officer...." 

Paul sat up and gave me a quizzical look. "All right, beautiful! Would you 
like to test them...?" 

I made a thoughtful face and then said: 

"I'll take this as a national challenge: A Viennese girl will prove to 
Hungarian officers that she can take more than they can...!" Paul jumped out 
of bed and slipped into his pants. My words had done the trick. There are 
hardly any prouder males in the world when it comes to proving their 
virility than Hungarians and Spaniards. They are ready to prove it at the 
drop of a skirt. Often they don't even wait for that and tear the skirt off 
a woman themselves. Spaniards and Hungarians know the art of friendly rape. 
When I had already become the expensive demimondaine that I wanted to be, a 
famous young bullfighter visited me in my Madrid hotel room "to get to know 
me." Five minutes after he had entered, he "knew" me in the biblical sense. 
After the exchange of formal courtesies, he asked my permission to use the 
bathroom-quite an unusual request by a Spanish gentleman-and when he 
reappeared after a minute or so, he was quite naked and, without saying 
anything, he ripped my gown off me and laid me right then and there on the 
rug. And not once, but four times, with hardly any decent pauses in between. 
I had to tell him that the procedure was very unconventional, but that I was 
charmed by it, when he slipped his big engine into me for the fifth time. He 
spent the rest of the night with me and when I tried to remember, the next 
afternoon, how often my handsome torero had discharged in me, I couldn't 
make up my mind whether the sum total was fifteen or sixteen. I was to find 
out now, several years before the Spanish experience, that Hungarian men 
were of a specially enduring kind. Their seminal vesicles seemed to work 
overtime. 

Paul, dressed in his pants and shirt, said now: 

"In the name of my comrades, I accept the challenge from you. You'd better 
prepare yourself, because I'll be back soon with their answer...." 

After he had left the room, I quickly put on a veil-like gown, very much 
like the thing we wore at Madame Yvonne's. It was green and gave a lift to 
my reddish-blonde hair. I had hardly finished putting some powder on my face 
when there was a knock at the door. 

"May we come in...?" 

I recognized the voices of Paul and Arpad. I bade them enter. When they saw 
me they exclaimed: 

"You certainly look like a challenge! Our comrades are all ready for the big 
battle. Thank God they are not yet very drunk and will be able to perform 
like athletes and artists ... may we escort you to them...?" 

They stepped to the right and left of me and each gallantly offered me his 
arm. They escorted me to the orgy room where I saw a mass of nude bodies. 
The males were in the majority. A large buffet had been placed against one 
wall and everybody helped himself to snacks and more and more wine. 

When my companions entered with me, there was a loud shout of "Eljen!" 
coming from a dozen young men who all raised their wine glasses toward me 
and then emptied them with one extended gulp. They didn't throw the glasses 
into the fireplace, as I'd been told by Steffi, who had once attended an 
orgy at the palace of a Hungarian count in Vienna. But she had added that 
the guests were mostly Russian officers of the Imperial guard. They were in 
the retinue of the tsar who was visiting the Austrian emperor at the time. 

I was led to a large couch that had been covered with silken sheets and 
several soft cushions. When I laid down on it, I was told that each officer 
would fuck me only once, at one time. And when the last of the group had 
finished with me, they'd start all over again. I didn't see any of the girls 
near me and when I questioned Arpad about it, he said sheepishly that they 
had drunk too much and were not good for anything at the moment. 

"That's excellent...!" I exclaimed with a laugh. "Now all my competitors on 
the male side will have no excuse of becoming tired before I'm through with 
them...!" 

A shout of protest went up among the nude young men whose stiff penises were 
a sight to see. 

"What...! We ... tired...? Come on, boys, let's show that proud Viennese 
beauty what solid Hungarian pricks can do...!" 

I immediately switched off all sensual feeling and let only my brain work. I 
knew that my cunt was already lubricated enough for the first prick that was 
to pierce me. After each lay it would be easier and easier to get into me, 
while I would feel no discomfort at all. On the contrary, I'd have to curb 
my usual tendency to be carried away by many male caresses. I knew that I 
could let the whole group fuck me thirty times and more if I merely faked 
passion and remained a calculating onlooker inside. 

I was lucky! Most of the lusty young men were so tipsy that they had no time 
for affectionate caresses, but were out for purely genital pleasure. Each 
slid his weapon into me and came after a few minutes. Even Arpad and Paul, 
who were ordinarily slow and thorough fuckers, were no exceptions this time. 
I saw Jancsi standing about four feet away from the couch looking on with 
great longing, but Arpad had made it clear that the challenge concerned only 
officers. I felt sorry for the horny boy and while the eleventh officer was 
riding me, I beckoned Jancsi to my side and whispered to him that he may 
come to my room when all this was over. 

"But you'll be exhausted...." he protested. 

"Never mind, Jancsi ... you come to my room and find out...!" 

My partner of the moment was far too wrapped up in his pleasant task to pay 
any attention to this quick interchange between Jancsi and me. All the 
others were looking only at the genital zones of my partner and myself. Some 
were also refreshing their powers with more snacks and drinks from the 
buffet. 

When the last of the group had discharged into me, Arpad asked me whether I 
wanted a bite to eat and something to drink. I declined the food but asked 
for some orange juice with soda. After a few minutes I felt ready to take 
them on for the second round. I playacted so well that nobody felt like 
checking up whether I actually came as often as my moans pretended. I 
noticed that the wine had diminished the endurance of many of the boys and 
they therefore refused any refreshments after the round was over and said: 

"Come on, boys...! You don't want a rest, not yet. Or do you? Hungarian men 
won't let a girl like me lie here unsatisfied...!" 

That was enough to bring them on with renewed enthusiasm. But now, each one 
of them was coming after only half a minute, and I knew I was going to win 
the challenge. Everything is permitted in love and war, and this was both. 
My brain was working like that of a bookkeeper who doesn't want to make any 
mistakes in his entries. After the third round, I insisted on having them 
start the fourth, and then the fifth. 

I gripped the glans of each prick with my labia so cleverly that the semen 
spurted almost at once. None of them had enough sense to drink water instead 
of that strong Tokay. During the sixth round I had to ask for a rule: Every 
man who kept working in me for five minutes without coming was to be 
declared out and down. This was accepted as a fair request. After the tenth 
officer had to quit, according to that rule, I saw Paul and Arpad whisper to 
each other. Then Arpad stepped forward and handed me a glass of Tokay and 
proposed a toast to celebrate the obvious victory of the beautiful Viennese 
woman. 

I was overjoyed, but still cautious enough to take only a small sip of the 
wine. Since I had invited Jancsi to my room, I wanted to be in a condition 
to enjoy the embraces of that passionate boy who was an excellent lover and, 
besides, less dangerous for me than a mature man of Paul's caliber. 

When I told Arpad that I had earned a little rest, he wanted to take me 
personally to my room, but I said I didn't want to take him away from his 
rather weakened guests. 

"Why don't you let Jancsi prepare a nice, hot bath for me that will help me 
to relax...?" 

"Why, of course, Pepi! You have done a wonderful job and deserve every 
accommodation of the house...!" 

And he beckoned Jancsi to come to my side and do anything for me I wanted 
done. He had not the slightest suspicion I would take him literally after I 
had defeated fifteen Hungarian officers of the best hussar regiment in the 
war of the sexes and made them come away with limp cocks. I told Jancsi I 
wanted to leave as inconspicuously as possible and that he should go ahead 
and heat the stove in the bathroom so that I wouldn't have to wait too long 
for the water to become hot. 

"And this time, Jancsi," I said to the boy who was radiant with 
anticipation, "we shall have our bath like the first time...." 

He gave a shout of joy and disappeared, while I sneaked out by another door 
unseen. I joined Jancsi in the bathroom which was gradually warmed up by the 
wood stove. There was just enough time left to let the boy come in me three 
times before the water was warm enough to let it run into the tub. 

When I relaxed in the warm water I suddenly felt very tired. Jancsi noticed 
it and was considerate enough not to expect any more love play that night. 
He again took me in his arms like a baby, dried me and slipped a warm 
nightgown over my head and carried me downstairs into my bed. I must have 
fallen asleep while he was still tucking me in. 

When I appeared at the breakfast table next morning, or I'd better say 
afternoon, a real surprise awaited me. All the officers, still clad in their 
becoming peasant trousers and shirts, got up when I entered and cheered as 
if I were some visiting star of the opera. But that wasn't the surprise. It 
came when Arpad and Paul led me to a side table that was covered with a 
green cloth. Arpad snatched it away and my astonished eyes beheld open silk 
boxes, each of which contained some precious jewelry. Earrings, rings, 
armbands, necklaces and brooches of pure gold and studded with diamonds, 
rubies, sapphires and emeralds. 

"This...." Arpad said with a slight bow to me, "is the collective gift from 
all of us to the victor in the tournament of love. It should express our 
delight at having been defeated by a very beautiful Viennese girl...." 

Suddenly everybody had filled wineglasses in his hand and Paul, giving one 
to me, asked me to touch it to his and then shouted: 

"Our beautiful guest from Vienna, the incomparable Mademoiselle 
Josephine-Eljen!" 

"Eljen...." came the answering yell from the others. It was a white light 
wine, and to show my gratitude I imitated the others and emptied it in three 
gulps. But then I turned my attention to the strong coffee, the warm 
buttered rolls and various cakes. 

Being a girl that had come up from the slum section of Vienna, it was hard 
for me to believe that all that jewelry was genuine. But I didn't worry 
about it for the time being. When I told Arpad that I would have to return 
to Vienna the next day, he surprised me by saying that he would accompany me 
and personally return me to Madame Yvonne. I didn't like the word "return," 
as if I were a book he had borrowed from a library. It was quite clear to me 
that I would make use of my two experienced headwaiter friends in Vienna to 
convert all those jewels into hard cash. I might pay a visit to Yvonne, but 
having come into unexpected riches, I didn't want to continue in a 
whorehouse, no matter how glamorous. 

The young officers were visibly in need of some recuperation and I was, more 
or less, left alone. The "more or less" pertains to Jancsi who tried hard to 
get a few more lays out of me, but I told him in a sisterly way that I had 
to be in good shape before going back to Vienna. He seemed to understand, 
but kept kissing me whenever he caught me alone and his kisses were not the 
ones usually given to a sister. He really was a nice kid and I hoped I would 
see more of him at one time or another. 

It was strange to watch Paul, who must have sensed that I had instigated 
that sexual tournament as a sort of self-defense against falling in love 
with him. It was the first instance known to me when a man showed the 
intuition of a woman, especially a virile man like Paul. I have often 
observed since that strongly sexed men share the chiefly feminine quality of 
understanding many things by instinct rather than with their intellects. 
Paul kept watching me as if he expected me to tell him something decisive, 
but I merely exchanged superficial pleasantries with him, nothing else. 
Perhaps I would meet him again in a year or two, when I would be able to be 
on equal terms with him when it came to a showdown such as becoming his 
mistress, if not his wife. 

The day, thank God, passed quite uneventfully and everybody decided to go to 
bed before midnight. The train which Arpad and I had to catch in Budapest 
was to leave there in the morning. 

We all were up at seven the next day and I was greatly tickled to see that 
the boys, clad in their resplendent hussar uniforms, would accompany the 
carriage in which Arpad and I would drive to Budapest, on horseback. There 
is nothing like the gallantry and thoughtfulness of Hungarian lovers. The 
boys had telegraphed ahead and ordered a gypsy band to play those old 
Hungarian tunes for Arpad and myself when we boarded the train. It really 
made my eyes water when I leaned out of the window of our compartment and 
shook hands with all the handsome officers who did not so much shake my hand 
as cover it with kisses. 

When the train began to move, the band played the fiery Rakoczy March and 
the fifteen hussar officers stood at attention and gave a military salute. 
Then they all shouted "Eljen!" and threw their tchakos in the air, caught 
them and tossed them in the air again, repeating the exuberant gesture until 
the train had carried us out of their sight. 

I fell back on the nicely upholstered bench of our first-class compartment 
and felt Arpad's arms close around me. It was good to be on my way back 
home. Vienna, after all, was my home in a big way. I realized that our 
compartment was strictly private when I saw Arpad secure the bolt and draw 
the curtain over the glass pane in the door. He wouldn't have been the man 
he was if he had not made the best of being alone with me for several hours. 
Before the train entered the Vienna station, Arpad and I had achieved at 
least half a dozen orgasms each. For a nobleman like him and a whore like 
me, it seemed to be the most acceptable way of life. 

At the Vienna depot, Arpad hired a fiacre which took us to the elegant Hotel 
Imperial, on the Ring in the Inner City. After having our bath and eating a 
sumptuous dinner, we retired early so as not to miss anything a tete-a-tete 
in bed could offer us. When we at last fell asleep in each other's arms it 
must have been three in the morning. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

IGI AND "THE ARTIST'S PARADISE" 

I woke up around ten the next morning, hearing a strange noise which turned 
out to be Arpad's snoring. I'd never caught him snoring before, but this 
time he was lying on his back with his mouth half open. 

I wanted him to go on sleeping until I had examined my suitcase to see 
whether all that precious jewelry was actually there and whether I hadn't 
dreamed it all. I had asked Arpad in the train how the boys were able to get 
such precious gifts for me at the last minute and he explained that mystery 
to me. 

"Those boys are all from very rich and old families. As soon as they knew 
they'd be invited to our shindig they got all those presents for you . . 

"But I don't quite see why they should plan to give me presents at all. They 
couldn't have known that I'd let any of them lay me and, least of all, that 
I'd challenge them to a match where they'd have to prove their potency . . 

I stopped when I saw the sly grin on Arpad's face. I said: 

"You don't mean to say they were so sure of themselves that a woman couldn't 
resist them . . 

"Says who...?" 

I nearly slapped his smirking face. 

"Well ... I must say this is the last straw ... they came already with the 
gifts in their luggage because they took it for granted that they could fuck 
me just like that, eh? Where is the much-vaunted gentlemanly gallantry of 
the Hungarian officer in all this...?" Arpad kissed my hand with a grand 
gesture and said: 

"But you don't understand, Pepi. That's exactly how a young, virile 
Hungarian hussar lieutenant expresses his gallantry . . 

"By fucking her, you mean...?" 

"Yes, and by giving her a costly present...!" That shut me up. I could never 
quite overcome those fits of wanting to play the great lady, no matter how 
silly it may have seemed at the moment. Arpad was right: I got costly 
presents which would give me a legitimate chance to play the great lady as 
soon as I converted them into banknotes. 

I stepped very cautiously (so as not to wake Arpad) to the window where my 
suitcase stood on a stool. I opened it and had to stifle a shout of 
pleasure. There were not only the jewel boxes, but also something that Arpad 
must have secretly put in before we left. Yes, I suddenly remembered he had 
asked for the little key to lock the suitcase for me. Right on top of the 
fifteen jewelry boxes which lay on the bottom of the suitcase, hidden under 
some chemises, was an elegant thin wallet of crocodile leather. I opened it 
and there were five one-hundred-guilder notes, all brand new. 

My gasp must have been more audible than I thought, because it awoke Arpad. 
I quickly put the wallet into my purse where it was much safer to watch. I 
went back to bed and covered the yawning Arpad with kisses. 

"That's for your most generous present...." I said. 

He yawned and stretched himself, but still found the time to squeeze my 
breasts. 

"What are you talking about...?" 

"You know, that expensive wallet and what's in it...!" 

He was now quite awake and sat up. 

"That's not from me, Pepi. I'm not poor, but I'm not so rich, either, like 
my friend Pali von Palfy...." 

"You mean...?" 

"Sure!" he laughed at my astonishment. "Paul is a multimillionaire and he 
enjoyed you so much that he thought giving you only that emerald brooch was 
too shabby ... Paul couldn't possibly give you money in person, so he asked 
me to sneak it into your suitcase." 

"My God...! What a man! I'd never have known he was the donor if I hadn't 
discovered the gift now and asked you about it...." 

"That's where you are wrong! If you'll look better, you'll notice a visiting 
card with his name inside the wallet ... he wanted you to know how much 
impressed he was with you...." 

I was speechless, but not for long. Arpad wouldn't have been himself if he 
hadn't felt like having a couple of lays before we at last had our baths and 
ordered a very late breakfast from room-service. 

When we started our third cup of coffee, Arpad suddenly reached across the 
table and covered my hand with his. His face showed a serious expression I'd 
never seen on him before. I wondered what he was going to tell me. 

"Pepi, you know how fond I've become of you! I haven't told you that Madame 
Yvonne had a brief talk with me before we left. She tried to explain to me 
that you'd be wasted as an entertainer in a place like hers, and I quite 
agreed with her. If I wanted to marry now, I'd perhaps ask you to marry me, 
but ... I don't want to tie myself down before I'm in my late thirties...." 

I couldn't help laughing at that. 

"You just couldn't stand the idea of doing it with one woman only, at least 
for a while, and miss out on so many pussies being available...." 

He laughed too and squeezed my hand. 

"You have come to know me very well ... but I wanted to talk with you! Paul 
discussed you with me and when he gave me that special gift, he said he 
hoped you'd somehow manage to become independent...." 

I was really touched to hear this. I'd never have believed that men, even 
those in high society, cared about a piece of female flesh in a human way 
too. Most of them want to ejaculate in a woman, pay her, and forget all 
about her until they are plagued by another hard-on. I was particularly 
moved to discover that it was Paul who felt about me in a special manner. 
And my surprise was complete when Arpad said now: 

"I'm usually not very observant, but when I saw how you looked at Paul when 
we first met him and the other boys on horseback ... I knew he fascinated 
you ... perhaps you were thinking of becoming his mistress.... 

He noticed my frown and reacted immediately. 

"Sure, Pepi, I know ... a beautiful girl always hopes to land a husband, 
even if her origin is of the humbler kind ... many of our aristocratic 
families received new, healthy blood from such liaisons ... Count Apponyi 
married a music-hall singer, one of the Esterhazys married his mistress of 
ten years, and so on. And their children are all handsome, healthy 
specimens...." 

"But I didn't...." 

"Please, let me finish this, Pepi. It's not very often that I can be serious 
like this. Paul would have married you if it were not for his old mother. 
She was a countess Seczeny before she married Paul's father and the 
Seczenies are a very old and proud family. The old lady is only sixty and 
still going strong. She's a widow and Paul is her only son. She'd never be 
able to take it if he married a girl outside of the nobility...." 

"I understand, Arpad. You needn't have bothered to go into all these 
details. Yes, you were right! I was quite impressed by Paul, just as I was 
impressed by you. But Paul has a great advantage over you...." 

He seemed hurt when I said that. 

"Now, that's not fair, Pepi! What has Paul got that I haven't got ... 
except, perhaps, an inch more in length and half an inch more in diameter . 
. 

I burst out laughing. 

"You silly boy...! You really believe that the size of a penis is so 
all-important to me...? No! Paul is about eighteen years older than you and 
you must forgive me if I'm more attracted by men who are at least ten years 
older than I am myself...." 

He seemed to think this over for a minute. "All right, I'll accept that! But 
now let's go back to you again. I've got a very rich friend, a Jewish 
banker, right here in Vienna. He's fifty and very unhappy...." 

"Very rich, you say...? So what is he unhappy about...?" 

"He can't find a mistress because he thinks he's not handsome enough for a 
woman, no matter how much money he might invest in her...." 

"In other words, Arpad ... you want to get rid of me and shove me toward an 
unhappy rich banker who's as ugly as hell ... shame on you!" 

He got up and came over to my chair and took me in his arms. 

"You just said you preferred Paul to me because he's older ... you were 
right ... I, somehow, need some change all of the time ... perhaps it's my 
youth ... or I'm always too horny for my own good. Believe it or not, but 
I've never before been with a girl longer than a few days ... you've been 
the great exception...." 

He covered me with kisses that tasted a bit of cigarette smoke. When he 
pressed against me I could feel his aroused sex, but I was determined to be 
business-like. After all, my future was at stake and here was a chance for 
me that might not come again so soon. All these valuable jewels, five 
hundred guilders in cash, and now, just around the corner a rich, ugly, 
melancholy banker who was panting for a beautiful mistress. 

"All right, Arpad...." I said, at last, "I'll always be grateful to you and 
your nice friends. Especially to you and Paul. And now-lead me to your 
panting banker. I want to see how ugly he is. What's his name, by the 
way...?" 

"Ignaz Gruenstein...." 

"Fine! I'll call him Igi, for short...." Suddenly I did a double-take. 

"What did you say...? Gruenstein? Not the Gruenstein...? Not the one whose 
bank has branches all over Europe like the Rothschilds...?" 

Arpad laughed at my exuberance. 

"No, not the Gruenstein! But one of his few cousins. He's in charge of the 
family bank in Vienna. And, believe me, he is loaded. I bet he doesn't know 
how much money he has himself. All right, get ready. We'll call on him at 
his office. I have to draw some money out of his bank, anyway. And be 
prepared to be invited to supper right away. You can stall if you want to. 
I'll keep our hotel suite for at least another week...." 

"I'm sorry, Arpad, I'll have to buy a nice dress first. The one in the 
suitcase is all wrinkled...." 

"Never mind! I'll tell the desk-clerk to send up the saleslady of Corteau 
... you know the famous dress shop? They have a little store here in the 
hotel for the convenience of foreign guests ... they can send up a few 
things you can try on ... and, of course, you can buy anything you want in 
my name...!" 

I hugged him and he went downstairs and returned with a saleswoman and a 
bellboy who carried three gorgeous dresses on hangers. I tried them on and 
kept all three, because they fitted me as if they'd been made to measure. 
They were mere models for display only, because in those days ready-made 
dresses were still unknown. All I could have bought, had I gone out to some 
store, would have been blouses and skirts. The saleswoman complimented me on 
my "marvelous figure," and I wasn't over-modest about accepting the 
compliment. 

After a light lunch in the dining room downstairs, we set out to visit Ignaz 
Gruenstein's bank and himself in his beautifully wallpapered office, 
furnished with antique chairs and an enormous eighteen century sofa in one 
corner. His desk, too, was a leftover from the days of the Empress Maria 
Theresa; all eighteenth century stuff. 

Igi, as I christened him later, didn't look too ugly among all that antique 
furniture which would have made an unsuitable frame for a young and handsome 
man. He was short and fat and quite bald on the top of his round head. The 
only not too pleasant thing about him was that he was continually sweating. 
He always carried several clean handkerchiefs on him to wipe his perspiring 
face every minute. I discovered later that this was pure nervousness and not 
merely all the blubber under his skin. 

As Arpad had predicted, he fell for me hook line and sinker. I was 
pleasantly surprised, though, that he had the tact to invite me and Arpad to 
have supper with him the same evening. Arpad, the clever scoundrel, said: 

"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Gruenstein, I can't possibly make it myself, but I'd 
be honored if my good friend Miss Mutzenbacher would accept your invitation. 
Would you, Pepi...?" I pretended to hesitate while Igi's anxious eyes were 
watching me. Then I graciously agreed. Igi promised to come for me in his 
private carriage, and why didn't I wait for him in the lobby of the Imperial 
around eight in the evening? I decided to make it clear to him, right from 
the beginning, that-whore or no whore-a lady doesn't wait for a gentleman, 
but the other way round. He looked quite abashed and corrected himself, he'd 
meant to say that he would wait for me in the lobby. 

When we left, Igi kissed my hand as if he wanted to swallow it. His thick 
lips felt what I thought was like the suction cups of an octopus, although 
I'd never seen one except in illustrations. Igi himself was a beauty when 
compared with an octopus, thank God! 

Arpad took me in his carriage to Steffi's place and I was lucky enough to 
find her at home. She nearly suffocated me with her embrace. In her 
enthusiasm she also hugged Arpad who didn't dislike it at all. But he soon 
excused himself and quickly whispered to me that if I didn't show up at the 
Imperial at night, he would know I wasn't in any "danger." Arpad had hardly 
left when I asked Steffi to let me tell her about my experience in Hungary 
at some other time, but that now she should, for heaven's sake, come with me 
to the Imperial to get the jewels and then discuss the practical side of 
everything. Steffi saw my point at once. Her eyes popped, though, when I 
showed her the new wallet with the five hundred guilders in my purse. 

"Hm," she said, "now it's you who'll be a woman of leisure and I'll become 
your chambermaid or something...." 

I kissed her and said: 

"No, not my chambermaid, but something far more important: my business 
manager. But let's take a cab now and get my things.... 

Arpad was not at the hotel when we arrived and I thought it better to open 
all the jewel boxes right there than display them in Steffi's furnished 
room. 

She gazed at the beautiful stones in their gold settings in silence. Then 
she looked at me: "You want to sell them, of course...!" 

"Steffi, you're my alter ego! Really, I'm glad you are reading my mind. Why 
don't we ask our two waiter friends to introduce us to a jeweler who'd pay 
me a decent price...?" 

"Nix on that...!" said Steffi with great emphasis. "I wouldn't trust those 
two rascals, or any jeweler they might recommend. They'd like to get rich on 
a lot of kickbacks. No! My doctor friend has very good connections, and he's 
the only one I'd confide in. Don't let anybody know that you've made this 
big haul! You still don't know people as I do. Come, let's take this 
treasure and go to my doctor right away. I can go to him whenever I want to. 
He's given me that privilege long ago...." That's how I at last met Steffi's 
benefactor, who really looked the part. A friendly and dignified man who 
couldn't possibly be stuffy even if he wanted to. When he saw the jewelry, 
he exclaimed: 

"I don't understand too much about it, but you should get at least a 
thousand guilders for the lot...." 

"A thousand guilders...." I cried. 

"Yes, or even more! Steffi will tell you that you can trust me with it. One 
of the biggest jewelers in town is a patient of mine. I'll show him the 
stuff tomorrow and let you know at once what he says...." 

"Yes, do it that way...." said Steffi. And then turning to her friend, "When 
could we come to see you tomorrow ... I mean at what time would you 
know...?" 

"Why don't you two have dinner with me tomorrow. By then I'll have all the 
information we need...!" 

And that's how we remained. 

My supper with Igi was a full-blown success. He ate like a horse and sweated 
like a wrestler. It was evident how much he tried not to push me back right 
away on the couch in the "chambre separee" where we were eating. It was not 
The Green Anchor, to my great relief. I didn't feel like being seen by those 
"who knew me when." 

I knew instinctively that I couldn't afford to let Igi get between my legs 
the first evening, although he was so much worked up that I feared he might 
have an apoplectic stroke any minute. But he did make a definite proposal to 
me: Would I consent to be his mistress? I said I felt quite flattered, but 
that I had to think it over first. 

"Oh, I know...." said Igi, sweating all the time, "I know you have been 
Arpad's friend for quite a while. He's such a good-looking man. It can't be 
easy for you to put up with a fat old Jew like me...." 

I had to nip such ideas in the bud. 

"Now, look here, Igi ... I may call you that, mayn't I...?" 

"With pleasure...." he exclaimed, not making it clear whose pleasure it was, 
and kissed my hand up to my elbow. 

"Thank you! Now let's get this straight, once and for all. I don't care 
whether a person is a Jew, a Christian, or a Mohammedan, or what have you! 
After all, Christ was a Jew! We often forget that...." 

Igi beamed and gave me a grateful look. "Now ... where was I...? Yes, now 
the question of your religion is settled. And as for having been Arpad's 
friend ... he wouldn't have let me supper with you if he were jealous, would 
he...? And what's more, he's a little too young for me, charming as he is! 
Because-and I want you to remember this, Igi-what I'm looking for in a man 
is not physical beauty, but beauty of soul, goodness and, of course, a good 
intellect. I like mature men...." 

Igi almost cried when he heard me talk like that. That was the moment, I 
knew, to tell him to please take me back to the hotel now, because I was 
really tired. He looked the tiniest bit disappointed and seemed embarrassed 
when I noticed the excitement of his penis underneath his trousers, but he 
acted like the gentleman he was, or wanted to be. Jews had to be very rich 
to be accepted in society in those days, and even their money wasn't always 
helpful when it came to aristocratic snobs who, of course, loved to make use 
of them as money lenders. Everybody in the lobby of the Imperial seemed 
quite impressed when Igi deposited me there before midnight and took leave 
with a moist kiss on my hand. 

Arpad wasn't in the suite. He didn't come back that night at all and I 
surmised he was spending it in the embraces of Madame Yvonne's girls. It 
turned out I was right. I went out next day before he came home. Steffi and 
I had a long session before joining her doctor friend at dinner. 

"How would you like to be the manager of a nice little cafe...?" I asked 
her. 

"Like it...?" exclaimed Steffi. "I'd love it! And you wouldn't have asked me 
if you didn't know I could do it, too...!" 

"I know you are ideal for that kind of thing! You not only have a good 
business sense, but also the right personality. You look great and, above 
all, you have the gift to say no when it's necessary, without offending 
people...." 

"Now, now ... let's stop the compliments...! You'd better tell me what sort 
of cafe you've in mind...?" 

"Well, since the doctor said I could get at least one thousand guilders for 
the jewelry, I'd own fifteen hundred guilders altogether. I've heard that 
one can find quite a few owners of the smaller cafes in the Inner City who'd 
sell for five hundred guilders ... now if I can buy such a little joint, we 
know lots of boys who could help us redecorate it in a nice bohemian style. 
I don't want to become a millionaire as a cafe owner, but merely have some 
security. I want it as a hangout for artists of all kinds. Steffi frowned. 

"But they are mostly broke...." 

"No, not all of them. And we'll also try to attract some famous artists. You 
know, singers and actors from the Theatre An Der Wien, from the 
Ronacher-Music Hall, and so on. You know they do go to the smaller places if 
they are attractively made up and have interesting regular customers ... 
and...." now I couldn't help laughing when I saw Steffi's expression, "and 
just imagine what kind of people might become attracted if they find out 
that Madame Mutzenbacher has a cafe of her own with you as manager and 
partner...." 

"What?!...." Steffi nearly jumped. "You want me to be co-owner...? But...." 

"No 'buts'...! How could I ever make a go of a cafe without you. You know 
damned well by now that you're closer to me than a sister ... so...." 

All that was left was to find a suitable place that would have to be done 
over to suit our plans. Again it was Steffi who advised me not to use Franz 
and Rudolf, "the pandering head-waiters," but rely on her doctor's 
connections. I came to like the doctor more and more, especially when he 
announced to us at dinner that evening that his jeweler friend was ready to 
buy all my presents for sixteen hundred dollars. 

"I'd suggest to you to close the deal," he said to me, and Steffi seconded 
him. I left a written authorization with the doctor to sell the various 
ornaments-each described in detail-for the price of sixteen hundred 
guilders. Steffi and I took a cab to get her home first and then take me to 
the Imperial. 

The desk clerk handed me a sealed envelope saying: 

"The Baron left this for Mademoiselle. He had a telegram from his estate in 
Ofaley to return at once. He said something about some sickness that had 
broken out among his cattle, I believe . . 

I thanked the man and when I opened the letter in the suite, I first noticed 
two hundred guilder bills that were enclosed with a note that said: 

"My darling Pepi! I just received a telegram from Jancsi informing me about 
some disease that has befallen our milk-giving cows. I'd like to take the 
afternoon train. The enclosed little gift should tell you how much I think 
of you and always will! Hope you're making out with my fat little banker. I 
paid for the hotel suite for another week. Why don't you have Steffi move in 
with you for the rest of the time, to have some nice company. Hope to hear 
from you soon. 

Your 'best' lover, Arpad." 

Arpad was one of the three or four men in my life who treated me like a 
human being. A brother couldn't have written me a more friendly note than 
the one Arpad had left for me. I may just as well mention here that the 
charming and humane boy died two years later. He had a bad fall from his 
horse and broke his spine. He was dead at once. It was somehow comforting to 
know that he didn't have to suffer. 

I notified Steffi the next day and she was quite willing to be my roommate 
for the following week. A very busy period began for me now. I had to divide 
my time between my ever-sweating Igi, who didn't get me into bed for two 
weeks and then was so over-excited that he couldn't come, which was only 
pleasant for me, because it gave me a chance to come six times, which filled 
him with so much pride and satisfaction that he had his orgasm at last, 
after working on me for almost an hour. I'm sure he lost at least ten pounds 
from this effort, to judge from the wet bed sheets that were completely 
sweated through. By that time I was already firmly installed in a fancy 
apartment of my own that Igi had specially selected for me. The building 
belonged to him, as did many others in the Inner City. His own elegant 
apartment was two floors above mine. I never told him about my 
"extracurricular" activities, such as redecorating a small cafe which Steffi 
and I had recently found and bought for only six hundred guilders. The owner 
wanted seven hundred, but when we told him we could pay cash, he reduced the 
price to six hundred. 

About half a dozen friends of Steffi and myself, mostly students who needed 
part-time work, helped us repaint it and decorate it in a gemutlich 
Biedermayer style, which goes back to about 1825, the time when Franz 
Schubert wrote his songs and symphonies and Beethoven had reached the zenith 
of his fame. 

It was stupid of me to keep the whole thing secret from Igi, because when he 
found out that he could help me financially. When I told him that I wanted 
the cafe to be "my own child," he seemed somewhat hurt, but it was clear to 
me that he was quite proud of my "good business sense," not realizing that 
it was Steffi who had been doing all the practical planning, designing and 
hiring of the help. 

When "The Artist's Paradise"-as we christened the little cafe-had its 
festival opening, Igi insisted on attending, all dressed up in tails to go 
with my stunning evening gown of red brocade and gold embroidery all over. 
Steffi herself looked fascinating in her blue velvet gown, embroidered with 
silver. She didn't want to tell me whom she had engaged as headwaiter. It 
should be a "surprise" for me and I hoped it would be none of the waiters we 
knew. They were good waiters all right, but too much out for themselves and 
would have stolen us blind, apart from making a clandestine whorehouse of 
our charming little place. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

GOOD TIMES AND MUCH FUN 

The opening night of our cafe was a huge success. Pepi, who thought of 
everything, had ordered over a thousand invitation cards from the printer. 
They read: 

!!We Are Looking Forward To Your Visit!! At "THE ARTIST'S PARADISE" Vienna, 
I., Lakestreet 2 Good wine! Good Music! Pretty Girls! 

When Igi and I entered, the combo of three (piano, violin and accordion) 
promptly began to play the famous tune by Johann Strauss, The Pretty Girls 
of Vienna, and Steffi, making a deep bow, escorted us to a box in the back. 
There were three of those boxes along the back wall for couples who wanted 
to have a little privacy. Curtains could hide them from others in the cafe 
while they could watch all that was going on. I often used to sit in one of 
these boxes to watch business. And once I also enjoyed a good lay there, but 
I'm rushing ahead of my story. 

When I noticed the tall young man in tails who was standing behind Steffi 
and who was apparently the headwaiter, I nearly fainted. It was Fritz, 
Steffi's blond, handsome student I He bowed to me as if he'd never seen me 
before. Igi must have noticed that I looked at Fritz several times and 
immediately became jealous. 

"You know, Pepi, it's not good to have handsome waiters in a place like 
this...." 

"But why not, Igi...?" 

He looked at me sheepishly. 

"Well ... men who come here with their wives are apt to become jealous . . 

"Oh...? Just like you now...?" I laughed. He was visibly embarrassed, 
because he knew it wasn't "good manners" to show jealousy in public. He 
began to drink the French Champagne he had ordered and wanted me to clink 
glasses with him every few minutes. I did, but barely sipped the bubbling 
stuff which always tastes so harmless, but makes you drunk in no time if you 
don't watch out. 

Since Steffi couldn't talk to me and explain things, for instance, the 
presence of Fritz as headwaiter, I encouraged Igi to drink until his head 
began to fall on my shoulder. He could hardly keep awake. That was the 
moment I'd been waiting for. I asked Steffi to get a cab for us so that I 
could take Igi to bed and come back alone afterwards. 

With Fritz on Igi's right side and me on the left, we managed to support him 
until we had reached the waiting carriage outside. When I had maneuvered him 
into the elevator and up to his apartment, his valet took over and, between 
the two of us, we undressed him and got him into bed. He didn't wake up 
once. 

I had asked the cab driver to wait for me and rode back in it to "The 
Artist's Paradise." Steffi sat down with me in the same box that Igi and I 
had just left and gave me the big news while I was strengthening myself with 
a goulash and a glass of beer. 

"It's really not mysterious at all...." Steffi began her report. "I didn't 
mention to you before that I happened to run into Fritz quite unexpectedly 
in the street one day. He looked more lean than he ever was, and I grabbed 
him by the arm and pulled him with me, no matter how much he protested...." 

"But when did that happen...? And why did you keep it a secret from me...?" 

"You still interrupt a suspenseful story, Pepi, you haven't changed at all 
..she teased me. "Now, now, don't give me that dirty look! Well, it happened 
only a few days ago, and I didn't want to mention it, before I was quite 
sure I could persuade Fritz to listen to reason...." 

"What d'you mean...?" 

"Listen, for God's sake! I forced him to accept my invitation to have a 
snack, and when I saw him devour a sandwich in no time, my suspicion was 
confirmed. He was famished. At last he told me that he'd lost his other 
part-time job and hadn't enough money to buy sufficient food and pay for his 
tuition. I immediately told him of our cafe and that I was looking for some 
decent, capable guy to be the headwaiter. If he had good looks, too, that 
was no handicap. 'Can't you just work for half a year, or a whole year, and 
interrupt your study while you keep earning enough money so that you can 
study afterwards without needing a job?' He thought it over for a while and 
then admitted it was a good idea. Well, here he is now. He has eaten three 
regular meals during the past few days, so he looks a little better. 
So-that's the story . . 

"That's really fantastic...." I said. "And who's the other waiter, that 
handsome brunet guy. He looks like an Italian...." 

"He's Fritz' roommate. He had to move in with Alfredo because the rent is 
cheaper that way. Alfredo is from Rome and studies here. His German is 
excellent and the slight accent makes him only more interesting for our 
customers, especially the women...." 

Steffi called Fritz over and made him shake hands with me. He beamed all 
over his handsome face which had become quite haggard. Steffi would feed him 
back to his normal weight again, I was sure. 

"I can't introduce Alfredo to you at the moment. He's taking orders from the 
company over there at the big table. We have to wait a while...." 

"That's all right. But ... how are you ... I mean ... you and Fritz ... do 
you...?" I really was embarrassed to ask that question and couldn't go on. 

Steffi seemed amused to see me embarrassed. "Do Fritz and I sleep 
together...? That's what you wanted to ask, eh...?" 

"Well ... naturally...." 

"It's not so natural, after all! I've met him again only about a week ago 
and ... well ... trying to help him to get on his feet again and so on and 
so forth ... I must leave it up to him to make the first move. I don't want 
him to feel like a pimp who has to fuck me just because I'm feeding him and 
giving him a chance to earn some money...." 

"Yes, I can see you've got a point there...." Steffi looked across the room. 

"Ah, now Alfredo can come over to us...." She called him and asked him to 
step inside the box so she could introduce him to me. He measured me with 
his deep blue eyes that made a good contrast with his black hair, and 
pressed his fleshy lips on the inside of my hand. Thousands of men have 
kissed my hand as a purely social gesture, but as soon as I feel the touch 
of a man's lips on the back, or the palm, of my hand, I can feel how he can 
perform in bed. Alfredo was a good lay, I felt. And I planned to find out 
whether my assumption was correct. But, on the other hand, I wanted Steffi 
to get her Fritz back and decided to do a little pimping as my good deed for 
the day. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

MY GUSTL 

Steffi left me alone for a while because she wanted to greet a group of 
customers that had just arrived and were shown to a table by Fritz. Alfredo 
used that moment to come again into the box and said very politely: 

"May I see your hand, for a second...?" Before I knew what he intended to 
do, he had gently lifted my arm and again kissed my palm, but this time he 
was beating a trill with his warm tongue that made me shiver. Boy, I 
thought, you'd fuck me right here if I let you. 

"Alfredo," I asked, "when is Fritz' night out?" 

"On Mondays, Madame!" 

"And that's when you're taking over for him...?" 

"That's correct, Madame. Are we going to see you often here? After all, 
you're the boss...." 

I looked him straight in the eyes. 

"Yes, I'll be here next Monday night when you're headwaiter. I want to see 
how you work. Incidentally, Miss Steffi is my partner, which means she's 
also the boss. And now send Fritz to me. I have to tell him something...." 
He bowed, but I could see he wasn't able to figure me out. On the one hand I 
announced I was going to be here next Monday, on the other, I hadn't smiled 
when I said it. Never mind, I thought, I know you're a good lay and you are 
all ready to shove your dick into me ... and that's exactly what is going to 
happen next Monday ... it can be arranged. 

My thoughts were interrupted by Fritz. He too addressed me as "Madame," 
although I used to be plain Pepi for him. I left it like that, for the time 
being. After all, I was the boss. I looked over to the group of new arrivals 
to make sure that Steffi was still occupied and then, without any further 
preliminaries, said to Fritz: 

"Your pride will kill you one day! Don't you love Steffi any more...." 

"Yes, I ... I ... I do love her as much as ever, but ... but ... you see ... 
now she's my employer, so to speak...." 

"What nonsense you're talking...!" I sounded quite serious. "You love her, 
you say, and let her suffer in spite of it...? What kind of love is 
that...?" 

He blushed and stammered: 

"You mean, she ... really...?" 

"Yes, you idiot! She really ... as you say. Now don't lose another day, or 
night. Show her that you love her and that you're a man...!" I couldn't 
bring myself to say "Just go ahead and fuck her!" He looked so blond and so 
damned, well, decent! Now Steffi called for him because some party wanted to 
pay and leave. He quickly kissed my hand and left. I felt much better now. 
It would be much easier for me to start a nice and perhaps regular fucking 
relationship with that racy Alfredo, since I knew that my faithful Steffi 
was taken care of again. She had once shared Fritz with me, and the least I 
could do was to make that handsome, conscientious boy again available to 
her. Since I saw Alfredo, I felt my guts stirred up and knew I wouldn't be 
interested in any other lay until I'd felt that passionate Italian in me. Of 
course, my "steady" friend, Igi, was no problem. Sex with him had become 
something natural, like brushing my teeth every morning, or like shaving for 
a man. 

The following Monday, a messenger boy brought me a note from Steffi, early 
in the morning, begging me to take care of the cafe that evening because she 
was getting a cold. Knowing Steffi very well by now, I knew that it could be 
true what she had written, or-she wanted to give me a chance to be alone 
with Alfredo that night, or-since it was Fritz' night off, she wanted to be 
undisturbed to spend it with him, at long last, or-both reasons were valid: 
she wanted me to have Alfredo and she wanted to taste her Fritz again. As it 
turned out, my last guess was correct. 

I went to "The Artist's Paradise" at ten in the evening. There were not too 
many customers and Alfredo and the busboy could manage quite nicely. Our 
dishwasher was very fast. Steffi had seen to that when she engaged the man. 
When the last guest had paid and left, just before midnight, I told Alfredo 
to lock the door and start to count the money while the dishwasher was 
finishing his chores. The short order cook was off, too. Mondays we served 
only beverages and whatever was delivered from our bakery. 

At thirty minutes past midnight Alfredo and I were alone in the cafe. He'd 
shown me his intake and checked it with the slips and then he excused 
himself, saying he wanted to change from his working pants into his street 
clothes (which were the more elegant ones). I was sitting in the very box 
where he had so passionately kissed my hand and when I thought that just 
about enough time had passed for him to get out of his working trousers but 
not enough to put on the other ones, I called him in an urgent tone: 

"Quick, Alfredo, I need you ... come ... quick...!" 

As I'd expected it, he came running in his undershorts to see what had 
happened to me. I looked down at his nicely formed legs and calves and the 
muscular thighs that were covered with a dark fuzz and touched one thigh 
slightly with my fingers. There was an immediate reaction between his legs. 

"Oh yes, Alfredo ... I wanted you to help me to get out of my dress. It's 
too warm in here...." 

He looked at me for a minute to see whether I was serious, or perhaps 
playing some kind of trick on him, but he lost all doubts when my hand got 
hold of his enormous penis and squeezed it a little bit. With a groan that 
came from deep down in his chest, he pulled my clothes off me and, the next 
minute, had pressed me down on the upholstered bench and shoved his knees 
between my legs. I grabbed his shaft myself and inserted it into my rather 
starved cunt, because my lays with Igi were just like dull marital bouts. 
Not unpleasant, but not exciting. 

"You really care for me, Madame, do you...?" 

"Stop calling me Madame, Alfredo. My name is Josephine, or Pepi...." 

"Ah ... then I'll call you, Beppina, like in Italian ... I loved you the 
moment I saw you ... I wanted you ... I wanted you very badly 

... I didn't know if you would have me . . 

I moved my hips against his strong thrusts and stroked his bushy black hair. 
He began to suck my nipples now. 

"You're good, Alfredo ... very good ... I, too, wanted you to have me ... 
like this ... I knew you were a good lover when I saw you ... and you are 
... ah ... you're making me come ... you are a good lover ... my 
Alfredo...." 

He increased his tempo and suddenly came, squirting quite a load of his 
semen into me, but he did not stop moving. That was quite unusual. Only some 
of my Hungarian lovers were able to do that. Alfredo's prick did an 
excellent job. I kept coming several times during that second tour and when 
he himself discharged, I was so stimulated that I had to discharge at the 
same time. But still, he didn't stop. His prick kept moving very slowly as 
if to get its breath back and, after a minute or so, redoubled its tempo. I 
began to shout with joy and hugged Alfredo's body with my legs, pressing him 
close against me so that his prick remained for a while deep in me. I could 
feel it touch my womb and felt the acme of pleasure. 

"I'll squirt my semen into you now ... Beppina ... you'll bear me a son ... 
I want you to bear a child from me ... ah ... here I come ... ah ... Beppina 
... Beppina...." 

I was hardly conscious, and only when I had rested under Alfredo's weight 
for a few minutes did it become clear to me what he had stammered during his 
orgasm. A son! He wanted a son from me! Oh my God, what a crazy idea. But, 
after all, wasn't it natural for a normal, healthy male to feel that way? To 
dominate a woman and fertilize her with his seed? When Alfredo and I were 
dressed again and ready to go, he suddenly embraced me and covered my face 
with wild kisses and stammered : 

"Have I offended you, Beppina? Don't you want to bear me a son...?" 

Good old Italian drama, I thought, but I replied: 

"I have to think about it, Alfredo. For the time being, let's enjoy each 
other. Don't you want to...?" 

He pressed his mouth to mine and said: 

"If I earned some real money I'd marry you right now. I want you ... I want 
you ... every night...!" 

This surplus of passion disturbed me a bit. I was Igi's mistress and didn't 
want to become involved in some emotional nonsense. Alfredo had certainly 
proved he was virility itself, but ... a love affair? No, I couldn't afford 
it. 

But-my almost daily indulgence with Alfredo didn't remain without 
consequences. After six weeks my menstruation failed to take place, and the 
week after that I went to see a doctor who confirmed that I was pregnant. 
Steffi, who had blossomed out during the past weeks, thanks to the 
ministrations of Fritz, did not become alarmed. 

"Why? You tell Igi that he got you pregnant. He'll be overjoyed at his own 
virility...!" She was right. When I confessed my certain "condition" to Igi 
and, especially, after the doctor had told him that it was indeed so, he 
nearly went crazy with joy! He, the fast, fifty-ish Igi, had begotten a son. 
He was convinced it would be a son. From that day on, he didn't let me use 
the stairs. I always had to use the elevator, which, in those days was a 
very slow business. Elevators could not be used to go downstairs, only 
upstairs. 

But it was not only Igi who became sentimental over the idea of having sired 
a son. Alfredo was walking on air and the mere idea of "his son" to be 
appropriated by anybody else, like Igi, for instance, made him utter dark 
threats of assassination. 

Steffi and I had our own sentimental states. We thought of a name to give 
the child, especially if it was going to be a boy. Igi had already proposed 
to name him Raymond, something he had heard in a French stage play. I didn't 
tell him I didn't want a son of mine being saddled with a French name. But 
when Alfredo said he wanted "his son" to be called Gustavo, I thought: Well, 
why not? Of course, not in its Italian version, but in German: Gustaf! And 
being a Viennese, we'll call him Gusti for short! 

Steffi was far more "expectant" than I, the potential mother. It seemed 
peculiar to me that I should say good-bye to my independent womanhood at 
twenty to become a mother. I didn't feel like being one. Perhaps this inner 
resistance of mine had an organic effect, because "Gusti" was still-born. I 
was the only one that heaved a sight of relief. Igi nearly put on mourning, 
Alfredo cried and Steffi kept him company with her tears. 

After a bed-rest of two weeks, I felt strong again, but was forbidden any 
intercourse by the doctor under whose care Igi had put me. Igi bore his 
abstinence heroically. After all, he had shown the world he could sire a 
son, but Alfredo became more and more nervous, so that I had to relieve him 
with hand and blow-jobs, also by letting him take me on from behind. 
Italians are often boy-lovers and anal intercourse is quite familiar to 
them. Both Alfredo and I were much happier, though, when we could do it 
again the regular way, although I don't know why it is so called. Perhaps 
because most people do it, for the lack of more imagination, I guess. 

This brings me to the end of my memoirs, at long last. Igi was my first 
millionaire lover whose financial resources were always at my disposal, no 
matter that I still watched over my little "Artist's Paradise." It began to 
make good money and I let Steffi have most of it. She had more than deserved 
it. She didn't refuse, because now she was pregnant herself. Fritz had 
"done" it at last, and the two discussed marriage. Yes, the oh-so-clever 
Steffi was willing to marry the man she loved. She didn't have to become a 
world-famous demimondaine, she said. Well, I decided to let her be happy her 
own way. Fritz was the kind of guy who could get a woman to marry him. But 
not Alfredo! He was too much of a passionate, dramatic and brooding Italian. 
Ideal in bed, but definitely not for living together. 

"The Artist's Paradise" carried on long after I had retired to the country. 
Steffi and Fritz were the legal owners now. I gave it to them as a wedding 
present. Steffi's child was a boy, but the next three were all girls. I know 
she was very happy in her marriage. She once confessed that "no other man 
can do it the same way Fritz does." I didn't remind her of her own words 
when she used to tell me that one talks like that of the lover of the moment 
whose penis is especially long and thick and extremely satisfying. Or rather 
it did remind me that she had had that opinion, but I found it wise not to 
bring it up again. 

If a woman is in love she can seldom listen to reason. And why should she, 
if the man in question is a really nice guy like Fritz? I've never found 
such a rare specimen, or if I did, I ignored the fact. Separation from what 
one loves brings the same amount of pain as was the amount of joy one felt 
when one had it. Perhaps I've been a coward. I don't know. I've written down 
my experiences and my philosophy of life and love, or rather sex! If 
somebody who believes in marriage wants to hear how to go about it, he 
should read Steffi's memoirs. I don't know whether she's going to write 
them. Perhaps, one day. 


THE END
