The Memoirs Of Josephine Mutzenbacher
by Unknown


INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER ONE 

Who was the Ghost-Writer? 

If one asks a Viennese over sixty whether he has read The Memoirs of 
Josephine Mutzenbacher, he will, first of all, smile as if remembering a 
happy incident, and then-in nine cases out of ten-he will reply: "What do 
you think I and my classmates were reading under our desks during a dull 
geography lesson in the Gymnasium?" 

This writer, being a former "Gymnasiast" in the Vienna of World War I, can't 
help having a similar reaction. "La Mutzenbacher," as we called the heroine 
of the forbidden classic of our puberty years, was as Viennese as schnitzel 
and as Austrian as the Imperial national anthem. 

The late writer, Stefan Zweig (1881-1942), a Gymnasiast of the generation 
preceding mine, spoke to me of the book in the same amused manner. "La 
Mutzenbacher" delighted the readers of the mid-nineties no less than those 
of the first decades of this century. 

Stefan Zweig was also the only mortal who worked up enough courage to ask 
the alleged ghost-writer of the Mutzenbacher Memoirs, Felix Salten, whether 
he had actually authored the book. The famous author of Bambi, et al, 
Zweig's senior by twelve years, was a very serious gentleman of dignified 
bearing which definitely did not encourage any indiscreet questions. Zweig 
mentioned the episode to me, years ago, in the following words: 

"Salten and I were discussing the literary phenomenon of famous authors 
writing bawdy stories containing four-letter words and describing sexual 
bouts with Rabelaisian frankness. Salten reminded me of the poem Der Herr 
von Iste by Goethe. I, in turn, mentioned Mark Twain's bawdy story dealing 
with the English court of Elizabeth 1: 1601. 

"I thought this a good occasion to question Salten about his alleged 
authorship of the Mutzenbacher story. He smiled mysteriously and said: "If I 
deny it, you won't believe me, and if I admit it, you'll think I am teasing 
you. So ... ' and he shrugged. To me this was a badly disguised admission. 
Knowing Salten well, I realized he'd have become very angry at being asked 
such a question unless he was the author." 

 CHAPTER TWO 

The Historical Mutzenbacher 

According to the baptismal records of the parish, Ottakring, Vienna's 
seventeenth district, Josephine Mutzenbacher was born in 1849, as the third 
and youngest child of Ferdinand and Marie Mutzenbacher, nee Schmidt. If it 
were not for her memoirs, nobody would have known of the humble past of the 
rich and cultivated demimondaine who, in the early nineties, was the owner 
of a ranch-like estate in the Austrian province, Carinthia, where she lived 
out the rest of her adventurous life. 

Josephine Mutzenbacher tells the truth in her preface when she speaks of 
having grown into a cultured and refined lady after escaping from the dregs 
of a streetwalker's miserable existence. Nobody who did not know the Europe 
of the period before World War I, has any idea of the tremendous spread of 
prostitution, both the clandestine and the "legitimate" kind. 

What was "legitimate" prostitution in Imperial Austria? Any female who 
wanted to join this oldest profession of the world, was given a special 
license by the police and had to carry a "book" as a qualifying certificate. 
Since she submitted to police control, she had to undergo a medical 
examination twice a week. The pseudo-morality of the authorities was 
documented by the fact that private, or "clandestine" prostitution, was 
prosecuted as being immoral, while legalized prostitution was acknowledged 
as a profession. But it was not fully acknowledged. If, for example, a 
prostitute did not receive the price agreed upon, she had no right to sue 
the unfair customer, because the Courts of Law would reject her suit "ob 
turpem causam"-for reasons of immorality. 

Although licensed prostitutes were members of a legally permitted 
profession, they were considered to be social outcasts, beyond the law. But 
the strange "social morality" in those days applied such limitations only to 
girls of the lower classes. A ballet dancer of the Imperial Opera, who 
obliged any man who could pay her one hundred guilders, did not need a trade 
license and was socially acceptable. The great courtesans and demimondaines 
received mention in the social columns of the newspapers, side by side with 
the names of respectable social leaders and aristocratic ladies. 

Josephine Mutzenbacher's name frequently appeared in the newspaper social 
columns of the seventies and eighties. In those years she became the 
"official" mistress of two, or three, wealthy industrialists, in due 
sequence, of course. That probably was the time when the young Felix Salten 
had made her acquaintance which-as rumors had it-led to a later invitation 
to her estate in Carinthia where he helped the retired demimondaine to write 
her memoirs. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

The Popularity of the Book 

Everybody who has read the Mutzenbacher Memoirs in the original 
Austrian-German is charmed by the poignancy of the specific Viennese humor 
as expressed in its inimitable and untranslatable dialect. It is the same 
southern German that was spoken by the Austrian Emperors, the aristocracy, 
as well as the common people. The quips and repartees of a Mrs. Reinthaler, 
a Mr. Eckhardt, et al, quoted in this book, have been used by the Viennese 
for the past three hundred years. It was the language of the great Empress, 
Maria Theresa, in her everyday conversations at court, and of the composer 
Mozart in his correspondence with his friends-to name only two outstanding 
Austrians. The Empress, of course, did not go beyond such dialect terms as 
arse, and teats, while Mozart used the more bawdy four-letter words without 
the slightest self-consciousness, like most of his contemporaries. I 
remember how the Viennese Society of 1919 was tittering about a crisp 
repartee of the then 83-year-old Princess Pauline Metternich, who condemned 
the sexual indiscretions of an aristocratic lady with the words: "What? She 
has hot blood? Twenty-five strokes on her fat ass, every day, would cool her 
down!" 

The outspoken old princess did not resent the promiscuity of the lady in 
question, but rather her bad taste in not keeping up appearances. Everything 
and anything has always been permitted and condoned by "society" as long as 
it was not talked about, or worse, became the gossip of the people. 

Since the first private edition of the Mutzenbacher Memoirs appeared, in 
1895, tens of thousands of copies have popularized the book wherever German 
is understood. It is unfortunate that some editions after 1920 have been 
tampered with by literati who thought they had to improve upon the original. 
They succeeded only in vulgarizing the refreshing clarity and directness, 
not to speak of the more poignant humor, of the former editions. 

The present translation seems to be based on an earlier edition and doesn't 
suffer from any spurious "improvements." Being familiar with the original 
edition, I was glad to see that the main characteristics of the style have 
been preserved, such as the heroine's use of cultured language and academic 
terms, whenever she speaks and philosophizes as the latter-day demimondaine 
looking backward, while being true to the popular slang terms when reliving 
the dreary scenes of her early girlhood. 

When Stefan Zweig planned to write a history of famous brothels (called 
salons) of Vienna and Paris, his extensive research acquainted him with some 
of the lives of the better known madams and courtesans of the turn of the 
century. He learned from persons who knew Josephine Mutzenbacher during her 
glamorous period, that she gave the impression of a refined lady who spoke 
fluent French, Italian and English, and could hold her own when conversing 
with educated men. When her Memoirs appeared, people hesitated to believe 
that the little trollop from Ottakring, as described in the book, and the 
elegant Madame Mutzenbacher were one and the same person. It is indeed 
something short of the miraculous that "little Pepi," (the diminutive 
nickname for Josephine), of the Memoirs, had the strength of character to 
metamorphose herself into a wealthy courtesan of repute. Paradoxical as it 
may sound when speaking of a "fallen woman" like Mutzenbacher, it does take 
tremendous strength of character to avoid the usual fate of the common 
streetwalker, death in a hospital ward from venereal diseases. It also takes 
a strong moral fiber for a young proletarian girl to escape the usual 
traumatic consequences of father-daughter and brother-sister incest. 

But it should be remembered that young girls, growing up in Central 
Europe-regardless of their social background-have always been exposed to men 
whose sex drives transcend what is called the "norm." Most Europeans, 
however, don't suffer from the spinster neuroses and rape obsessions common 
to the puritan Anglo-Saxon civilization, and it is rare for European girls 
to experience any traumatic aftereffects from some molestations by 
exhibitionists, or similar sick types. 

According to the findings of modern psychology, Mutzenbacher's childhood was 
the kind usually blamed for every later addiction, neurosis, psychosis, and 
even crime, but her innate willpower-a word not to be found in the 
psychological vocabulary-taught her to swim against the current, instead of 
drifting with it. The environmental theories regarding the development of a 
child have been contradicted even in this country, especially by a man who, 
last century, made his way from a log cabin to the White House to become one 
of the most quoted Presidents in the history of the United States. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

The Proletarian Milieu 

When I mentioned the amusement this book aroused among most Austrian 
readers, notwithstanding the misery in the lives of proletarian families, it 
should be remembered that there is no sharp dividing line between the comic 
and the tragic elements in our lives. Whoever had a chance to see the shabby 
old tenement houses in the poorer districts of prewar Vienna will understand 
Mutzenbacher's description of the atrocious housing conditions which still 
existed in the early twenties. 

Families with five, or six children, did not have the means to live in 
anything larger than an "apartment" consisting of one large bedroom and a 
kitchen. Bathrooms, and running water within the apartment, were something 
only the "rich" could afford. In a building where "Pepi" lived and grew up, 
there was only one toilet in the hallway of each floor for the use of 
several families; so was the water faucet over a basin, where the tenants on 
each floor had to draw their water supply. That was the place where the 
women met and exchanged gossip. 

The "sleeper," (or "Bettgeher," as he is called in Viennese German), was a 
familiar type in the poorer sections where nobody had enough room for 
himself, not to speak of sub-renting a room. No matter how difficult it was 
for a large family to find enough sleeping room in a one-room apartment, a 
camp bed in the kitchen was usually rented to a stranger who could not 
afford a furnished room. Every single condition in those days not only 
facilitated, but invited, sexual promiscuity and even incest. The latter, 
though, is not always conditioned by poor housing. [Dr. Kirson Weinberg, in 
his book, Incest Behavior, (Citadel Press, 1955) elaborates on the various 
types of incest occurring in this country.] 

The tragicomic situations in these Memoirs are numerous. The way in which an 
irresponsible-today, we would say "sick"-priest seduces his young charges, 
by feigning to "purify" them, reminds one of the methods used by Rasputin, 
the mad Russian monk, at the court of the last czar. 

The scene of seduction between Melanie, the full-bosomed daughter of a 
restaurant owner, and her father's coachman definitely has its funny 
aspects. While the girl is only too eager to lose her virginity, she tries 
to save face by continually asking her silent rapist, "What are you doing, 
Johann?"-no matter that he has almost finished his work of defloration. 

The scene at the police station where a young magistrate has difficulty 
controlling his laughter when he questions dozens of girls who tell lurid 
tales of how they were used by the priest in his role as Father Confessor 
and teacher of religion, betrays the skilled hand of the ghostwriter. So do 
many other scenes, and the various types acting in them such as Mr. Capuzzi, 
who produces obscene photographs, and has to prevent his male and female 
models from doing the real thing instead of merely posing. 

Those who knew Vienna in the prewar years realize that nothing in this book 
is fiction. They also realize that the only fiction in this regard was the 
American "image" of Vienna as an eternally gay city where people spent their 
time waltzing, singing and carousing. This romanticized Vienna of the movies 
was, in reality, the gradually deteriorating capital of a dying empire whose 
people were congenital complainers. Their saving grace was an equally 
congenital sense of humor, more acrid than gay, which helped the masses to 
joke at their own poverty. Beer, cheap wine, and promiscuous sex did the 
rest. 

It was this quality of being able to laugh at themselves that caused the 
Viennese to accept The Memoirs of Josephine Mutzenbacher as a true document 
of the times during the fifty years before the First World War, when several 
hundred thousand working families were doomed to live like Pepi's own 
family. The oft-quoted cultural and artistic life was almost entirely in the 
hands of the wealthy bourgeoisie, while the aristocracy-with a few notable 
exceptions-had no interest in art and music. 

It was mostly in the aristocratic circles and, naturally, among the clergy, 
that Pepi's Memoirs created embarrassment and resentment. For a society is 
always resentful toward those who dare to reveal its secrets and the 
dishonesty of its double standards. That is why the advent of Dr. Freud 
aroused so much indignation in Europe during the first two decades of our 
century. People were afraid to admit the "immoral" urges they were 
repressing in their unconscious. That is also why the Kinsey Report caused 
more embarrassment than sensation in this country when millions of men (and 
women) had to admit, at least to themselves, they were not the chaste 
puritans they wanted others to believe they were. 

It may be that Josephine Mutzenbacher, when she told Felix Salten her 
reminiscences, experienced a psychoanalytic catharsis, although she did not 
seem to need it. She was neither a sentimentalist, nor a romanticist, but a 
realist who saw the world and people as they were. Had she ever been 
challenged, especially in her old age, to confess her story to a 
psychiatrist, she might well have answered, in keeping with the words of her 
own preface to this book: 

"Thanks for the advice! You see, I started out as a small-time whore and 
wound up as a big-time whore, and those who don't know me well think I'm a 
great lady, but the biggest asset of my life is that I've never been 
neurotic!" 

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

 * * * 

 The Memoirs Of Josephine Mutzenbacher 

PART ONE 

-PREFACE BY JOSEPHINE MUTZENBACHER 

When I remember the old popular saying that young whores turn into religious 
bigots when they become old, I must claim to be one of the few exceptions. 
Yes, I am old now, and have lost my good looks, and though I am wealthy, I 
often suffer from loneliness; but I don't regret my past one little bit and 
don't feel I have to do penance. I believe in God, but I dislike making a 
show of religion which is a private concern. 

My sex education started very early in life, and theory and practice were 
never separated. I have experienced everything that a woman can in male 
company, be it in bed, on the floor, on tables or chairs, leaning against 
the walls of old houses, in the open field, in carriages and on trains, in 
military barracks, in prisons and bordellos. 

Although I was born in the proletarian slum section of Vienna, I inherited 
from my parents a healthy body which stood me in good stead through the 
vicissitudes of my life and helps me now to enjoy a comfortable old age. 
Most of the girls who were my playmates in that shabby neighborhood of ours 
went to pot and died an early death in dreary orphanages, or became 
old-looking hags in their twenties, worn out by the daily drudgery which is 
the lot of proletarian wives. But my voluptuous body withstood all the 
miseries of poverty and seemed to thrive on the practice of every kind of 
sex activity from early childhood on. 

My indestructible health was the firm foundation on which I was able to 
build a long and lucrative career as a prostitute. I was not only sexually 
precocious, but more observant than other slum children and I soon realized 
that as a matter of sheer survival I had to get away from the filthy 
proletarian suburb of my childhood. When I noticed that men wanted my body 
and were ready to pay for it, I tried to acquire customers among the 
socially prominent classes of society and when the men of social standing 
and erudition often showed some interest in "educating" me and teaching me 
good manners, I became an eager listener. Gradually I acquired a taste for 
culture and the finer things in life, especially when I noticed that 
low-born women like myself don't have to remain poor and ignorant nobodies 
all their lives, as we had always been told in our childhood. I also found 
out that most proletarian girls were driven to prostitution by social and 
economic conditions and not because they were just "naturally corrupt." 

I must admit that-in my own case-it was my passionate disposition and my 
prematurely awakened body that pushed me in the direction that might have 
led to an early death in a hospital for the poor, but which led me to a life 
of wealth and enjoyment instead. I got around, as the saying goes, and I 
widened my cultural horizon by travel in foreign countries, all the while 
observing people everywhere and letting my judgment mature. 

If, today, I want to write about the early part of my life, it is certainly 
not from any guilt feelings that may force me to unburden my soul, or any 
such nonsense. It is rather to mitigate my loneliness that makes me think 
back to the days of my childhood and young girlhood, and perhaps also the 
desire to find some entertainment in reliving my past and especially the 
memory of all those pleasures from which my aged body has excluded me for 
some years. I know that our dear old parish priest would like me to do 
penance in "confessing my sinful past," and base my writing on such an 
austere attitude. But, as I have said before, I don't feel any regrets, 
because that "sinful" life has saved me from suffocating in the slums and 
permitted me to live like any woman of good society. 

Apart from all that, I have never found any truthful description of how 
prostitutes actually live, what they feel and think, and what they have to 
put up with. Thus, by writing this book and offering the reader a realistic 
picture of the "low-life," many of my former customers and all the noble, 
rich and carefree males of "good society" may learn a good lesson about what 
the average "girl for hire," that they greedily press into their arms, 
thinks of them and that what she often has to tell them are not her real 
thoughts and feelings, but a professional "line" to make them feel proud. It 
will do those gentlemen a lot of good to learn the truth. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

My father was a very poor journeyman saddler who worked from morning till 
evening in a shop in the Josefstadt, as the eighth district of Vienna is 
called. In order to be there at seven in the morning, he had to get up at 
five and leave half an hour later to catch the horse-drawn streetcar that 
delivered him after one and a half hour's ride at a stop near his working 
place. 

"Suburbia" in the Vienna of the mid-19th century did not necessarily mean a 
residential section for the well-to-do middle-class, as in modern times. 
Rich people did live in the outer districts to the north and northwest, but 
the western and southern suburbs constituted what we called the "workers' 
ghetto." There, in gloomy tenement houses about five stories high, lived all 
the Viennese who were not white collar workers. 

Our tenement building, filled from top to bottom with poor folk, was in the 
seventeenth district, called Ottakring. Nobody who never visited those 
tenement houses can imagine the unsanitary, primitive living conditions 
under which we spent our childhood and adolescence, and-in most cases-the 
rest of our poor lives. 

My parents, and my two brothers and I lived in a so-called apartment that 
consisted of one room and a kitchen. That was the size of all the apartments 
in our building and in most of the other buildings of the district. Most 
tenants had a lot of children who swarmed all over the buildings and crowded 
the small courtyards in the summer. Since I and my two older brothers made 
up only a "small" family, compared with the families around us having at 
least half a dozen brats, my parents could afford to make a little money by 
accepting roomers. Such roomers, who had to share our one room and a kitchen 
with the whole family, were called "sleepers," because the tiny rent one 
could charge them was for a small, iron folding bed that was placed in the 
kitchen at night. 

I remember several dozens of such sleepers who stayed with us for a while, 
one after another. Some left because they found work out of town, some, 
because they quarreled too much with my father, and others simply did not 
show up one evening, thus creating a vacancy for the next one. Among all 
those sleepers there were two who clearly stand out in my memory. One was a 
dark-haired young fellow with sad eyes who made a scant living as a 
locksmith's apprentice and hardly ever washed his sooty face. We children 
were a little afraid of him, perhaps because of his blackened face and also 
because he hardly said anything. One afternoon I was alone in our place 
playing with what was supposed to be a doll on the floor. My mother had 
taken my two brothers to a nearby empty lot that was covered with wild grass 
and shrubbery where the boys could play, and my father was not yet home from 
work. The young sleeper came home quite unexpectedly and, as usual, did not 
say a word. When he saw me playing on the floor, he picked me up, sat down 
and put me on his knees. When he noticed that I was about to cry, he 
whispered fiercely, "Shut up! I'm not going to do you any harm!" 

He made me lie on my back across his knees and lifted my skirt so that he 
could look at my nude abdomen, especially at the spot between my legs. He 
kept looking and looking, and though I was still afraid, I did not move. 
Suddenly he heard my mother and the boys coming home and put me down on the 
floor and went into the kitchen. A few days after that he appeared again in 
the middle of the afternoon, but this time my mother was home. She seemed to 
be glad that the man had come so early and asked him to watch over me while 
she went buying some food. He promised to do that and as soon as mother had 
gone, he repeated the strange game of last time. Without saying anything he 
held me on his knees and contemplated my nude midsection with a fascinated 
stare. I, too, did not say a word, if only from fear. He repeated this 
strange ritual a few more times while he stayed with us. I had not the 
slightest idea what it was all about, and knowing that adults were strange 
anyway, I did not bother to think about it. Today, of course, I know the 
meaning of it and that's why I call that silent locksmith's apprentice my 
first lover. 

The other sleeper whom I remember only too well was neither silent nor as 
easily satisfied as the locksmith. But I'll talk about him a little later. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

My two brothers were quite unlike each other, as if they came from different 
families. Lorenz, the older of the two, was nine, my senior by four years. 
He was an introvert and I did very well at school and loved to go to church. 

Franz, the younger one, was almost seven. In contrast to Lorenz, he was 
always gay and outgoing and preferred my company to that of his brother. 

When I was seven years old I had a very remarkable experience. (That was two 
years after the bewildering episode with the taciturn locksmith's 
apprentice.) One afternoon Franz and I decided to visit the children of our 
neighbor, a widower who was at work all day and had to leave his son and 
daughter to themselves. Anna was a thin, blonde girl of nine whose pale 
complexion was not improved by the addition of a harelip. Her brother, 
Ferdinand, called "Ferdl" for short, was a robust and well-built 
thirteen-year-old, blonde like his sister, but much healthier looking, with 
red cheeks and broad shoulders. 

We had played a few harmless games as we usually did, when Anna suddenly 
suggested we should play "Father and Mother." Her brother laughed and said: 
"Yeah, she always wants to play father and mother and nothing else!" But 
Anna kept insisting and, without much further ado, took my brother, Franz, 
by the hand and declared: 

"You are my husband and I am your wife." At the same moment Ferdl took my 
arm and said: "Well then I am your husband and you are my wife!" 

Anna got hold of two pillow-slips and twisted them into the likeness of 
babies in swaddling clothes. Handing me one, she said: 

"This is your child!" 

I obediently took the imitation baby in my arms and began to rock it as I 
had seen mothers do with their suckling. Anna and Ferdl burst out laughing. 

"Hold it! You can't start out like that! First you have to make a child, 
then you have to be pregnant, then you have to give birth to it, and then, 
when it has been born, you can rock it!" 

I remembered that I had already heard of women being "pregnant," and that it 
meant they would give birth to a child. I also knew why women often had big 
bellies, but all this was pretty vague in my mind and, although Franz and I 
did not believe in the stork any longer, we still didn't know how children 
were "made." Both of us looked kind of silly, because we didn't understand 
what the "game" was that we were supposed to play. 

Anna seemed to know what to do next. She tried to unbutton the fly of Franz' 
pants. 

"Come on, Franz, pull that tassel out of your pants!" 

She didn't wait for him to make up his mind, but with a deft movement of her 
hand freed his "tassel" from its hiding place behind the fly. Ferdl laughed 
as if it were a big joke, but I didn't know what to do. My feelings were all 
mixed up. I looked at Franz' tassel with as much astonishment as 
fascination, also with curiosity and a little uneasiness. But I also felt a 
strange excitement that was new to me. 

Franz himself stood quite still and didn't know what exactly was happening 
to him, but the touch of Anna's hand on his bare tassel made it stand up 
stiff like a small pencil. 

"Quick, Franz," Anna was whispering, "come on, now!" With that she flopped 
down on the floor, lifted her little skirt and spread her legs apart. At the 
same time I felt Ferdl's hand between my legs while he urged me in a hoarse 
voice to lie down. I did so obediently and as soon as I pulled my skirt over 
my belly, Ferdl knelt between my legs and rubbed his stiff tassel against my 
belly. I had to giggle because in his excitement Ferdl moved his tassel all 
over my abdomen and tickled me quite a bit. His weight on my chest felt a 
little heavy, and I began to find this "game" very silly, but Ferdl's heavy 
breathing roused a peculiar sensation in me that I had never felt before. It 
was almost pleasurable, and that's why I didn't insist on getting up, and 
even became quite serious after a while. 

Suddenly Ferdl stopped moving and lay still on me, then we both got up and 
he showed me his tassel which I took between my fingers and curiously eyed 
the small drop of liquid that appeared on its tip. Ferdl pulled the foreskin 
back so that the rosy glans became fully visible. I amused myself by moving 
the foreskin back and forth and watching the glans appear and disappear like 
the head of a turtle. 

Franz and Anna were still lying on the floor and at it, full steam. I 
noticed that Franz' face had become quite red and his breath was quick and 
heavy as that of Ferdl had been a while ago. Anna's face, too, had changed 
and reddened, her eyes were closed and she looked as if she felt a little 
sick. But I was mistaken, because when Franz stopped moving and they both 
lay still for a few seconds, Anna opened her eyes and seemed quite 
contented. Both got up from the floor and joined Ferdl and myself on the 
sofa. While we sat there together, Ferdl kept his hand under my skirt and 
stroked my cunt and I saw that Franz did the same to Anna. We girls, in our 
turn, played with the tassels of the boys, who enjoyed it very much. The 
tickling that Ferdl's fingers aroused in my cunt did not make me giggle any 
more. On the contrary, I felt a vague pleasure of a kind I had never 
experienced before. A voluptuous warmth spread all over my body as if 
Ferdl's fingers were touching me everywhere. 

That's why it came as a disappointment when Anna interrupted our 
preoccupation with one another and insisted that we continue to play the 
game in its logical sequence. She took the two imitation babies, alias 
bunched up pillowslips, shoved one under my dress and the other under her 
own. 

"You see," she said, "now we are pregnant!" We promenaded around the room 
showing our big bellies and got a great kick out of it. So did the boys. 
After a while we "gave birth" to the babies and rocked them gently in our 
arms and then handed them to our "husbands" so that they could admire them 
and rock them, too. To all outward appearances, we were playing like any 
innocent children and having great fun. 

Suddenly Anna got the idea that she should suckle her baby. She unbuttoned 
her blouse and went through the motions of a mother suckling her child. Her 
nipples were already quite noticeable and her brother began to play with 
them, encouraging Franz to follow his example. 

"It's too bad," said Ferdl, "that Pepi (that's my nickname) has no teats 
yet." 

I began to envy Anna and wished to grow and become older much quicker. Now 
Ferdl and Anna gave a lecture on "how to make babies." They told us that 
what we had been doing was called "fucking," and that our parents did the 
same thing when they were in bed with each other, and that's what made women 
pregnant so that they could have children. 

Ferdl was already an expert in these matters and seemed to know everything 
about fucking and making babies. I was astonished to hear that our cunts 
were still too undeveloped to let a boy's prick enter there and that only 
when we became older a lot of hair would grow around it and the hole would 
at last be able to open properly so that a prick could get into it 
completely. 

When I refused to believe this, Anna assured me that Ferdl was telling the 
truth, especially since he had fucked Mrs. Reinthaler, when he caught her 
alone in the attic one afternoon, where she was hanging up some freshly 
washed linen to dry. 

"That's why Ferdl knows it so well," said Anna, "his prick went right into 
her hole, all the way." 

Mrs. Reinthaler and her husband, a streetcar conductor, lived on the 
uppermost floor of our tenement building. She was a smallish, thickset woman 
with black hair and a pretty face, and very friendly with us children. Ferdl 
told us the whole story. 

"Mrs. Reinthaler had been doing her washing in the laundry room in the 
basement and came upstairs carrying a basket full of wet linen. When she saw 
me sitting on the last step in front of the entrance to the attic, she said 
to me, "Hello, Ferdl, you are a strong boy! Why don't you help me carry this 
heavy basket right into the loft?' Well, I did, and when we had put the 
basket down, Mrs. Reinthaler gave me a strange look and asked me what I 
wanted for helping her. I told her she didn't have to give me anything for 
this little help, but she suddenly took hold of my hand and pressed it 
against her full breast. 

""Doesn't that feel good?' she asked and her eyes were glittering. I knew at 
once what she was getting at because my sister and I had been doing it with 
each other for some time. Correct, Anna?" 

"Correct," said Anna, as if such a thing were a matter of course. 

"And so I wasn't as dumb as Mrs. Reinthaler seemed to believe," continued 
Ferdl. "But I wasn't too sure how far she wanted me to go, and so I just 
squeezed her teats for a while. She liked it all right and she opened her 
blouse and put her naked breast in my hand and let me play with it. She 
laughed and suddenly grabbed my already stiff prick and said, "If you won't 
tell anybody I'll let you do something else!' I assured her that I wouldn't 
say a thing. "Promise?' she said. "Sure!' I said. She went to the door of 
the loft to make sure nobody was coming upstairs and then she ran back to me 
and laid herself across the full laundry basket and pulled her skirt up to 
her waist and pulled me down on her belly. I didn't have to do a thing. She 
grabbed my prick and stuck it into her cunt where it disappeared. I could 
feel that my balls were hitting against her skin. I also felt the hair of 
her cunt rubbing against my belly. So you see? I really know all about it." 

Anna didn't want Ferdl to stop talking about this exciting adventure. "Was 
it good?" she asked him. 

"Yes, quite good," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Mrs. Reinthaler liked 
it very much. She kept pushing back at me and pressed me against her and 
made me play with her teats all the while. When it was all over, she jumped 
up, pushed her skirt down and hissed at me, "Now get the hell out of here, 
you louse, and if you say one word to a soul I'll bash your head in. Now 
scram!' " 

Ferdl was frowning. "I don't understand why she was mad, all of a sudden?" 

"Never mind!" said Anna impatiently. "Look. Ferdl, why don't we see whether 
you can stick it into me the way you could do it with Mrs. Reinthaler. We 
haven't tried it for some time." Ferdl groped under her skirt and played 
around for a few seconds, but when he tried to stick a finger into her hole, 
she said: 

"No, let's try the real thing. Come on, we'll play father and mother again!" 

Franz went over to Anna and grabbed her, but she pushed him away. 

"No, this time Ferdl is going to be my husband. You try it with Pepi!" 

While Anna pulled her brother down on her, I took Franz' little tassel out 
of his fly and I still remember how excited I was when I felt it become 
stiff and hard. I massaged it a little and Franz rubbed his hand against my 
cunt, but since we knew now how the thing was done, we flopped down on the 
floor and I directed Franz' little prick between my thighs so that it rubbed 
against my cunt. I wanted to feel it there and not sliding up on my belly. 
Franz did a good job and I began to enjoy it so much that I rubbed against 
him, too. That went on for some time until Franz collapsed on me and seemed 
quite exhausted. We lay there without moving for a few moments until we 
heard a whispered dispute going on next to us. 

When we got up we saw that Ferdl was still lying on Anna and that she had 
put her legs around the small of his back. 

"Hold still," we heard Ferdl say. "I'm sure it will go in all the way!" 

"Yes," said Anna, "but it hurts!" 

"It will stop soon. It always hurts in the beginning. Just let me try. 
You'll like it!" Franz and I lay down on the floor on either side of the two 
so that we could see whether Ferdl's prick was really going in all the way. 
We noticed to our amazement that Anna's cunt was really open and that 
Ferdl's prick was almost half in. But he moved it back and forth so clumsily 
that it slid out again. I grabbed it and pushed it back into its place and 
tried to help by pushing it in further. But when Ferdl pressed forward with 
all his strength, Anna yelled so loudly that we were frightened. She got up 
and flatly refused to continue our "game." Ferdl, by that time, was so 
excited that I had to let him lie on me and rub his prick against my slit 
until he was satisfied. By now I felt a little sore between my legs and was 
glad that the time had come to go back home. Like the Reinthalers, we lived 
on the top floor and when Franz and I went up there we saw Mrs. Reinthaler 
and another woman standing in front of her door, gossiping. We couldn't help 
bursting into loud laughter and quickly disappeared into our apartment and 
banged the door shut behind us before the two women had time to turn around. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

It was from that day on that I began to regard children and adults, men and 
women, with a new awareness. Although I was only seven years of age, I was 
completely awakened sexually, a strange situation for so young a girl, and 
all the more so as this new awareness became manifest in the way I walked, 
and looked at people. My whole existence became a silent challenge to every 
male to grab hold of me and possess me. The word "sex-appeal" had not been 
invented yet, but that was exactly what seemed to ooze out of my very being, 
and that is the only explanation I can find for the astonishing fact that 
even mature and usually reasonable men could not keep their eyes and hands 
off me when they saw me for the first time and lost all caution and every 
inhibition in taking their pleasure with me. 

I am not bragging, or giving in to undue vanity, when I say that even now 
certain men seem to get quite excited in my presence, no matter that my 
youth is gone, and that my face and body have lost much of their former 
attractiveness. Yes, even today when I take men like that to bed with me, 
they seem to become sexually drunk in my embrace. This natural sexual appeal 
in my nature must have been noticeable when I was still quite young and 
innocent. Otherwise, why should that taciturn locksmith's apprentice have 
always taken me on his lap to contemplate my nude abdomen? 

It was a few days after our informative visit with Anna and Ferdl when all 
three of us children happened to be alone at home. Franz and I decided to 
tease our older brother, Lorenz, who never paid much attention to us and 
antagonized us by his sanctimonious, "goody-goody" behavior. Franz asked 
Lorenz whether he knew where babies came from and also how they are "made." 
Lorenz looked quite perplexed and said: "Why? Do YOU know the answer?" 

Franz and I laughed, and I quickly took Franz' tassel from his pants and 
began to stroke it, while Franz put his hand on my slit. Lorenz didn't say a 
word but kept watching us with a serious face. Franz and I lay down on the 
bed and demonstrated our new knowledge exactly as we had learned it from 
Anna and Ferdl. Lorenz watched us quite calmly and never said a word, even 
when Franz and I had finished. I went over to Lorenz and wanted to open his 
fly and said: "Come on, you must try it with me, now!" He pushed my hand 
away and said to our amazement: 

"I've known about fucking for quite some time. You don't really believe that 
I'd have to wait for you two to teach me something new, eh? You know, of 
course, that fucking is a mortal sin, don't you! Fornicators go to hell!" 
His words scared us at first, but after a while we asked him whether he 
really believed that our parents would have to roast in hell for doing it. 

"Certainly," said Lorenz, making a stubborn face, "fornication is a mortal 
sin and all who do it must go to hell!" 

This time we laughed because we sensed his stupid piousness which made him 
talk that way. But Lorenz repeated his contention and when we teased him 
about it, he threatened to tell on us. "Wait till I tell father and mother 
about it! I'll also tell our teacher and the priest!" We were a little 
subdued by his talk and decided never to do anything in his presence. 
Nevertheless, Lorenz somehow knew that Franz and I continued to do it with 
each other, also that we played around with other children, but he kept 
silent and avoided being with us. 

Yes, we played the new "game" as often as possible. Whenever we were with 
Anna and Ferdl, Franz did it first with Anna and then with me, while Ferdl 
fucked me first and then his sister. If we didn't find Anna and Ferdl at 
home, Franz and I played our game alone. We did it day after day and 
couldn't talk and think of anything else. Our greatest wish was to be able 
to do it like real grown-up people. Anna and I wanted to have an adult man 
lying on top of us, and Ferdl and Franz dreamed of doing it with Mrs. 
Reinthaler. 

One day, when we had come to visit Anna and Ferdl, we met two other 
visitors, Mizzi and her brother Poldi. Mizzi, a thirteen-year-old, 
well-developed girl, was Anna's cousin. I envied her for the already pointed 
breasts under her thin blouse. We all talked about our interesting new game 
and Poldi, quite big for his twelve years, bragged about his pubescent 
sister. He lifted the front of her skirt and said: 

"Look! She already has hair on her cunt! Just like a grown woman!" 

We regarded the triangular tuft of hair below Mizzi's belly almost with 
respect. There was a grown woman, we thought. And we felt sad about the bare 
places between our own legs. Next, Poldi helped Mizzi to shed her blouse and 
let us admire her firm young breasts. Each of us stroked and fondled them so 
that Mizzi became quite excited. She lay back on the bed, closed her eyes 
and reached for her brother and for Franz who stood next to her. Obligingly 
the boys took their stiff pricks from their flies and pressed them each into 
Mizzi's groping hands. Ferdl placed himself between her legs and tickled her 
slit with his stick. She stretched her body and exclaimed: 

"Ah, I can't stand it any longer. Quick, Poldi, do it to me!" 

The next moment her brother was lying on her and guided his prick into her 
hole. The rest of us were standing close to the bed and watched very 
attentively how some "real fucking" was being done. Mizzi and Poldi said 
that grown-ups did it exactly as they were about to perform for us right 
now. Each one of us was excited in his, or her, own way. Mizzi still held 
Ferdl's prick with one hand, while Franz had put his into Anna's hand. 

To my amazement Poldi kissed his sister full on the mouth. I hadn't known 
that kissing was part of fucking. I also noticed that Poldi kept caressing 
Mizzi's breasts until the nipples stood up quite stiffly. When Poldi's prick 
disappeared completely in Mizzi's cunt, I checked with my fingers to find 
out whether my eyes were not deceiving me. When I felt the root of that hard 
prick right on top of Mizzi's tuft of hair and then coming out again and 
sliding back the next moment, in and out, in and out, I became strangely 
excited. Poldi's prick was much bigger than my brother's and even Ferdl's, 
and I got a vague idea of what an adult's prick must look like. 

But, most of all, I was surprised at Mizzi's reaction. She wildly moved her 
hips, countering Poldi's thrusts with some of her own, and wriggled her legs 
and feet, and kept sighing and moaning as if she were in great pain. But I 
soon noticed it was anything but pain that caused her groans and 
contortions. Especially when she gasped: 

"Push harder, Poldi! Deeper! Deeper! Ah, that's good!" 

As soon as Poldi had finished and pulled out his limp prick, Ferdl and Franz 
struggled to get between Mizzi's legs first. Each tried to push the other 
back, and Mizzi watched them with a delighted smile, but when it began to 
look like a real fight, she quickly decided: "Stop! I'll have the little one 
first!" 

She meant my brother. Franz pounced on her like a madman and began to rub 
his little prick against her slit as he always did it with me. Mizzi grabbed 
his little pencil and stuck it into her hole. Franz stopped moving and 
seemed quite bewildered at this new experience. But Mizzi began to move her 
hips wildly so that Franz' prick slid promptly out of her hole. I grabbed it 
with my right hand and put it back where it belonged, and Franz seemed to 
understand what was expected of him in this, for him, new situation. But now 
a new difficulty arose when Mizzi insisted he should caress her teats as 
Poldi had done a while ago. When Franz tried to knead her breasts, he 
stopped fucking her and when she, quite impatiently, reminded him of moving 
within her hole, he forgot about her breasts. It was too much to expect of 
Franz to act like an experienced fucker on this first real try of his, and 
Mizzi sighed: 

"What a pity! The little one can't do much!" Now it was Ferdl who intervened 
by saving Franz all the work with Mizzi's teats. He caressed them and kissed 
and sucked the nipples so that Mizzi sighed with pleasure, while Franz began 
to move in her quickly and rhythmically so that she threw up her legs and 
moaned lustfully: 

"Ah, now it's good! Ah, that little prick feels really good, now! What a 
good little prick!" 

When they had finished, Ferdl quickly climbed on Mizzi without letting go of 
her breasts. She greedily grabbed his stiff tool and when he didn't find the 
opening immediately I helped him and kept my hand there so that I could feel 
him enter completely. I held his balls so that I could feel his prick move 
in and out, faster and faster. He did it quite skillfully and declared: "Ah, 
that's fine! Just as it was with Mrs. Reinthaler!" 

Ferdl's thrusts became almost violent so that the bed began to shake and 
squeak. Mizzi was groaning and Ferdl's breathing became so loud that I 
thought it could be heard on the staircase. A strange sensual atmosphere 
pervaded the room and was distinctly felt by Anna, Franz and Poldi who were 
looking on with a fascinated stare, their faces flushed scarlet. 

When Mizzi and Ferdl had finished at last, Anna and I demanded to have our 
turn, but Anna was quicker than I and threw herself on the bed and called 
for Poldi, who seemed to interest her very much, to mount her. Mizzi, who 
had got up from the bed with the bounce of a ballet dancer after a good 
performance, seemed as fresh as a daisy, and yet she had been fucked by 
three different pricks during the past hour. She smoothed her skirt down 
over her legs, but left her breasts uncovered and declared, laughingly, that 
now she wanted to enjoy herself by watching us perform. 

Anna was still lying on the bed, her skirt pulled up to her belly and her 
legs spread apart, but Poldi did not pay any attention to her invitation and 
began to play with the nude breasts of his sister. He lifted them with his 
palms, pressed them together and worked on the nipples with his tongue. Soon 
Mizzi began to emit lustful groans and leaned against a large chest of 
clothes. With one hand she worked on Poldi's stiff tool and with the other 
she caressed his pubic hair. If Anna was still hoping to get Poldi to mount 
her she must have been disappointed to see him so busy with Mizzi's teats. 
After a few minutes, Poldi lifted his sister's skirt and let her guiding 
hand deposit his prick in her insatiable hole. The two started to fuck so 
violently that the hangers inside the clothes-chest were bumping against 
each other. This was the first stand-up job we had ever seen. As a 
matter-of-fact, we hadn't even known that such a thing existed. When Poldi 
was through, it seemed quite natural that Franz should be the next to try 
this new position and this time Mizzi kept her hand near her hole to see 
that Franz wasn't going to slip out again. At last, Ferdl tried this new 
variation of the exciting game and proved that he was a fast learner. 

I realized to my amazement that Mizzi had stood these six lays without 
getting tired. Now I wished more than ever to grow up quickly and be able to 
do it like Mizzi. Anna felt grossly neglected and got up from the bed. She 
got hold of Poldi's prick and assured him that her hole was already big 
enough to do a good job and that he should try it. Poldi did not seem 
convinced. He lifted her skirt and groped her with his fingers and at last 
said she was not quite ready for the task. But Anna didn't want to give up 
so easily. She kept massaging Poldi's limp prick; it didn't have the desired 
effect. 

I had turned to Ferdl and tried to infuse some life into his tired tool and 
he let me play with it for a while, but it stayed down. My self-esteem was 
greatly hurt, especially when Ferdl let his hands slide over my flat breasts 
and exclaimed: 

"You just don't have any teats!" 

"To hell with you!" I thought and looked around for Franz whom I discovered 
lying again on Mizzi in one corner of the room. He kneaded her breasts as if 
he wanted to practice this special caress for further occasions. I opened 
his fly and pulled his stiff little pencil out, but he asked me to help him 
put it into Mizzi's hole. This was too much! Being twice rejected, I stuck 
my tongue out at him and said he should put his little worm into her without 
my help. He did it, too, and now we had to watch Mizzi enjoying her seventh 
fuck with great glee. It was the wildest of all and lasted a full half hour. 
Anna and I were glad when it was time for us to go home. We felt miserable 
and cursed that damned Mizzi with her large teats and her thick tuft of hair 
on her cunt. It became clear to us that we could not afford to risk having 
older girls around if we wanted to be included in that wonderful game. 

Thank God, Mizzi and her brother lived too far away to visit us often, and 
so Anna and I had to be good enough for our partners. We didn't pretend to 
play father and mother any more, but practiced screwing for the pleasure of 
it, without having to give any excuses to anybody. We had learned enough to 
be kept busy every day and tried to fuck lying down and standing up, too. 
Sometimes it became a little painful for Anna and myself, because the boys 
had tasted the real thing and always tried to drill their pricks into our 
holes, but without much success. 

This pastime of ours lasted all summer. Later Anna and Ferdl moved to 
another part of town and I didn't see Anna again until many years had 
passed. But before our two friends left we had the opportunity to enrich our 
sexual knowledge on a special occasion when Mizzi and Poldi had come on 
another visit. This time they brought a fifteen-year-old boy with them, 
Robert, who immediately took charge of our games. When he showed us his big 
prick we noticed that he already had a lot of hair around its root. We three 
girls were delighted with this almost mature emblem of virility and kept 
stroking it gently and also caressing the large balls we had taken out of 
his fly. Mizzi, always the greedy one, asked Robert to start with her, but 
he said, "No, I want to fuck Pepi first!" 

I still remember how proud and happy I was to be chosen, instead of that 
full-bosomed Mizzi. I climbed quickly on the bed, pushed my skirt back and 
opened my thighs as wide as I could. Robert came to the bed and groped my 
still hairless cunt and exclaimed: 

"It's still too small for the real thing! I'd have to rub against her slit 
on the outside." 

"Sure, she's only a rub-job!" Mizzi said very quickly, and pulled him by the 
arm. "She hasn't even two hairs on that little box. What do you want with 
her? Look at my box. I'm a real woman, you can stick it in as far as you 
want to!" 

"Shut up! I said I want to fuck Pepi first, and I'm going to do it!" Robert 
declared with firmness. 

I was lying quite still and kept looking at his face that had become 
flushed. He hadn't stopped rubbing his fingers against my slit, and for the 
first time I felt what it meant to be fucked by a real man, or rather what 
it could mean, if I were a few years older and had a riper body. 

Robert suddenly said: 

"Now all of you, do what I tell you. I'm going to show you something new." 

He seemed to think it over for a few seconds and then asked me to lie 
exactly in the middle of the bed, while Anna had to lie on my left, next to 
the wall, and Mizzi on my right, near the edge. Robert knelt in front of me 
and commanded: "Okay, Pepi, now turn around! Yes, on your belly! You, Anna, 
lie a little higher! Yes, your belly should be next to Pepi's shoulder! 
That's good, and you, Mizzi, take your blouse off!" 

Mizzi almost tore her blouse to shreds. She couldn't get it off fast enough. 
I saw that her nipples were dark and quite stiff. Now, Robert pushed Anna's 
skirt over her waist, and then he uncovered my fanny beyond the small of my 
back. With his right hand he gripped my belly very gently so that my fanny 
was raised a little and stuck his big tool between my thighs which, at his 
request, I squeezed tightly together. It was wonderful to feel his hot prick 
between my thighs and touching my slit, too. 

Robert removed his hand from my belly and began to move his prick slowly 
backward and forward. Soon I felt a thrill running through my whole body and 
wished this would go on forever. To my own surprise I began to sigh and moan 
as I had heard Mizzi do it, the last time, and I responded by pushing my 
fanny against Robert whose rhythmic thrusts had become slightly faster. When 
I heard Mizzi and Anna beginning to moan like myself, I wondered what was 
happening. I had my head buried in the pillow and could not see a thing. I 
didn't want to see anything. All I wanted was to feel that vigorous prick 
moving between my thighs, and down to my slit. 

I lifted my head a little and saw how Robert's right hand was fingering 
Anna's slit. He must have been doing a good job, because she wriggled from 
right to left and moaned louder and louder. With the other hand, Robert 
played with Mizzi's nipple which had become so stiff that it looked like a 
little prick. He himself was beginning to breathe hard and kept fucking me 
in the same, slightly increasing tempo. Ferdl and Franz were standing beside 
the bed, their faces quite red, and looked on. 

Mizzi, who was producing the loudest moans, suddenly screamed: 

"Ah, I can't stand it any longer! I want to get something into my cunt! Hey, 
you, Ferdl, Franz, stick your pricks into me, ah, I want to be fucked! 
Quick! Come on, Franz, you little squirt, give it to me!" 

When Franz saw her blindly groping hand, he quickly put his stiff thing into 
it. She pulled him close, and he quickly knelt on the bed next to Robert, 
and soon was fucking her like an expert. But he was not expert enough to 
play with her breasts at the same time. He needn't have worried, because 
Robert kept tickling Mizzi's nipple as before, which was driving her mad 
with pleasure. She grabbed her brother's bare prick and put it between her 
lips so that Poldi experienced the first blow-job of his young life. Ferdl, 
who seemed to be the only one left out of the group-fucking, crawled next to 
Anna and put his tool into her mouth and began to move it quickly in and 
out. His sister not only did not resent it, but began to suck Ferdl's fast 
moving cock as if it were a lollipop. 

I realized that all seven of us were getting great pleasure out of what we 
were doing and decided to remember this clever device for the future and 
perhaps add a few innovations of my own. Sex, as I saw more and more 
clearly, invited one to invent endless varieties. 

That wonderful stiff, hot prick of Robert's moved faster and faster, his 
breathing became almost a rattle, and suddenly, I felt a hot liquid squirt 
between my thighs and I yelled: 

"Hey, you are pissing! Stop it!" 

Robert, without stopping, grunted: "Nonsense! I'm coming! That's the best of 
it!" 

Now he stopped moving, and we all disentangled ourselves from each other. 
Each wanted to know all about this business of "having to come" and 
squirting a lot of liquid from the prick. Robert explained that that was 
what every adult man had to do when he was about to " finish fucking, and 
that it was the highlight of the whole thing. Ferdl, Franz and Poldi were 
assured by him that as soon as some hair would grow around their genitals, 
they, too, would be able to ejaculate a lot of liquid. Now, as long as they 
were younger, only a drop appeared on the tip of their cocks. 

Mizzi was not a bit interested in Robert's educational lecture to the boys 
and interrupted with an impatient demand: "Come on, Robert, now you've got 
to fuck me, but good!" 

"Relax, kid!" said Robert, who took great pride in having become our 
teacher. Besides, the other boys and Anna and I wanted to watch how Robert 
managed "to come." 

He was only too willing to give us an immediate demonstration. 

"If you want to see me come, you'll have to do a hand-job on me!" 

We didn't know what he meant. We knew now what regular fucking was and also 
what a blow-job was, but a hand-job was still new to us. Robert didn't 
hesitate to show it to us. He sat down on a chair, spread his knees apart 
and began to masturbate himself. (Of course, I learned the proper term for 
it much later.) 

We caught on pretty fast, and we three girls tried our skill at this new 
hand-job. Mizzi improved on the technique by sticking Robert's tool into her 
mouth and worked on it so greedily that Robert was afraid he might come too 
soon for us to see anything. He pushed Mizzi aside, and when Anna thought 
she could take over now, he grabbed me by the hair and pressed his prick 
against my face. I did not hesitate and received that big thing between my 
lips. It was quite different from feeling it between my thighs and soon I 
realized that the voluptuous sensation caused by the in-and-out movement of 
this thick, silky stick must be similar to what a grown woman feels inside 
her cunt during a regular lay. As a matter-of-fact, I did feel some 
sensation in my cunt as if there were some secret connection between mouth 
and genitals. Today I know that a woman's sex apparatus is not limited to 
her cunt, but extends all over her body. 

Robert disliked letting go of me, but he wanted to be fair and let Anna have 
a go at it, too. But Anna had hardly touched that twitching prick with her 
lips, when Robert began to ejaculate. The first squirt had gone into Anna's 
mouth and she quickly spit it out. Robert replaced Anna's lips with his 
fingers and kept masturbating until the last squirt of white liquid had left 
the opening in his penis. We all crowded around him to watch this 
astonishing spectacle and marveled at the distance his sperm was ejected. 
One big splotch landed smack in my face, and I was so excited that I didn't 
feel any disgust. Each one of us showed great excitement, especially Mizzi 
who kept pestering Robert: 

"But now, now you're going to fuck me, eh?" 

Robert's tool had become quite limp and seemed to need a good rest, and 
Robert himself said as much, but Mizzi acted hysterical and didn't want to 
give up. She squatted on the floor between Robert's knees, and began to suck 
and lick his tool as if her life depended on getting it hard again. It was 
no use, and almost with tears in her eyes she kept exclaiming : "But you 
WILL fuck me when it gets hard again, won't you? You will fuck me, won't 
you?" Robert didn't pay much attention to her wailing. 

We others didn't have much time to pay attention to Mizzi's problem, we were 
too busy practicing blow-jobs. This newly-learned variety of the great 
fucking game impressed us quite a bit and Anna and I had to serve the boys 
as willing guinea pigs. Anna took on Franz, while I put Ferdl's stick in my 
mouth. It was far easier to take care of than the thick and long tool of 
Robert's, but it was also far less exciting. A boy's penis can never be a 
good substitute for that of an adult. Besides, Ferdl was so uncontrolled 
that he pushed his thing right down my throat and moved in and out with such 
wild motions that I might have been a piece of wood with a hole in it. I had 
to grab his prick and direct the procedure with a firm hand. When he came, 
he didn't really come the way Robert had. The little drop that appeared on 
the tip of his penis was hardly noticed by my tongue. On the other hand, I 
again felt that certain sensation in my cunt as if Ferdl's prick had been 
down there instead of in my mouth. 

Anna was still busy sucking Franz' tool, and so I had to take on the waiting 
Poldi who had already "invented" this variety with his sister without any 
instructions and demonstrations from outsiders. He was more disciplined and 
skilled than Ferdl and moved in my mouth in an even tempo as if he were 
fucking a cunt. I became so strongly aroused that I would have yelled with 
lust as Mizzi had done a while ago; only the moving prick in my mouth 
prevented me from giving sound to my intense pleasure. Without being aware 
of it, I had begun to lick Poldi's tool with my tongue which, unfortunately, 
had the result that he came immediately. He, too, had become very excited 
and, at the final moment, pressed my head against his body. I could hear the 
blood beat in his veins, which, together with the twitching of his tool in 
my mouth, gave me a sort of ecstasy that I'd never felt before. I didn't let 
go of Poldi's prick until it had become quite soft in my mouth. 

Mizzi was still lying between Robert's knees, desperately sucking away at 
his limp tool and still without result. Robert's face didn't register any 
concern with Mizzi's efforts; he seemed so detached, as if he were reading a 
newspaper. Anna and Franz were still going strong at their blow-job, but 
suddenly Anna released my brother's stick from her mouth and said: "Let's 
try it now the regular way. Perhaps it will go into my cunt." 

Franz didn't have to be asked twice. He pushed Anna on her back and mounted 
her with great enthusiasm, and we all went over to where they lay to watch 
them. Franz was more impatient than considerate in his attempts, and yet 
Anna did not utter a sound of protest. She and her brother had been trying 
to accomplish this feat during the recent weeks, and this seemed to have 
loosened up the opening of her hole to some extent, because when Franz' 
little prick, still covered with saliva from Anna's mouth, drilled away 
between her legs, something gave, and Anna shouted: 

"Ha, he's in me!" 

"Yes, I'm really in her cunt," echoed Franz. I asked Anna whether she was 
feeling any pain, but no answer came. Those two were far too busy screwing 
like a couple of lunatics to pay any attention to what was going on around 
them. Only after they had, at last, finished, was I able to have Anna tell 
me that "this was the best thing she had ever felt in all her life." 
Meanwhile Mizzi's continuous efforts had the desired effect. After sucking 
and licking Robert's tool for about half an hour, nature took its course, 
and it was standing up, hard and rigid, and Robert condescended to mount 
Mizzi who behaved like one obsessed. She played with her own breasts, and 
grabbed Robert's fingers to put them into her mouth, sucking at them, one 
after the other, then she groped down to where Robert's prick was trying to 
do a good job and got hold of it for a second, as if to make sure that it 
was really fucking her. She also arched her body, from time to time, and 
threw her fanny around on the mattress so that Robert was almost thrown off 
her. Suddenly he bent down and began to lick and suck at her right nipple, 
just as we had done earlier with his prick. Mizzi was beside herself and 
began to scream and to sob: 

"Ah, you are wonderful ... oh, fuck me, fuck me, every day I want to be 
fucked by you ... ah, THAT is what I call a prick, a real, wonderful prick 
... push it in deeper, deeper ... ah, suck my other nipple, too, yes, the 
other nipple ... yes ... that's good ... push faster, faster ... you must 
fuck me tomorrow again ... every day you must fuck me ... ah ... ah ... 
Jesus, Mary and Joseph ... ah, aaah...." 

Robert worked in her like a piston in a cylinder, and at last he came, 
grunting with pleasure. Mizzi was lying below him as one dead. 

Without doubt, Robert had become the most important person in our little 
group. Each of us had profited from his visit, especially Anna who was proud 
to have been fucked "like a grown-up." But we were too excited to pay any 
attention to the success of any special individual in our group. It was 
Robert that our attention centered around. He told us that he had been 
fucking regularly for the past two years. It was his stepmother who had 
"trained" him. His father was paralyzed and needed a lot of attention. 
That's why Robert was made to sleep alone in the kitchen, on a small 
collapsible iron bedstead. One evening he was alone in the kitchen. He heard 
his stepmother talking with his father in the adjoining bedroom telling him 
to try to sleep. Suddenly she came into the kitchen and sat down next to 
Robert on the bench in the dining-nook and began to stroke his face and 
hair, then her hand slid over his shoulders and arms to his thighs which she 
groped and squeezed and, at last, she opened his fly and got hold of his 
prick that had become quite stiff. 

Feeling the hand of the still young woman playing with his tool, Robert was 
strongly aroused and grabbed for her breasts. She quickly opened her blouse 
and pressed his palms around her bare teats, guiding his fingers to the 
stiff nipples and showing him how to tickle them. Her breathing became so 
loud that the father called from the bedroom: 

"Hey, what's going on out there?" 

"Calm down," the stepmother called back. "Robert is helping me to push the 
flour barrel into place. It's heavy, you know." 

After caressing Robert's prick for a few more minutes, she thought it wiser 
to join her husband in the bedroom, but an hour later, when she knew he had 
fallen asleep, she came into the kitchen again and crawled into Robert's 
small bed. She knelt over him, with her knees on either side of him, pushed 
her nightshirt back and inserted his tool into her hole. The boy remained 
motionless, but when he felt the large teats of the woman touch his face, he 
grasped them and began to play with the nipples as she had taught him a 
while ago. She also encouraged him to take the nipples between his lips and 
suck at them like a baby. He felt her moving on him and instinctively he 
pushed against her until he was screwing her as she had intended him to. He 
felt her come and then she dropped down on him with her whole weight, 
exhausted. 

Next evening the game repeated itself, and all the following nights the 
stepmother joined him as soon as the father had fallen asleep. One night, 
she didn't leave the bedroom and Robert became more and more horny. There 
was a clear full moon shining through the window and Robert got up and spied 
through the glass panes in the door leading to the bedroom. He saw the 
stepmother squatting over the supine figure of his father. She was 
completely nude and put her nipples, alternately, into the mouth of the 
paralyzed man. Robert could not see whether his father could move his body, 
but after some time he heard the groans of both of them and realized they 
had come. 

Now he was greatly excited and called for his stepmother to come and feel 
his head. "I think I'm sick!" he added. She came out at once and realized 
that he must have seen everything through the panes in the door. 

"Did you see us do something?" she asked. 

"Yes, everything!" said Robert. 

She lay down next to him and pressed her teats into his waiting hands. 

"This time you will lie on top of me," she promised him. Robert did not wait 
any longer and helped her to strip off the nightshirt until she was as naked 
as he had seen her in the bedroom, a while ago. He hardly needed the 
coaching she wanted to give him. He was frantic with desire and mounted her 
without delay. Once he had his prick in her, he began to poke her like an 
old-timer, but suddenly he heard his father call out from the bedroom: "What 
the hell is the matter with the boy?" 

"He's quite hot all over his body," the stepmother called back. "Maybe he 
has a little fever. I'm cooling him down." 

"You giving him a cold compress?" 

"Sure," she answered, while Robert didn't stop fucking her for a second, 
"he'll be all right in the morning!" 

Soon the father had fallen asleep, and the two kept at it with such abandon 
that the bed began to squeak loudly; it was quite a noise. They had to pause 
to make sure that the invalid in the bedroom had not heard anything, then 
went right back to enjoying the lay. When Robert had finished, the 
stepmother wanted him to mount her again, but his little tool was still 
limp. She quickly took it in her mouth and began to suck it. It was a new 
caress for the delighted boy who soon was ready for another treat. But the 
full moon seemed to have affected the stepmother as it had Robert, and she 
made him get up and sit on the kitchen chair, then she straddled him, 
burying his prick in her cunt. He nearly suffocated under her weight, but 
this time, she did all the moving and Robert thought he would faint when 
both of them finished. It was a little too much enjoyment for a beginner 
like him. 

It was already dawn when the stepmother put on her nightshirt and went back 
to the bedroom. Although Robert had sunk into a profound sleep, he was too 
weak to get up the next morning. His father was convinced that he must have 
felt "feverish" last night and advised him to stay in bed all day. 

All that had happened two years back, and Robert had been fucking his 
stepmother regularly ever since. When he finished his story, all of us 
looked at him with respect and admiration. After all, he was just as good as 
a real adult. 

But the story had also stirred us up a great deal and we were ready to start 
experimenting again, all the more so as we had heard something new: the 
reversal of positions. We girls wanted to know what it felt like to lie on 
top of a male. Robert said we shouldn't think that this was all there was to 
it, but that there were many more ways of doing it. 

"For instance," he said, "I sometimes fuck my stepmother from behind!" 

I said that he had done it to me, too, and that's why I knew how pleasant it 
is. 

"Yeah, but I fucked you only between the thighs; when I screw her from 
behind, I stick it right into her hole." 

I realized that there were a lot of unknown pleasures in store for me and 
could not wait to be a few years older. 

Anna and Mizzi were eager to try lying on top of the boys. Franz had to 
oblige Anna, because his little tool was the only one she could tolerate 
getting into her newly opened hole. Mizzi had to try it with her brother 
Poldi, but I had no luck with either Ferdl or Robert; neither could make 
their pricks stand up. I was determined not to be a mere onlooker again and 
started sucking Ferdl's prick until, at last, it became stiff. I mounted him 
and he cooperated very nicely, rubbing his tool against my slit. Robert 
didn't even try to get another hard-on, because, as he said: 

"I have to save something for my stepmother. She still comes to me every 
night and I'm not going to disappoint her. What's more, I'm still learning a 
lot from her!" 

We understood that quite well and looked at Robert with the same awe as 
third-graders look at a college boy. 

Shortly after the memorable session with Robert, our two friends, Anna and 
Ferdl, moved with their father to another part of town. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Franz and I had no playmates left and we would have had to play our sex 
games only with each other, but that was quite impossible because we were 
never alone. Lorenz, or my mother, were always at home, and even when they 
went out for a while, we couldn't take any risks. 

As I slept in the same room with my parents, I decided to do a little 
observing now that my knowledge of what marriage meant had so greatly 
increased. Of course, I often heard their bed squeak at night and my father 
grunting and my mother sighing, but I couldn't distinguish anything in the 
darkness. Knowing what all those sounds meant, I became excited every time I 
heard them, and rubbed my fingers against my slit. One night I discovered 
that I could make myself come that way if I carried on long enough. 

Sometimes I heard my parents whisper to each other, and immediately 
afterwards the bed began to squeak and I knew that it had taken some 
persuading of one or the other to start the game. My mother was often quite 
tired when she went to bed and had to be awakened by my father when he was 
late, and sometimes also drunk, and then wanted to have his marital 
guaranteed pleasure. Sometimes it was my mother who had to prod my father 
into mounting her, but he never needed much persuasion except when he was in 
a drunken stupor and slept, snoring heavily, until the next morning. Sunday 
being the only day when father didn't have to go to work, it was usually on 
Saturday nights that he could afford to linger in some tavern and come home 
quite late and quite drunk. 

One Saturday night, when mother and we children were already sleeping, some 
noise woke me up. The light was on and I saw father was so drunk that mother 
had to help him get out of his clothes. When she had got everything off him 
except his shirt, he groped for her breasts, but she pushed his hand away. 
My father was a strong man and could assert his strength even when he was 
soused. He grabbed my mother around the waist and whispered hoarsely : 

"Come on, woman, open up!" 

"No, you are full of beer. Sleep it off!" 

He tore her nightshirt off and pushed her across the bed. 

"Quick, open your legs!" 

Mother gave in and spread her legs apart and hissed at him: 

"Turn the light off. The children might wake up!" 

"Nonsense! They are all asleep! Come on, stick it in for me! Damn it!" 

"First turn the light off," mother insisted. Father had already put his 
stick into her and began to move. The light was left on, and after a while I 
heard mother say: 

"Ah, that's good, really, tonight you've a real good hard-on ... not so fast 
... take your time ... and get it deeper into me, deeper ... ah, that's the 
idea, yes, yes, now quicker ... quicker ... come on, speed up ... ah, now 
make it come, make it come ... now ... now ... ah...!" 

Father grunted and gasped, and then both were quite still. After a few 
minutes the light was turned off, and soon I heard them both snoring away as 
they always did when they slept soundly. 

I cautiously got up and sneaked over to the sofa where Franz was sleeping. 
He was wide awake and told me he, too, had watched the whole scene and felt 
like doing it himself. With that he slipped on top of me, but I quickly 
turned around on my belly and told him I wanted him to fuck me from behind, 
the way Robert had shown us. We were careful not to make the slightest noise 
and when we both had come we admitted to each other that fucking at night, 
and in the nude, was much better than otherwise. From then on we often did 
it at night when we were sure that the others were fast asleep. 

It was several months after Anna and her brother had moved away when mother 
rented the bed in the kitchen to another sleeper. He is the one of whom I 
said I wanted to talk about, earlier. He must have been about fifty, but 
tall and with a good physique. I didn't know what he did for a living, 
because he stayed at home for the greater part of the day and often had long 
chats with mother in the kitchen, and when everybody had gone out, I used to 
be alone with him. 

He had a long beard of curly hair, and I often speculated on how much hair 
he might have between his legs. On Sunday I could watch when he washed 
himself in the kitchen. I discovered that his chest was all covered with 
black hair and that made me somewhat afraid of him, although I still wanted 
to know what he looked like below his belly. 

I shouldn't have been afraid of him at all, because he was always very 
friendly with me, chucked me under the chin, or stroked my hair, and I soon 
started to cuddle against him when he did that. One afternoon, when I was 
again alone with him, I began to feel more horny than ever and wished that 
big Robert was there and could do it to me. I went into the kitchen where 
Mr. Eckhardt-that was his name-sat on a chair reading the newspaper. He 
pulled me close and began to stroke my hair as usual, but this time I combed 
his beard with my fingers and, feeling all that hair, I became more and more 
excited. The way I looked at him seemed to act as a signal. He lowered his 
hand and touched my dress exactly where it covered that heated spot between 
my legs. He could have done it quite unintentionally and that's what I'd 
have thought still two years ago when I was really innocent. Now I was 
anything but innocent and knew exactly what was going on, and that's why I 
smiled at him provocatively so that his next touch on the same spot was more 
firm and demanding. I stepped right between his legs and gave him the same 
smile and, suddenly, his face became quite red. He pulled me into his arms, 
hugged me, and kissed me full on the mouth, while his hand slipped under my 
skirt and began to work on my slit with an artistry that I can still 
remember. It was as if all his five fingers were competing with each other 
to tickle every part of that critical spot so that it felt as if he were 
already in me, though he wasn't. 

When I began to rub my belly against his hand, he took one of mine and 
pressed his tool into it. I was startled to find that my hand was too small 
to close around it, and when I looked at it I was startled again, because it 
was so big and thick that I could not imagine it would fit even into the 
hole of a grown woman. Nevertheless, I began to play with it and massage it, 
up and down the way Robert had shown us when he masturbated. Mr. Eckhardt 
kept kissing me passionately and suddenly he came; it was like a volcano 
erupting. His semen splashed in big splotches on the floor, and some of it 
into my hand. I, too, came, since he had redoubled the speed of his fingers 
on my cunt so that I nearly swooned. 

When we both had calmed down, Mr. Eckhardt seemed startled at what had 
happened. He pressed me into his arms and said: 

"You going to keep your mouth shut about this?" 

I only smiled and nodded assuringly. He gave me another kiss and then got up 
and left the apartment. During the next few days I didn't see him very 
often, but when he saw me he seemed to avoid my eyes as if he were ashamed 
of the secret we both shared. This reaction of his gave me a peculiar 
feeling and I tried not to be alone with him again. On the other hand, I 
also felt that I did not dislike him at all and that my momentary running 
away from him was not what I really wanted. 

One afternoon I was playing with my brothers in the courtyard when I saw Mr. 
Eckhardt go upstairs. I knew that my mother was not at home and I sneaked 
upstairs after him. My heart beat a little faster when I cautiously opened 
the kitchen door and saw him sitting there at the kitchen table. He reached 
out for me as soon as he saw me and I noticed his hands were trembling with 
desire. I actually threw myself into his arms and soon his skilled fingers 
were tickling my slit again, giving me a real treat. When he let me hold his 
prick, I took a good look at it. It was twice as long and thick as the one 
of Robert's and I noticed that it was slightly curved. 

Today, after having seen thousands of these joy sticks of all sizes, having 
handled them and tasted them within my receptacle, I must say, in 
retrospect, that Mr. Eckhardt's specimen was quite extraordinary, what one 
may call a woman's dream, and had I been only a few years older, I'd have 
been able to get some real enjoyment out of it. In those days I had to limit 
myself to a good hand-job, and it wasn't even very good, because my hand 
began to be tired after a while and slowed down. But Mr. Eckhardt kept 
covering me with kisses and urged me on: 

"Ah, don't stop, my darling, my little dove, go on, my angel, go on, don't 
stop now, for God's sake, keep rubbing it, quick, quick...." Hearing him 
using all those endearments made me quite proud and I redoubled my efforts 
to bring this hand-job to a good finish. My diligence was soon rewarded. He 
ejaculated with such force that his semen hit me almost in the face which 
was leaning over his tool and had become quite heated what with all that 
effort. Seeing that large prick spurting such a great quantity of semen gave 
me a good idea what a real adult male should be like and it made me itch 
between my legs more than ever. 

A few days later Mr. Eckhardt and I were again using our hands on each other 
and he repeated the string of endearments, like "darling," 

"sweetheart," 

"my little mistress," 

"my angel," 

"my little dove" and many more. I was giving his tool an exceptionally good 
workout, while he did the same on my slit. When he noticed how I responded 
by swinging my hips back and forth-I was about ready to come-he whispered 
hotly: 

"O God, if I could only fuck you...." 

I almost startled him by letting go of him at once. Quickly I lay down on 
the floor, spread my legs and gave him the most inviting look I was capable 
of. He bent down and looked me over and then gasped: 

"No, that won't work ... you are still too young." 

"But that doesn't matter," I insisted. "Come on and try, anyway!" 

Trembling with desire, he shoved one hand under my fanny, raising my abdomen 
a little, and rubbed his prick against my little box, while I kept the 
moving tool in place. His thrusts became faster and he asked: 

"Have you ever done this before?" 

I should have told him of my games with Franz and Ferdl and Robert, but 
something made me say instead: "No!" 

Without stopping, Mr. Eckhardt whispered: "Oh, come on, darling, why don't 
you admit that you have done this before? I can see you are not new at the 
old game! Come on, tell me the truth! Who was it who did it with you? Tell 
me! Did you do it often? Did you like it?" I was swinging my hips like mad 
and breathing hard, not only with pleasure, but because some of his weight 
was on my chest. I also felt the twitching of his prick signaling he was 
about to come. But I kept up my denial and said: "No, no, I've never done it 
before! This is the first time...." 

"D'you like it...?" 

At that moment his semen splashed all over my belly and ran down my thighs. 

"Sure, I like it...." I assured him. 

"Stay where you are," he ordered and got up. He pulled his handkerchief from 
his pocket and cleaned up the liquid mess on my body. He continued his 
questioning: 

"Listen, kid, I know what I'm talking about! Of course, you have known 
something about this. Don't lie to me!" 

But when I-God only knows why-remained firm in my denial, he said: 

"Well, you must have seen somebody else do it!" 

That gave me a way out and I nodded. 

He pressed on: "Who was it?" 

I pointed toward the bedroom and said: 

"My mother and father." 

That seemed to interest him very much and he said: 

"Ah, your folks! Tell me, how did they do it?" He kept on questioning me 
until I had told him everything in great detail. While I was talking he put 
his fingers back to work on my slit so that I came another time. 

This adventure made me very proud. Now I had done it with an adult, a real 
man. But I was careful not to tell Franz anything about it, although we 
often speculated how good all this must be with grown-up persons as 
partners. I always made mention of Mrs. Reinthaler so that Franz became 
obsessed with the idea of being another lucky one who could help her carry 
her laundry basket up to the drying loft. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Since I had done it with Mr. Eckhardt, I developed a definite interest in 
grown men and always turned around when I noticed some especially virile 
looking fellow in the street and began to imagine how it would feel if such 
a man would take me on his knees and do it to me. 

The way I looked at men didn't go unnoticed. Many turned around and looked 
at me as if they didn't believe what they couldn't help noticing. Some 
stopped and kept looking, and one day a handsome young fellow beckoned me to 
follow him. This unexpected event made me horny as hell, but I didn't dare 
accept the invitation. 

Greatly encouraged by the memory of that fellow, I spent my afternoons on a 
large field behind our tenement house, called the Prince's Meadow. Mother 
used to take the boys there, sometimes, because they had lots of space to 
roam around and play behind a row of shrubs. Ordinarily one met only a few 
people there during the day and it was a good place for a quick lay, 
provided I could find another man like Mr. Eckhardt crossing my path. 

One afternoon I had strayed a little farther afield than usual and the sun 
was already below the horizon when I turned around to go home. At that 
moment I saw a soldier coming from the opposite direction and I immediately 
slowed down. When we were face to face I gave him my special smile. He 
looked surprised, but I continued to walk slowly. I had noticed that nobody 
else could be seen within a radius of half a mile. I turned around and saw 
the soldier still looking after me. I gave him another smile and walked on. 
When I turned around again the soldier beckoned me and I felt a burning 
tickle between my legs, and my heart beat a wild tattoo. But I was too 
afraid to go to him, and merely stood still. Now the soldier ran toward me 
and whispered in a serious manner: 

"You alone here?" And when I nodded silently, he added hoarsely: "Okay, 
let's go!" 

Although I was trembling with fear, I followed him at once. I couldn't help 
myself. My curiosity and my horniness drowned out any idea of caution. 

He led me behind some shrubbery and, without saying a word, he pushed me on 
my back and the next moment he was lying on top of me. I felt his hard stick 
pushing against my slit and quickly put my hand in front of it. But he 
pushed it away and kept trying to put his prick into me, groping with his 
hand for the right aim. His vain attempts began to hurt me, but I didn't say 
anything. I thought it had to happen at some time or another and the sooner 
the better. Once when his prick slid over my cunt it felt quite agreeable, 
but when he tried again to force his entrance the pain returned. Now he 
became angry with impatience and plain lust, and tried to force his way in. 

With one hand he spread my slit apart and with the other he guided his 
missile and drilled so vehemently that I feared he'd tear my cunt apart. 
Just when I was about to scream, he flooded me with his semen. The next 
moment he got up, adjusted his pants and, without giving me a second look, 
walked away and left me lying there. 

When I, at last, came out from behind the shrubbery, I saw him standing at a 
great distance, making water. For him the little incident was over, and he 
didn't think of it anymore. It was getting dark and I hurried in the 
direction of our building. 

I had hardly walked a hundred steps when I felt somebody tapping me on the 
shoulder. Quite startled at the sudden touch, I turned around. It was a 
dirty little boy, smaller than I and probably younger. He stood there clad 
in torn pants and shirt and gave me a triumphant, malicious look. 

"Hey, you," he said, "what were you doing with that soldier, eh?" 

"Nothing!" I said furiously. 

"Nothing, eh?" He laughed an ugly laugh. 

And then, with a sneer: "I've seen everything!" 

"You haven't seen a damned thing, you bastard," I yelled, but my poise began 
to give and I added lamely: "Really, there wasn't anything!" 

He quickly put his hand between my legs and said: 

"You bitch you, don't lie to me. You were fucking there in the grass, I seen 
it." 

He was quite angry and kept knocking his hand against my box. 

"What do you want?" I asked in a softer tone of voice. I saw it was futile 
to deny what he must have actually seen. 

"What do I want?" He had stepped quite close to me. "I want to fuck you, 
too! That's what I want!" 

I pushed him away from me and yelled: "Get the hell away from me! Scram!" 
Suddenly he slapped my cheek. "I'll show you, you whore! Don't ever push me 
again! You bitch! You like to fuck with soldiers, but you think a guy like 
me can be pushed around. I'm going to tell your mother about it. I know 
damned well who you are." 

I quickly turned and began to run away from him, but little as he was, he 
caught up with me in no time. He grabbed me by the shoulder and was about to 
slap me again, when I said: "All right, let's do it!" 

We stepped behind the shrubbery by the wayside and he quickly pushed my 
dress back and mounted me. 

"I've been waiting the whole damned afternoon to meet a girl I can fuck," 
this apparent seven-year-old said. 

"How could you have seen me?" I inquired. 

"There was nobody around." 

"I was hidden in the grass when the soldier took you on. That's how." 

He had a small, thin prick, but he used it quite cleverly, and I began to 
wonder why I had refused him in the first place. And because his prick was 
so very small, I got the idea that he could succeed where the soldier had 
failed. I grabbed the little stick and guided it right to the opening of my 
hole which was still wet from the soldier's ejaculation. And because of this 
natural lubrication, and perhaps also because the soldier's large tool had 
done a little advance-drilling, the boy's miniature prick suddenly slipped 
halfway in. I pushed against him and moved my hips and, lo and behold, for 
the first time in my very young life I had a male's member actually in me, 
no matter that the male was still a child. 

I still felt some pain, but I was too proud and vain to say anything. The 
boy liked the whole thing very much and fucked me in little thrusts with the 
regularity of clockwork. It took quite some time until he had finished, and 
he took off without any further regard for me. I tried to get back home as 
fast as possible. 

It was a Saturday, and my parents had gone to the tavern for a glass of 
beer. My brothers were already asleep and I tried to sneak by Mr. Eckhardt's 
iron bed in the kitchen. He was still awake and called me over to him. He 
pulled my hand underneath his blanket and I soon felt his prick getting hard 
when I touched it. Since he always slept in the nude I could feel his large 
balls, his thick pubic hair and his thighs and became aroused myself. 

"Well, don't you want to fuck?" he whispered. I didn't want him to touch me 
as I was still wet between my legs. The soldier and that shrimp of a boy had 
left their tokens. 

"No," I said, "not tonight." 

I kept jacking him off and hoped that once he'd come he'd leave me alone. 
But he tried to get his hand under my dress and when I tried to evade him, 
he asked: 

"What's the matter with you tonight?" 

"Oh, my brothers could wake up. Let's be careful!" 

And yet the feel of his big tool in my hand had made me quite horny again 
and I didn't resist when he lifted me up on the bed and let me mount his 
stiff prick. I rubbed myself against this pulsating, silky pillar of flesh 
and quite forgot about being still wet about my box. Mr. Eckhardt didn't 
notice anything. He was quite worked up and again called me his angel and 
his sweetheart, and when I came so violently that I felt my whole body 
twitch, he came too and wetted my shirt so thoroughly that I felt the 
moisture all night. This had been quite an eventful day for me, just as 
remarkable as when Robert had taught us what real fucking and masturbating 
and blow-jobs meant. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

My brother Franz was still watching Mrs. Reinthaler every day and I did some 
spying on my own, so that I could supply him with all the information that 
could further his secret plans. 

I often saw that pretty, fat woman standing in front of the building 
entrance, talking and kidding around with all sorts of men and I couldn't 
help thinking that she was also laid by them. 

The man with whom I saw her most was Mr. Horak, and as far as he was 
concerned it turned out that my suspicions were justified. Mr. Horak was a 
driver who transported loads of beer barrels to and from our building to 
various taverns and restaurants. I forgot to mention that the large cellar 
under our building was rented to a brewery and used as a subsidiary 
warehouse. 

Mr. Horak was about thirty, tall and athletic, with a round, red face. He 
had a little blond moustache and his hair was cut so short that it looked as 
if he had shaved it off. He also wore a tiny gold earring in one ear, which 
impressed me very much. It was said that the piercing of the ear improved 
the eyesight. I never found out whether it was true, or mere popular 
superstition. In those days Mr. Horak appeared to me as the acme of virile 
beauty and proud maleness. He always wore a nicely pressed white blazer, or 
a regular summer suit with a vest, ornamented with a heavy silver watch 
chain with a pendant: a little horse also made of silver. I admired it very 
much and would have liked to wear it as a charm on a silver bracelet. As a 
matter-of-fact, when, many years later, I had some money, that was the kind 
of bracelet I bought for myself. 

One day, when I came home from school, I saw two people standing inside the 
house entrance talking to each other. Sneaking a little closer, I heard 
laughter and banter, and when I peeked cautiously around the front door, 
there were Mr. Horak and Mrs. Reinthaler carrying on like a couple of kids 
who had just reached the age of puberty. Mr. Horak wore his white blazer and 
he tried in a playful way to grab Mrs. Reinthaler's breasts that were quite 
visible through her thin red blouse, which she hadn't tucked in, but let 
hang loose over her skirt. Mrs. Reinthaler always waited until Mr. Horak had 
got hold of one of her large breasts and squeezed it a little bit and then 
slapped the back of his hand to make him let go. When he grabbed both 
breasts at the same time and pressed them together, she pushed him away, but 
not very violently. 

He stooped and pretended to lift her skirt and she reacted with a little 
scream and then they both laughed very heartily for a while as if enjoying a 
good joke. I couldn't hear them after that and when I peeked around the 
corner I saw them talking quite seriously, but could not make out what they 
were saying. Suddenly Mr. Horak disappeared in the direction of the 
staircase and after a few seconds Mrs. Reinthaler was following him. I 
sensed I was going to make a useful discovery and sneaked after them. Both 
had gone down to the huge cellar where the beer barrels were stored. 

There was not one spot in that tenement building that we children had not 
explored at some time or other. We knew every nook and cranny in all the 
hallways, in the drying loft and in the cellar. That's why I could choose a 
spot behind a ledge in the wall that proved an ideal observation post. In 
front of me was a short corridor that ended in the storeroom which was 
receiving plenty of daylight through a few large grilled windows close to 
the ceiling. 

Smack in the middle of that storeroom I could see Mr. Horak and Mrs. 
Reinthaler pressed against each other in a passionate embrace. His hand was 
under her blouse playing with her large teats which I could see shortly when 
she took her blouse off. She pressed herself still closer against him and 
opened the buttons of his fly releasing his rigid prick which was very long 
and thin and of a strange paleness. Mrs. Reinthaler's hand wasn't exactly 
small, but it could hardly be seen when she began to massage that very long 
specimen that resembled a giant asparagus in its thinness and paleness. 

I could hear the heavy breathing of Mr. Horak and saw how he pushed Mrs. 
Reinthaler against a barrel and lifted her so that she could sit on top of 
it. He stood between her legs and was still busy with her breasts, kneading 
them and tickling the nipples. 

"I can't stand it any longer," gasped Mrs. Reinthaler, "give it to me right 
now!" 

I was wondering how they were going to handle that, because it was a new 
position in my own short experience. It was quite fascinating to watch Mr. 
Horak lift the legs of the fat little woman up on his shoulders and insert 
his long thin tool into her. She was leaning against the wall and gasped and 
moaned before he started to move in and out with clock-like precision. 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Mrs. Reinthaler exclaimed with delight, "ah, you 
are pushing it right up to my stomach ... this is wonderful...!" 

Mr. Horak, standing between Mrs. Reinthaler's legs, kept his head slightly 
forward so that he could feast his eyes on those mighty hemispheres with 
their large and stiff nipples which he licked a little, now and then. 

Mrs. Reinthaler was in sheer ecstasy, sighing and moaning and intermittently 
kissing the crew-cut top of her lover's head. He really must have known what 
he was doing, because she almost screamed with delight: 

"Ah ... ah ... I'm going out of my mind ... you are the only guy who knows 
how to fuck ... the only one ... ah, my husband doesn't know anything about 
fucking like this ... ah ... I'm coming again ... I'm coming all the time 
... ah, ah ... now ... now ... I'm coming again ... ah ... don't come yet 
... please, don't come yet ... go on like this ... ah ... now ... now ... 
again I'm coming ... nobody has ever fucked me like this ... nobody ... I 
can feel you in me up to my throat ... I've never had such a prick in me ... 
what a wonderful prick ... a woman would be a damned fool not to let you 
fuck her ... ah ... I'm coming again ... this is paradise ... ah, keep 
pushing, faster, faster, ah ... Mr. Horak you must always fuck me ... we 
must do it in the nude ... d'you hear ... both in the nude ... in some hotel 
... d'you hear...?" 

He was far too busy to answer her. His tempo was speeding up and when she 
lifted her behind at the acme of delight, he grabbed it with both hands and 
tripled the speed of his motions. Mrs. Reinthaler seemed feverish and could 
only sob with pleasure. I was so fascinated by the spectacle that I almost 
stepped out of my hiding place and had to pull myself together to get back 
behind the ledge in the wall. The savage wildness of that intercourse 
reminded me of two big dogs I had once watched in the street. I began to 
understand why adults considered a good lay the most desirable thing in 
their dreary lives, and also why men began to lose their heads when I gave 
them my "come on" smile. 

"Now!" gasped Mr. Horak, giving Mrs. Reinthaler a last deep thrust, and then 
he came, grunting like a boar. He leaned his head on Mrs. Reinthaler's large 
bosom and tried to get his breath back. After a while he slowly pulled his 
prick out of her inundated hole and stepped back. 

Mrs. Reinthaler seemed more dead than alive and it took her several minutes 
to sit up straight. Slowly she slid off the barrel and as soon as her feet 
touched the ground she fell around Mr. Horak's neck and kissed him 
repeatedly. 

"Ah, Mr. Horak, nothing like this has ever happened to me before. It's 
really incredible. I still can't believe it. Nobody in the whole world can 
fuck like you do! You're the greatest!" He nonchalantly put a cigarette in 
his mouth and struck a match. 

"How often did you come?" he asked. 

"I hardly know. Five or six times, at least!" He smiled contentedly and 
played with her nipples so that they became stiff again. 

"Well, and how often do you come when your husband lays you?" 

She sniffed contemptuously: 

"That one? What does he know about a good lay? I never come when he fucks 
me. All he wants is to come quickly. He climbs on me and sticks it in and in 
a few seconds he shoots his gun off. Then he turns around, farts and falls 
asleep. And while he's snoring I have to do a hand-job on myself. All he 
does is stimulate me without making me come. If I didn't do it to myself 
afterwards, I couldn't even sleep." 

Mr. Horak, still playing with her two globes, laughed loudly and said: 

"That's just too bad if a man can't give satisfaction to his pretty wife. 
Perhaps he doesn't know how! Why don't you tell him what you need?" 

"That doesn't do any good! We've often discussed this, but he says I just 
don't know what I'm talking about and that all men do their fucking the way 
he does it. A woman, he says, is not supposed to have the same pleasure as a 
man. He's as ignorant as hell! So, well, he has no reason to complain if I 
try to get what I need with other guys." 

Horak let out a guffaw and kept playing with the stiff nipples in front of 
him. 

"Believe me," Mrs. Reinthaler continued, "I've honestly tried to do 
something about that stupid man of mine. I thought, okay, he comes too fast 
when we do it the first time. So he might do it longer when we do it the 
second time. But there never is a second time. He can't work up a hard-on 
again. I've even tried to do a blow-job. But-nothing doing!" 

"A blow-job?" Horak asked with interest. Mrs. Reinthaler got a little red. 
"Well, I took his thing in my mouth to make it hard. Boy! I had to suck it 
for ten minutes until it became stiff again, and then, when he stuck it into 
me-bang! He comes at once! And the whole works was for the birds!" 

Mr. Horak's face had a preoccupied expression. He didn't seem to listen to 
Mrs. Reinthaler's confessions and let go of her breasts. 

"That blow-job," he said suddenly, "you mean you're taking his prick into 
your mouth?" 

"Sure thing!" She became red again. 

"You mean I could fuck you in the mouth? I've never heard of such a thing!" 

He grabbed her big white breasts again. I remember that I found those huge 
globes quite attractive myself and wished I'd have some like it when I was 
older. 

"Ah, come on now!" Mrs. Reinthaler pretended to be coy. "I bet lots of women 
did a blow-job on you. You can have all the women you want, can't you?" 

I couldn't help agreeing with Mrs. Reinthaler. I wished Mr. Horak would want 
to do it with me, and, God knows, I'd have done anything he wanted me to. 

"No," he said, "I've never fucked a woman in the mouth. I wouldn't know how 
to do it. Why don't you show me?" 

Without letting go of her breasts, he pushed her again toward the barrel. 
She sat down and he was standing in front of her, playing with her nipples 
so that her breath became quite audible again. 

"But you don't need that," she said pantingly. "Your prick gets stiff 
without any help." 

"That's where you're wrong!" he said, pulling his limp tool out of his 
pants. "See how much I need it?" 

She grabbed it greedily and began to massage it with her fingers, while he 
worked artfully on her teats. 

"You're getting me all excited again," she panted. "I've got to go home 
soon." 

He didn't seem to listen but was kneading and fondling her breasts as if he 
were following a system, and the result came soon. With a sudden movement 
she put his tool in her mouth and began to work on it. 

Now it was Mr. Horak's turn to emit all sorts of lustful sounds. 

"Ah, Mary and Joseph! That's good!" he groaned. 

At this moment I heard steps coming down the staircase, and quite forgetting 
that I was not supposed to be seen or heard, I quickly shouted to them: 

"Watch out! Somebody's coming down here!" 

Those two stopped moving and stood as if paralyzed, staring at me as if I 
were an apparition from another world. I couldn't help seeing the comic part 
of the situation. Mr. Horak standing there with his stiff prick sticking in 
the air, and Mrs. Reinthaler putting her hands over her nude teats. 

Mr. Horak was the first to get hold of himself and quickly stowed his tool 
inside his pants, and then helped Mrs. Reinthaler to slip into her blouse. 

I had approached them out of an instinctive fear of the "somebody" who was 
coming down the cellar steps. The couple kept looking at me like children 
caught stealing apples from the neighbor's yard. Both were embarrassed and 
startled. The steps came closer and, at last, we saw the manager of the 
building walk past us and, giving the three of us a friendly "hello," he 
went to some corner and picked up a push-broom and went upstairs again. 

As soon as we were alone, Mrs. Reinthaler hid her face in her hands as if 
she were actually ashamed of me, and Mr. Horak kept staring at the wall 
without saying anything. I thought it would be best to leave them now, but 
when Mrs. Reinthaler noticed that I was moving away from them, she quickly 
grabbed me by the shoulders and whispered fiercely: 

"What did you see?" 

I hardly raised my voice. "Oh, well ... THAT!" 

"Whaddya mean by THAT?" 

"Well ... y'know ... just THAT!" I said. Mrs. Reinthaler's grip on my 
shoulders became quite firm. "You didn't see nothing! D'you hear? Nothing!!" 

I was a little afraid, but a strange excitement had gripped me and made me 
contradict her boldly. 

"I DID see it!" 

She shook me by my shoulders. "I said it was nothing! D'you hear? NOTHING!" 

"Well," I said, squirming a little under her firm grip, "if you call all 
that fucking with Mr. Horak "nothing,' then I've seen nothing!" 

In spite of my boldness I thought I'd better leave now, but Mrs. Reinthaler 
held on to my wrists. Both were a bit white in the face and stared at each 
other more or less helplessly. 

Mr. Horak suddenly pulled a silver coin out of his pants pocket and, without 
looking at me, offered it: 

"Here! Take it! But don't tell a soul what you've seen! D'you hear me?" 

I was flabbergasted. Instead of being slapped in the face, as I had 
expected, I got paid for my secret spying. Suddenly all my anxiety 
disappeared. I knew now that these two were afraid of me. I took the coin 
and laughed: "Gee, thanks!" And I wanted to run. 

But Mrs. Reinthaler called me back. "Hey, wait a moment. I want to tell you 
something!" I stopped and saw her walk up to Mr. Horak and whisper something 
to him. Both were quite red in the face and seemed to get more excited the 
longer they talked to each other. Mr. Horak didn't seem quite convinced of 
what she must have told him, but she suddenly stopped whispering to him and 
turned to me: 

"Come here, Pepi!" 

When I stood before her, she put her arm around my shoulder and said in her 
most friendly manner: 

"Be a good girl, Pepi! Tell us what you've seen here!" 

I didn't say anything, and she kept asking: "Now, Pepi, you must be able to 
say what you've seen. IF you've really seen something!" Again I was silent. 

"See? You can't say what you've seen, because you really didn't see 
anything! True?" 

"I've told you what I've seen!" I said hesitantly. 

"Then be a good girl and describe it, if you want us to believe you. Don't 
mind Mr. Horak! He said that he'll give you another silver coin if you tell 
us the truth. And, maybe, he'll also show you something you might like, eh?" 

I became interested in that offer, but somehow I was too embarrassed to 
speak up before Mr. Horak. I put my mouth close to Mrs. Reinthaler's ear and 
whispered: 

"Well ... you were sitting on this barrel here...." I stopped. Mrs. 
Reinthaler urged me on. 

"Yes ... and what next?" 

"And, well ... Mr. Horak was standing between your legs . . 

"Yes ... and then?" 

I grasped one of her breasts and went through the motions of kneading it 
just as Mr. Horak had done. She gave a little sigh and said: "Okay, and what 
else did you see?" 

I again brought my mouth close to her ear: "And then ... and then you took 
that thing of Mr. Horak's in your mouth...." 

She began to cuddle me in her arms and rock me like a baby. 

"Well...." Her voice became low and sweet as if she were really talking to a 
small child. "And do you know what "that thing' is called?" I wanted to show 
off my knowledge and said: "Sure, I know!" 

Mrs. Reinthaler kept rocking me and went on in the same crooning voice: 

"Well, why don't you tell me, kiddo? Come on, say it!" 

I pressed a little closer against her, but still stalled: "No, I'm 
afraid...." 

"Aw, come on, kiddo!" she crooned. "You know we love you, don't you? I'm 
your friend! You can tell a friend, can't you?" 

With that she unbuttoned Mr. Horak's fly and pulled out his prick that was 
as long and erect as I'd seen it a while ago. She sat down on the barrel and 
put me on her knees. 

"Well? What is this?" she kept asking and fondling that big long prick in 
front of me. 

When I didn't talk, she took my hand and put my fingers around Mr. Horak's 
prick. I willingly let her guide my hand and closed my fingers around the 
warm stiff piece of flesh and began to massage it very slowly. When I looked 
smilingly in Mr. Horak's face he blushed and I heard his breath become 
faster. Mrs. 

Reinthaler put my head close to that stiff beauty and I, tentatively, put my 
lips around the tip and slowly took some of it into my mouth. I began to 
suck it just as I had learned from Robert and when that hot, pulsating prick 
touched my palate, I wished I could feel it deep inside my body and be 
fucked by Mr. Horak like Mrs. Reinthaler. 

I felt Mr. Horak's hot hands caress my face and then slide down to feel my 
breasts that were, unfortunately, quite undeveloped. He comforted himself by 
grabbing the teats of Mrs. Reinthaler, reaching over my head, while ' she 
put her hand under my skirt and began to tickle my slit with experienced 
fingers so that I got more and more excited and sucked away at that 
throbbing prick with increasing speed. 

It was a pity that I could lodge only one fourth of its total length in my 
mouth, but I was doing quite well to judge from Mr. Horak's moans. Mrs. 
Reinthaler, who seemed to be a past-master at doing hand-jobs on a cunt, had 
also begun to emit all sorts of excited sounds. Now she said to Mr. Horak: 

"Don't come yet! I'd like to get something out of it, too!" 

He pulled his tool out of my mouth and after Mrs. Reinthaler had let me 
slide off her lap, she quickly stuck that long thing right into her cunt 
and, with a deep sigh, she turned to me and asked: 

"D'you know ... ah ... that's good ... d'you know what we're doing now?" 

"Sure!" I said. "I've said it before. You two are fucking, aren't you?" 

Her reply got lost in a long and deep sigh of pleasure. Mr. Horak put his 
hand under my skirt now and I quickly moved quite close to him so that he 
could do anything he wanted to. And while he kept working in Mrs. 
Reinthaler, his fingers probed on my slit and his index finger actually slid 
into the hole a tiny bit. That dirty little boy on the Prince's meadow had 
done a good job of opening it up to some extent. Mrs. Reinthaler moaned 
louder and louder and I soon followed suit. That large red hand on my slit 
did an excellent job and I began to tremble all over and became far more 
excited than I was before, when I could be nothing but an onlooker. I think 
the three of us came at one and the same time, because we stopped moaning 
simultaneously and were still for a minute. 

Mr. Horak put his industrious prick back in his pants and remarked: 

"Y'know, this kid here acts like an old-timer!" 

Mrs. Reinthaler turned to me with a friendly smile and said: 

"Of course! I guessed as much. Tell me, Pepi, how many times have you done 
some fucking, eh?" 

I didn't feel like admitting anything and said: "Never! This was the first 
time!" 

Mrs. Reinthaler was not convinced. 

"Come on, kid, don't lie to me. I've got eyes in my head, and Mr. Horak here 
wouldn't call you an old-timer for nothing. You don't have to be afraid to 
tell the truth. How often did you do it, eh?" 

I told her the story I'd used when Mr. Eckhardt became too curious about me. 

"I've watched my parents often, at night. That's all!" 

Mr. Horak said he had to load a few barrels of beer on his wagon and 
remained in the cellar, while Mrs. Reinthaler and I began the long climb 
upstairs. I took her hand in mine. Somehow I felt a new kinship with that 
pretty, fat little woman whose sexual ecstasy I had watched a short time 
before. She had revealed to me what a woman can feel with a man. That was 
quite different from the likes of Mizzi and Anna who were groping beginners 
like myself. I suddenly realized that there was a lot to learn from an 
experienced woman like Mrs. Reinthaler. Hadn't she told Mr. Horak how she 
often spent sleepless nights because her husband couldn't satisfy her? How 
she had to masturbate in order to fall asleep? 

Yes, I was going to be Mrs. Reinthaler's friend and confidante. I shared an 
important secret with her and I knew that she wouldn't betray me as long as 
I kept my mouth shut about her and Mr. Horak. She had been doing it with 
other men, too, she had said. It became clear to me that a woman needed 
regular sex to feel good and that it wasn't sinful at all to give the body 
what it needed to be healthy. I suppose it was in those days that I laid the 
foundation of a solid psychological attitude about the role of sex in human 
life and that's why today, at my advanced age, I don't feel the slightest 
regret about my past. After all, I never stole anything and never broke the 
law in any way. I merely fitted into the social conditions of my time and I 
find that nothing has changed much since those days of my childhood and 
youth. 

Walking up those many stairs with Mrs. Reinthaler I began to feel closer to 
her with every step. By sharing a man with her, so to speak, I had become 
her "colleague." I pressed myself against her and whispered: 

"You know, that wasn't really true what I said." 

"What d'you mean?" 

"Well, I mean ... that I've never done it myself." 

She was all ears: "So you have done it, eh?" 

"Yes!" I said in a small voice. 

She laughed. "I knew it!" 

I didn't say anything, and she went on: "You've done it ... often?" 

"Yes." 

"How often?" 

"Oh, perhaps ten or twelve times ... or more." 

"Hm, and with whom?" 

Now I played my trump card. "With Ferdl!" She acted unconcerned. "Which 
Ferdl d'you mean?" 

I knew immediately that she wasn't as calm and indifferent as she pretended. 
And right then and there I decided to put in a good word for my brother who 
was still dreaming of that sensual woman and wanted to be "chosen" like 
Ferdl. 

"Oh, you know that older boy who used to live here. That brother of Anna. 
You did know him!" 

"I don't know what you're talking about. I never knew a Ferdl who lived 
here!" 

She was acting as best she could. But I decided not to give up so easily. 

"Just try to remember. Sure, you knew him!" She looked at me sideways. "I 
can't remember." 

I knew I had to "help" her remember. "You know, it was Ferdl who used to 
give you a hand carrying your laundry basket upstairs." 

She gave a slight start. 

"O yes ... I believe I know now what you're talking about. Yes ... so that 
was Ferdl." 

I didn't want to stop there and said: "Y'know, Mrs. Reinthaler. Ferdl used 
to tell me things about you...." 

She pulled her hand away from mine. 

"Now, shut up! D'you hear?" 

And that was all I could get out of her. I decided it was wiser to obey her 
and shut up. I could press home my advantage some other time. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

A few days after this memorable occasion, I met Mr. Horak on the staircase 
leading to the cellar. When he didn't seem to take any notice of me, I 
greeted him very politely. 

"How d'you do, Mr. Horak?" 

He turned around and when he saw me, he quickly looked to the right and left 
to see whether anybody else was near. When he had convinced himself that we 
were alone, he said: "Hi, Pepi! Want to come with me? I've got to get some 
barrels out of the cellar." 

He didn't have to ask me a second time. I followed him down to the cellar, 
but he stopped in the dark hallway that led to the storeroom and caressed my 
cheeks and stroked my hair. Then he pressed my head against the fly of his 
pants. I knew an invitation when I saw one and briskly took his already 
rigid tool from its prison, and, following a natural inclination, I began to 
massage it quite deftly. He sighed: "Gee, kid, you know how to do that! How 
come?" 

I accepted his praise without reply and groped carefully for his testicles 
inside his pants. It was a gigantic bag, almost as big as a baby's head, and 
the feel of it excited me very much. With my right hand I kept stroking his 
prick and with my left I carefully fondled his bulky nuts. His prick was 
hard as a rock and pulsated in my palm. 

"Put it in your mouth," he begged. 

I didn't want to. Not because I didn't like doing it, but because I'd have 
preferred to have it in a more suitable place than my mouth. 

He began to plead. 

"I'll give you a silver coin, if you do it!" 

I pushed his hand with the coin away and said: 

"I don't want any money!" 

"But you took it the other day." 

"That was different. Now I know better." He seemed at a loss for what to 
say. 

"But ... isn't there anything I could give you?" 

I hesitated for a second. 

"Yes, there's something! Do with me what you did with Mrs. Reinthaler." 

He gasped audibly. 

"What??? You mean ... I should fuck you?" 

"Sure! That's exactly what I want!" 

"But ... listen, kiddo ... you're still a child! Wait until you get older!" 

I kept masturbating him as I'd learned from Robert, and I began to rub my 
cunt against his knee. 

"I don't have to get any older," I informed him. "I know you could fuck me 
right now!" 

"But. . he said, growing less certain, "you don't even have any hair on your 
hole. You don't know what you're saying, kid!" 

"I do, too!" My mind was made up. "Hair or no hair, I know you can do it 
with me!" 

He must have caught a note of desperation in my voice, because he stroked my 
hair again very gently and inquired: 

"Tell me, Pepi, have you done it before?" 

"Ha! And how! Many times!" 

I noticed how the rate of his breathing increased. He pulled me up and made 
me straddle his right hip, the way one sometimes holds children. Our chests 
were pressed against one another and I put my arms around his red neck. He 
got my skirt out of the way and soon I felt his prick probe the opening of 
my slit. I began to move my fanny so that it would be easier for him to get 
in. His face was pressed against my cheek and I felt how he pushed and 
pushed down below, but without much success. 

"No," he said at last, "it's no good. But ... wait! I know what we could 
do!" 

He put me down on the floor and sat down on a small barrel. He pulled 
another, smaller, barrel in front of him and told me to lie with my belly on 
it and he would take care of the rest. I turned my head and saw how he put 
some spittle on the tip of his prick, and I thought he'd do the same thing 
that Robert had done when he saw he couldn't fuck me regularly. I was 
already glad to be able to feel the same sensation again. 

Mr. Horak got up and stood right over me, but, instead of sticking his prick 
between my thighs, as Robert had done, he tried to get it into my rectum. I 
was about to let out a yell, but he put his hand on my mouth and whispered: 

"Keep quiet! I'll be very careful. Just speak up if it hurts!" 

At the same time he put his right hand in front of me, down below, and let 
his fingers work on my cunt with great agility. 

"Well? Does it hurt?" he asked. 

It did hurt a bit, but since his fingers gave me a very welcome pleasure I 
said: "No!" 

His prick went into my fanny very gradually and I thought I would not be 
able to stand the pain, but, at the same time his clever fingers were 
working in my cunt and counteracted the painful sensation somewhat. 

As Mr. Horak told me afterwards, he could get his prick in only halfway, 
which, considering my youth, was not bad at all. Suddenly another sensation 
mingled with the feeling of pain and almost neutralized it. It was a vague 
kind of pleasure, perhaps caused by the psychological aspect of the 
situation; an adult man was fucking me, and it didn't matter that he 
penetrated my rectum instead of my vagina, as long as he penetrated me 
somewhere. 

This new kind of awareness of having a real man taking his pleasure with me, 
filled me with unspeakable delight and I, instinctively, pinched my buttocks 
around Mr. Horak's prick. He misunderstood this physical manifestation of my 
pleasure. 

"Oh! Do I hurt you?" 

My heightened excitement prevented me from answering him immediately. He 
pulled out of me and asked again with great concern whether it hurt me. 

"No, no...." I had found my speech again. "Put it back in! Go on fucking me! 
Quick!" 

I didn't have to say it twice. This time he could slide in more easily than 
before. His motions were slow and deliberate and I could feel he had added 
some more spittle. His hand went around my middle again and my cunt became 
quite moist under the ministration of his fingers. 

The human mind is a strange thing. The situation made me think of the brutal 
soldier who had practically deflowered me, and that little boy who came 
right after him, on that evening on the Prince's Meadow. I also thought of 
Robert who had opened my hole a tiny little bit during that first trial, and 
then of Mr. Eckhardt who had given me quite a bit of pleasure. All these 
mental images increased my general excitement as if all those males were 
fucking me now at one and the same time. Again the great pleasure forced me 
to pinch my buttocks around Mr. Horak's prick, but this time it had quite a 
different effect on him. His motions became faster and he bent down to my 
ear and whispered: 

"That's good ... my darling ... yes ... pinch your little buttocks together 
... you're doing it very well ... ah, that's really good ... you're a sweet 
kid ... if you want to we can do it every day ... d'you hear? ... every day 
... you can come down here in the cellar with me ... ah, you're a sweet 
little whore...!" 

I decided to take him at his word. 

"Every day?" I asked, gasping under his thrusts. My sphincter kept pinching 
his prick and he showed his pleasure by increased moans. 

"Ah ... yes, you darling little whore ... every day ... I mean it ... every 
day I want to screw you...." 

I liked this conversation more and more and wanted to egg him on. All this 
talk while being fucked increased my pleasure tremendously. 

"You really want to fuck me every day, Mr. Horak? You can't do that!" 

"What! I can't do that! Why not?" His motions had become stronger and 
faster. 

"You know, if Mrs. Reinthaler comes down here...." I said shrewdly. 

"To hell with her! You with your little asshole and that naked little cunt 
are much better!" 

"You just say that to make me feel good!" 

"No, I mean it ... ah ... that's good now...!" 

He was already so deep in me that I could feel his big balls touching the 
back of my thighs with each thrust. I felt a perverse joy to hear him 
depreciate Mrs. Reinthaler. Therefore I reminded him of her various 
attractions: 

"She has such beautiful big teats...." 

He breathed hard and his hands were both busy on my slit. 

"To hell with her teats! I don't need them! Pretty soon you'll have some 
yourself!" 

I noticed the more I contradicted him the hornier he became. 

"Oh, that will take a few years!" 

"Not that long, no! You must have sex as often as possible. That will make 
your teats grow much faster." 

To hear all these encouraging remarks made me pinch my buttocks together 
several times in succession, and the effect on Mr. Horak was instantaneous. 
He stopped talking and merely gasped: 

"Ah ... ah ... now ... now...." 

The next moment I felt something hot squirting into my bottom and I knew 
that he was coming. His prick kept twitching in me and deposited wave after 
wave of his warm seminal fluid. It felt like the licking of a warm tongue in 
my intestines. His fingers hadn't stopped for a moment to work on my cunt 
and I came with a vengeance, mingling my moans with his, and pressing my 
buttocks together. 

At last Mr. Horak pulled his tool out of my rectum and I could change from 
my bent-over position to standing up straight. I felt how lots of the 
seminal fluid ran out of my behind and down my thighs and legs so that I was 
wet and uncomfortable. Mr. Horak, who stood there like one slightly drunk, 
pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried my legs and then began to 
wipe his glistening prick, but I took the cloth from his hand and attended 
to his prick myself, using great care as if I were touching something very 
precious-which it was, as far as I was concerned. 

He looked at me very tenderly. 

"You know," he said, "you are really like an experienced whore. I've never 
seen anything like this!" 

"But Mrs. Reinthaler has beautiful teats, so big and white...." 

I wanted to see whether he'd still react in the same way as when he was in 
the heat of fucking. To my joyful surprise he did: 

"Never mind her teats! I like you much better!" 

I felt quite proud, but wanted to make sure that he meant what he said. 

"That's fine! But ... suppose she does come down here again ... My voice 
trailed off. "What d'you mean...?" he inquired. 

"I mean, who are you going to fuck, her or me?" 

He laughed. "Of course, I'll fuck you! You can be sure of that!" 

"Yes, but what's Mrs. Reinthaler going to say?" 

"Whatever she wants to! I don't care!" 

He sounded reassuring and I turned toward the stairs: 

"Okay, I've got to go now." 

"But why so soon? Stay a little while and let's talk, shall we?" 

He sat down on that barrel again and made me stand between his knees. 

"Now tell me," he said, "who was it you've fucked with?" 

I was a little tired from all the excitement and was afraid I might give him 
the wrong answers. No matter how much I liked to be called his "little 
whore," I instinctively knew that a man gets more pleasure out of seducing 
an innocent girl. On the other hand, I wanted to encourage Mr. Horak to 
continue this new relationship which I found so fascinating, especially as 
he treated me like a grown woman. 

"It doesn't matter who it was, because nobody can fuck so wonderfully as you 
do!" 

"That's nice, but how have you done it with others?" 

"I hardly ever did it with others." 

"Now, now, tell the truth! You already admitted that you did it with 
others." 

"Well, yes ... but compared with you ... it's really nothing!" 

"Okay, now tell me who was it?" 

I hesitated. "Well ... a stranger...." 

"A stranger...?" 

"Yes, a soldier." 

"But where?" 

"On the Prince's Meadow...." 

"But ... but ... how did that happen...?" 

"He just pushed me in the grass and lay on top of me." 

"Jeez! Why didn't you yell?" 

"I was afraid!" 

Mr. Horak put his arms around me and whispered into my ear: 

"Or-perhaps you liked it a little bit, eh?" 

"Oh, no, I didn't!" I protested. 

"But you like it with me, don't you?" 

In reply I hugged him and kissed his red cheeks. He laughed happily and 
released me. When I had reached the staircase, he called after me: 

"See you soon, little darling!" 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

After my experience with Mr. Horak I never thought of Mr. Eckhardt any more. 
All my thoughts and hopes centered around the tall, handsome driver who'd 
treated me like a real woman, and I hardly went out with my brothers any 
more, but stayed around the entrance to the cellar to watch for my "lover." 
But for several days there was no sign of Mr. Horak. 

I didn't want to get out of practice and let Franz do it to me whenever we 
could be un observed. At night I tried to watch my parents to find out 
whether they, too, knew the various positions I had learned so far. I 
discovered that they did their stuff in several different ways. Once I saw 
how mother made father fuck her from the rear, another time I saw my father 
being straddled by mother. One night, when the squeaking of the parental bed 
had woken me up, I heard a whispered conversation going on between them. 

"It's much nicer to do it in the nude like now," mother said. 

I could make out in the semi-darkness that father had put her legs on his 
shoulders and pushed into her like a bull in heat. It seemed to be one of 
his better nights. 

"Ah, I'm going to come now," I heard him say. 

"Not yet, wait ... wait just a minute...." mother implored him. 

But it didn't seem to do any good. I heard him grunt and slump down on the 
bed with his full weight. 

"Damn it," mother complained, "I told you to wait! You didn't give me any 
time to come myself!" 

After a while mother inquired: 

"How about trying it again?" 

"Not right now," my father's sleepy voice answered. "Later, perhaps." 

Mother became angry. 

"You and your "later'! That's what you always say, but then you start 
snoring and that's all! You phony!" 

"What d'you want me to do? I just can't right now...." 

"It wouldn't be necessary if you'd held it back another minute, you idiot!" 

"Aw, let's just rest a while. I'll try again pretty soon." 

It was obvious that father felt guilty about not being quite the man that he 
ought to be. Mother was still breathing heavily. It was also obvious that 
she was fully stimulated and unrelieved. After a few minutes' silence she 
said: 

"Can't you get it hard again?" 

"Not now! Later!" he grunted almost in-audibly. 

I heard mother sit up in the bed. 

"Come on, I know how to make it stand!" 

I saw her shadowy figure bend over father's body and get busy with her hands 
and mouth, perhaps with both. He grabbed her breasts tentatively a few 
times, but otherwise lay still. About fifteen minutes must have passed when 
I heard my father say in an angry voice: 

"Cut it out! You see it's no use! I'm dead tired. Let's sleep now!" 

Mother was almost crying. 

"That's the limit! What kind of man are you, anyway? Something should be 
done about this...." 

"You can't do a damned thing about it. Just leave it alone and go to sleep, 
d'you hear?" Mother was sobbing and kept working on that limp tool. 

"My hand's beginning to hurt," she whined. "I'm going to try something 
else...." 

This time she actually worked on it with her lips, because I heard the 
sucking and smacking sounds for a while, but it didn't seem to have any 
effect at all. Suddenly she almost yelled: 

"Damn you and that weak prick of yours! You call yourself a man? When you're 
horny you slam it into me and move a few times and, bang!-you come at once 
and don't think for a minute that I want to get something out of it, too! 
What the devil do you think you've got a wife for? So that you can come when 
you feel like it, and to hell with her?" 

Father was silent. But mother went on in the same excited tone of voice: 

"What am I going to do about this? First, that miserable fucking of yours 
gets me all worked up, and now trying to get your prick stiff again has made 
me only more horny ... and what am I going to do now? Why did you marry if 
you don't know what a woman needs? Every time it's the same story. You want 
to fuck, you move in and out three times, and then you come and want to 
sleep. You oughta be a rabbit, not a man! What would you say if I pushed you 
out of me just before you could come, eh? I know what you'd do ... you'd go 
to some whore and help yourself. Men have it so much easier. But what can I 
do? What would you say if I let some other man fuck me...? Speak up, you!" 

"I don't care! Let me sleep!" father grunted. "All right!" Mother raised her 
voice. "If that's the way you feel about it, I'm going to help myself from 
now on, and if you think I can't find a good man to give it to me...." 
Father sat up abruptly and pushed mother down on the pillow and touched her 
between the thighs. She became silent at once. Soon she moved her body up 
and down and sideways and moaned under the apparently expert treatment of my 
father's fingers. With his other hand he played with her breasts and soon my 
mother whispered: 

"That's good ... stick your whole finger in ... deeper ... yes ... now ... 
now ... ah ... I'm coming...!" 

When it was over, my father turned to the wall and growled, already half 
asleep: 

"Thank God! That's that!" 

A few minutes later both were snoring contentedly. But I couldn't fall 
asleep and lay there wide awake. My imagination was working full time and I 
wished somebody would come to me and give me a good passionate screwing. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Sex had become a daily, if not an hourly necessity with me. The little prick 
of Franz was nothing more than a stopgap for my strong desire to feel an 
adult prick in me. It was not easy to get men to pay attention to me. But 
the neighborhood boys were a different matter. When I looked at any of them 
in that certain way, they seemed to get the message. Most of them responded 
by knocking their hand against my cunt and smiling at me. If I didn't like 
the boy, I pushed his hand away, but if he looked like a good lay, I put my 
hand on his fly and felt his prick getting stiff. Mostly I went with them 
down to our cellar, but often they took me to the cellar of their buildings, 
too. I was not afraid to be seen accidentally by Mrs. Reinthaler, or Mr. 
Horak, because those two knew very well that if they didn't keep their 
mouths shut, I'd not keep silent about them either. 

I wasn't much interested in the girls at school. When I tried to discuss sex 
with them, they either bragged that they had already been fucking, or-they 
didn't know what I was talking about. The latter came mostly from better 
homes where the parents and children didn't have to share the same bedroom. 
Girls and boys like myself were conditioned by the poverty of our families. 
Lack of any sort of privacy made us precocious and knowing, before our 
bodies were only halfway ripe. 

Looking back at those days, I realize that today's children of working class 
families are not so much exposed prematurely to the facts of life as they 
were in my youth, although they are still initiated in sex much earlier than 
kids of well-to-do families. In my childhood, boys and girls like my brother 
and I were all sexually aware and eager to practice that premature 
knowledge. Boys did it with their sisters and girl friends as a matter of 
course. They had never heard the word incest, or taboo, like the rich kids 
who had the opportunity to listen to the conversations of educated adults. 
Brothers and sisters of the poor proletarian class saw each other as males 
and females and would have been quite surprised if they had been told that 
blood relationships should make them see one another differently. When I 
could do any reading in my later years I discovered that the children in 
primitive societies felt and acted exactly as we did. 

Among the eight or ten boys with whom I did it in our cellar, in those days, 
there were two that I still remember quite distinctly. One of them, as I'll 
show later, was somehow connected with my dealings with Mr. Eckhardt. 

His name was Alois. 

He was a very handsome, blond boy and, being the son of our landlord, he 
always wore costly clothes, mostly dark brown or blue suits made of velvet, 
or corduroy. He always wore shorts, though he was already twelve and rather 
tall and strong for his age. His well-shaped calves and the strong thighs I 
could see where his corduroy shorts ended, did something to me. I believe I 
was really in love with him, not merely sexually attracted. I trembled every 
time he walked past me and longed to be taken into his arms. There was 
something proud and aristocratic in his bearing, which made me feel ashamed 
of my poor shabby dress, but ashamed or not, I couldn't help always staring 
at him when we accidentally passed each other. He usually gave me a brief 
and sharp look and then turned away indifferently. Even if I'd had the 
courage to talk to him it would have led to nothing, because he was always 
accompanied by his governess, a small and very fat creature whose right 
shoulder was higher than the other. 

One afternoon the unexpected happened. I had been lying in wait for some 
boy, any boy, who might walk by the entrance to the cellar, when Alois 
appeared without his chaperon. I was trembling with longing and horniness. 
He looked most attractive in his blue velvet suit, his bare knees and the 
lower part of his thighs, white and pink, and already slightly muscled. His 
handsome face and blond hair stood out against an open-neck sports collar, 
and, to my utter surprise, his blue eyes were looking at me without 
wavering. He stepped up to me without saying anything. My heart was beating 
so loud that I thought he must hear it too. I managed to smile without being 
able to say even one word. He remained serious and kept looking at me. At 
last I managed to ask in a subdued voice: 

"Have you seen our cellar...? You've never been down there, have you...?" 

"No, I haven't. Let's go down there together!" 

He'd said that without changing the serious expression on his face, but when 
we were halfway down the stairs, he suddenly whispered: 

"Are you sure nobody can see us down there?" 

I felt a freight train drop off my chest. Now I knew that we fully 
understood each other. But I still didn't dare to touch him. 

"There's nobody there. I know it!" I assured him. My voice wasn't quite 
steady. It was hard to believe that my dream was, at last, coming true. 

Alois was silent again, and when we had reached the semi-dark corridor that 
led to the storeroom, we stopped and faced each other without saying 
anything. I suppose both of us were a little afraid of taking the first 
step, but I didn't mind waiting. I was so infinitely happy that I merely 
stood there with bated breath looking at Alois' handsome face. 

Suddenly he lifted his hand and gently stroked my cheek. It was a new 
approach: affection. I'd never experienced it before and, shyly, I returned 
his caress, marveling at the velvety softness of his complexion. Now his 
hand moved to my breast in the same caressing manner, and after a while it 
strayed lower and, at last, rested on my cunt, but still on the outside of 
my dress. I felt his hand pressing more and more strongly, and I opened my 
legs a little bit. 

"Would you like to?" Alois whispered. 

His tender and affectionate manner, so different from the uninhibited greed 
of other boys, woke some virginal shyness in me. Instead of eagerly 
agreeing, I said hesitantly: 

"Well ... but if somebody should see us...?" Alois must have known that I 
wanted him desperately and merely pretended to be concerned about somebody 
catching us in the act. After all, it was I who'd assured him that it was 
quite safe to do it in the cellar. 

With a firm hand, he lifted my dress and placed himself between my legs, 
while I leaned back against the wall. I felt his hard prick grope for the 
entrance to my hole. His face still had the same serious expression and I'd 
have given much to see him smile. When his glans touched my slit, I came at 
once; so great was my excitement. But my horniness was not in the least 
diminished. I thought it was quite convenient that my cunt had become 
lubricated in a natural way and would make everything easier. 

Alois was calmness itself. With a sure and deliberate movement he grabbed my 
buttocks and pressed me against himself so that only my shoulders were still 
supported by the wall. The next moment I groaned in pure ecstasy and closed 
my eyes, overcome by the voluptuous sensation in my body. Alois had entered 
me completely with only one quick and adroit thrust and I felt his 
stone-hard, rather short and thick tool rest in me for several seconds 
without moving. Then he began some quick, short thrusts, pulling his prick 
back only an inch. He left it within me and I became more and more excited, 
because this was the first time anybody had let me feel his prick within me 
so constantly and distinctly that we seemed to have become one entity. It 
was perhaps the first time that I began to understand, instinctively, the 
difference between mere fucking and sexual union. Alois and I were certainly 
united, and the newness of it drove me crazy with joy. 

I didn't think that my ecstatic feeling could be heightened, but that's 
exactly what Alois accomplished. Without pulling his prick back more than an 
inch, he started a circular motion that made me come twice, quickly, within 
a few minutes. I moaned quite loudly and unashamed. I'd never felt such 
pleasure before. Suddenly Alois said: 

"And now: Finish with relish!" 

Before I had time to ponder this peculiar phrase, he had changed his 
movements. Slowly he pulled his prick back and then pushed it in, equally 
slowly. He repeated this four or five times and then I felt him come. His 
warm, thick prick was twitching within me and I came again, for the fifth 
and last time. 

As soon as Alois had finished, he pulled his prick out of me and dried it 
neatly with a snow-white handkerchief and put it back inside his fly. Then 
he gave me a friendly tap on my cheek and remarked: 

"You certainly screw much better than old Clementine!" 

Not knowing who that Clementine might be, I kept silent, but it did not 
surprise me that such a fine and elegant boy could screw whom ever he wanted 
to. Before he left me he said casually: 

"Come to our apartment, tomorrow afternoon. My folks go on a little trip, 
and we'll be by ourselves!" 

I was so overcome by that magnanimous invitation that I could only nod and 
give him a big smile. After he'd gone upstairs, I lingered for some time in 
that dark cellar hallway, telling myself that I hadn't dreamed the whole 
thing and, what's more, that I was going to see Alois again. How lucky can 
you get, I thought. 

The apartment of our landlord was on the first floor where the more affluent 
people resided. Affluent in those days meant to have more than one bedroom 
and a kitchen for a family with children. I had heard Mrs. Reinthaler tell 
another woman once that our landlord had two bedrooms, one for himself and 
his wife, and one for Alois. She also mentioned a living room, but never 
having seen one, I didn't know what it meant. I was soon going to find out 
about it in person. 

The next afternoon, I knocked very shyly at the door of the landlord's 
apartment and a smiling woman, the cook as I later found out, let me in when 
I said that Alois was expecting me. I'm still not quite sure whether her 
smile was mere friendliness, or whether it meant to say: "I know why you've 
come to see our young master." 

I was shown into what she described as the bedroom of the young gentleman. 
It was a large room with elegant white furniture and, above all, a very 
large and wide bed such as I'd never seen before. 

Alois received me very graciously and with the same serious facial 
expression that seemed to be second nature to him. When I had admired his 
huge bed, covered with a silken blue spread, he called my attention to the 
large sofa that looked quite impressive with its blue-white cover. 

"I sleep in the bed," Alois explained, "and my governess sleeps on the 
sofa." 

Then he proceeded to show me his various toys and illustrated children's 
books. He had lots of beautifully painted tin soldiers and his parents had 
also given him a uniform of his own, a saber and some toy rifles. I was so 
overwhelmed by the elegant room and the many things that belonged to Alois 
that I wondered whether one could have sex in such gorgeous surroundings. It 
was all so different from our own drab lodgings, or, for that matter, all 
the living quarters I had seen so far. 

After we had been alone for a while, the door opened and that elderly little 
governess came in. I knew that she always accompanied the boy on his way to 
school and back. In those days it was customary not to let even boys go 
Unchaperoned, provided they were the sons of middle-class people. No boy 
under fifteen or sixteen was ever seen alone in the street. A parent, or a 
relative, or a tutor, male or female, had to accompany them wherever they 
went. The idea was to prevent any "corrupting influence" coming, naturally, 
from poor people like us, to spoil their innocent little minds. Rich 
people's children had therefore hardly any privacy, and as far as corrupting 
influences went, most parents never suspected that some of those whom they 
trusted to protect their children from "corruption" were wolves in sheep's 
clothing. 

When Alois' governess had entered, my hopes for a repetition of yesterday's 
pleasures vanished. She didn't seem to take any notice of us and sat down on 
the large sofa and began to knit at some half-finished shawl. Alois and I 
had remained sitting at the table, all covered with tin soldiers, which he 
had cleverly arranged in battle formation. Suddenly he got up and went over 
to the sofa. Without much ado, he grabbed one of the big teats of the 
governess and began to knead it. I hardly believed my eyes and thought she 
might slap his face, but she merely pushed his hand away and grunted mildly: 

"Don't, Alois...." 

She squinted over to where I sat and eyed me carefully. Alois was not 
impressed by her protest and grabbed her breast again. 

"Don't worry," he said. "Pepi understands!" 

The governess let Alois knead her breast now without any resistance and went 
on knitting. 

"Yes, I believe she understands what you're doing, but-how d'you know she 
won't talk?" 

Some instinct told me the time for action had arrived. I got up from my 
chair and went over to the sofa. With a smile at the governess, I took her 
other breast and went to work on it. It was a flabby teat and not one that 
would excite a man, I thought. Under the administrations of Alois' and my 
hands, the fat ugly little person became quite red in the face and stopped 
knitting. 

Alois took his prick out of his pants and made the governess squeeze it with 
her thick fingers. She began to play with it, but not the way I had learned 
to. She held it with her thumb and middle-finger and with her index she 
gently touched the glans so that the prepuce receded gradually. 

"Are you familiar with this?" she asked with what was supposed to be a 
smile, but which looked more like a grimace. 

"Sure!" I nodded. 

"And what is the name for it?" 

"A prick," I replied obediently. 

"And what does one do with a prick?" 

"Fucking," I said promptly. For a moment I thought I was in class and being 
questioned by a teacher. 

Her breath came a little faster and her index finger kept tickling the glans 
which was quite red and swollen now. 

"Very good, my child! And what does the prick fuck?" 

"The cunt!" answered Alois for me. He began to find that question-and-answer 
game a little dull and wanted some action. He opened the woman's blouse and 
began to play with her two flabby breasts that were so different from the 
majestic hemispheres of Mrs. Reinthaler. 

"Come on, Clementine!" he demanded. 

Now I knew who Clementine was, the name he had mentioned yesterday when 
speaking about his sex life. But the fat little woman wanted to play the 
game as she and Alois seemed to play it all the time. She was the teacher 
and Alois the pupil to be examined. 

"Now, Alois, what does the prick do in a cunt?" 

"Fuck," said Alois as calmly as he always spoke. 

Clementine's voice became more and more excited: 

"Good! And what else is it called?" 

Alois enumerated obediently: "Screwing, poking, banging, balling, jazzing, 
jelly-rolling, honey-fuggling, laying, digging, dipping!" His face was dead 
serious. 

Clementine became more and more excited. 

"And what else can the prick do?" 

"Ass-fucking, being blown and sucked, fucking between the teats, also in the 
armpit, between the thighs, from the front and the rear...." 

"And what is Alois going to do now...."I" 

With that, Clementine reclined and shut her eyes. Alois tickled her nipples 
that were as long as my little finger. He put them alternately in his mouth 
and sucked them so that Clementine twitched with her whole upper body and 
especially with the very shoulder that was on the side of the breast that 
Alois worked on at the moment. 

Alois proceeded quite deliberately, almost scientifically, as if he were 
following a specific formula, without deviating from the sequence. After a 
while he lifted her skirt up to her waist where he folded it neatly to make 
it stay in place. Clementine had put her head against the back of the sofa 
and kept twitching like an epileptic during a fit. 

Alois stepped between her fat little thighs and with one quick motion had 
thrust his firm prick into her hairy cunt, after folding back the thick 
labia with one hand. Then he mounted on her, while she put her palms around 
his behind and pressed his abdomen close against hers, so that his prick 
stuck firmly in her cunt, no matter how hard he might be pushing into her. 
His fingers kept busy with her nipples. 

I saw he was following the same procedure he had used with me in the cellar. 
Clementine breathed heavily through her nostrils like a bulldog, and after 
ten minutes she announced: 

"Finish with relish!" 

Her hands released Alois' buttocks, and he immediately made his prick move 
slowly in and out of her cunt. She raised her ass up, then fell back, and 
reared up again, in wild delight. Alois, with the most serious and serene 
face in the world, kept moving his prick very slowly in and out, so that the 
ugly, fat Clementine began to twitch and thrash around as if she were 
actually having a fit. After eight or ten in-an-out motions, Alois saw how 
Clementine's face suddenly relaxed, while her body went into a slump. His 
face became quite red and after another two thrusts he fell forward on 
Clementine's naked breasts. He had come, too. 

For about one minute both were lying there without moving, and I was already 
tempted to lift my dress and give myself a good hand-job. But the next 
moment Alois got off Clementine and wiped his prick on the lining of her 
skirt. Then they invited me to sit down on the sofa with them. 

Clementine gave me a searching look with her squinting eyes and asked: 

"Well? How did you like it?" 

I merely smiled without saying anything. Alois, sitting on her other side, 
looked over to me and watched me closely. 

"Have you ever seen it before?" she went on questioning me. 

My answer was again a smile. 

Clementine didn't give up so easily: 

"Have you ever done it yourself?" 

I had no inhibitions to deny it before Clementine. On the other hand, I 
didn't feel like simply saying yes. That's why I managed to produce what I 
hoped was an embarrassed laugh, which could be taken for an admission. 

"Well," said Clementine, "we can make quite sure what the situation is!" 

With that she lifted my skirt and examined my little cunt. 

"Jeez," she exclaimed. "That little box must have been opened quite a few 
times." 

And before I could prevent it, she stuck her little finger into me and said: 

"Ah, one can really get in!" 

And turning to Alois, she repeated: 

"Yes, one can get in!" 

When she saw that I trembled a little, she asked me point-blank: 

"Would you like to be fucked by Alois now?" 

"O yes!" I said quickly. I had already been afraid I would be left out in 
the cold. 

"Now, Alois," she turned to the boy, "how would you like to fuck this pretty 
little girl? What do you think?" 

Alois got up and was about to come over to my side when she stopped him: 

"Not yet! First I've got to fix your little prick so that you can do it!" 

She was right, because his tassel hung quite limply between his legs and 
needed some new stimulation. A boy of his age should have been ready again 
by now, but it seemed that his Clementine overdid her "training" of him and 
tired him out to soon. I watched closely her method of "reactivating" his 
tool and decided to remember every detail. It might come in handy with other 
males. 

First, she took it between her lips and licked it so that it became nicely 
lubricated. Then she bedded it in the furrow between her breasts and pressed 
them together with her hands. It looked as if Alois was sticking his prick 
into a pair of buttocks. I didn't like to see how Clementine herself became 
stimulated again by this procedure. She was quite capable of using this new 
state of readiness for her own pleasure. I was ready to intervene at the 
critical moment, but apparently the woman took just as much pleasure in 
talking as in fucking. She had to accompany her attempts at rejuvenating 
Alois' tool with all sorts of childish prattle. 

"What is Alois' little prick doing now? He is fucking some teats? Some nice 
big teats? That feels good, doesn't it? Ah, now it begins to get stiff ... 
good boy, Alois ... good, little prick ... Clementine takes care of his 
prick, doesn't she? ... Who was just fucking very nicely? Alois? Loisl? Yes, 
Loisl is lucky to have Clementine! Some other governess wouldn't do all that 
for him, would she? ... Let herself be fucked by a little boy like Loisl ... 
But Clementine takes care of her Loisl ... he can fuck her as often as he 
wants to...." 

("Yes," I thought, "or rather, as often as Clementine wants to ... that 
shrewd bitch....") 

Now she turned to me: 

"You know, Pepi, at night, when everything is quiet, Loisl leaves his bed 
and comes over here to me on the sofa, and we do it together ... yes, Loisl 
can do it very well ... Clementine has taught him how to do it well ... and 
Loisl is an excellent pupil ... aren't you, Loisl...?" 

"Loisl" had his eyes closed and didn't seem to pay any attention. I was 
already despairing of getting a good lay today, when he suddenly pulled his 
stiff tool from Clementine's teats and asked: 

"Well ... what about fucking Pepi now...?" 

When I saw how his thick little prick was pulsating with readiness, I had to 
control myself not to put my hand around it. I wasn't quite sure what that 
peculiar, ugly Clementine might do. The way she looked, she actually seemed 
to reflect whether she should permit Loisl's revived prick to satisfy 
somebody else instead of herself. Looking back, I believe that she decided 
it was better to ensure my silence about the goings on between governess and 
the landlord's son, and that my silence was worth her sacrificing another 
lay. On the other hand, she might also have derived some pleasure from 
merely looking on. At last, she made room for me next to her on that sofa 
and asked me to lie on her lap, and when this seemed an awkward position for 
what was to be done, she said I should merely put my head on her knees and 
stretch out along the sofa. Alois, with his usual serious mien, folded my 
skirt back very neatly and then mounted me with deliberate care. He spread 
the labia of my cunt with his fingers and the next moment his warm tool was 
completely within me. 

It was like yesterday, only much better and more pleasurable, because during 
a standing-up job a prick can't get in up to its root as when we do it lying 
down. 

Again I felt more than mere horniness when Loisl (as Clementine nicknamed 
him) began his short thrusts without pulling back more than half an inch 
each time. He awoke all the tenderness I was capable of and I wanted to 
stroke his cheek, or merely touch him to let him know how I felt about him, 
but the presence of that weird woman stifled all such manifestations in me. 
She closely watched all my facial expressions, which she could easily do 
since my head was on her lap. I felt her greedy, close observation of me as 
an intrusion of my privacy, the privacy of my feelings. I wouldn't have 
minded it in the case of any other boy. She must have sensed that I was in 
love with her Loisl. 

Her mania for constant talking took over again. As soon as Loisl was in me 
she inquired : 

"Is he completely in you?" 

"Yes, completely!" I whispered almost defiantly, wanting to imply that he 
filled out my little hole much better than her bigger, reamed-out old cunt. 

Now, she squeezed her hand between Loisl's and my belly and played, 
alternately, with my clitoris and his balls. I could hardly breathe on 
account of her pendulous teats that were lying on my face. 

Soon she sat up again and asked: 

"Well, does it feel good, Pepi?" 

I tried to ignore her and kept my eyes shut. She went on, indefatigably: 

"Loisl knows how to fuck, doesn't he?" 

"Yes, yes...!" I replied and began to let my fanny dance up and down. 

"Have you ever been fucked like that?" she continued her interview of me. 

"No...." And I meant it, because this was a very intense pleasure and one 
quite new to me. After all, I was being laid by a boy I really loved. 

"With whom d'you do it, usually?" the interview went on. 

"With Ferdl," I said, because he and Anna were not here any more, but 
Clementine seemed to be well informed about tenants who've moved away, and 
insisted: 

"There must be others. Who else?" 

Her tone had become quite matter-of-fact, like a schoolmarm's examining in 
the classroom. 

"With Robert...." 

"Who else?" 

"With my brother...." I confessed hesitantly. The thrills which Loisl's 
ministrations sent through my body affected me like a truth-drug and I was 
afraid that I would betray all the other names of the boys and men I'd done 
it with. 

But, luckily, Clementine's attention was now gripped by another idea. She 
opened my blouse so that my tiny undeveloped breasts lay bare before her. 
Moistening her middle finger with saliva, she began to tickle my nipples 
quite gently. It felt like a tongue licking me and soon my nipples stood 
straight up and helped me imagine what my breasts would look like in a few 
years. 

That tickling of my nipples and Loisl's circular motions in my cunt-as if he 
were reaming it-drove me wild with lust and, losing all inhibitions, I began 
to shout: 

"Ah ... ah ... I'm coming now ... ah...." From that moment on, I didn't care 
whether Clementine was talking or not, because I couldn't think any more, or 
pay any attention to anything but what I felt coursing through my whole body 
like heavenly balsam. The sensations did not come merely from my cunt, but 
from all over, from every part of my nervous system. 

Today, in retrospect, I am able to judge what that particular experience 
with Alois meant to me. Up to then, fucking had been merely a very 
pleasurable pastime, the best of all of them, but being fucked by that fine, 
blond, elegant boy, who was so different from the crude kids I knew, made me 
realize that fucking and what people call love can go together. At the same 
time I also realized, though only vaguely on account of my great youth, that 
a woman could become sexually dependent on a man if she seriously loved him. 

I felt, also only vaguely, that a woman could make a man dependent on her, 
if she is a good lay and doesn't love the man. A prostitute who wants to go 
places and have a successful career must keep this truth in mind. A good lay 
is one thing, and love something else. Too many men-and women-have suffered 
emotional disasters by confusing the two things. 

Alois, when he saw my huge excitement, decided to wind up the situation 
according to the ritual he had learned from Clementine: 

"Finish with relish!" he quoted. 

And, also according to ritual, he pulled his prick slowly out and moved it 
slowly back in, repeating the maneuver five or six times. This calculated 
stimulation and Clementine's working on my nipples had a tremendous impact 
on me. I stretched my body and threw it around and came three times in quick 
succession. Then I felt the warm spray of Loisl's sperm spurt into me, and I 
came a fourth time. It was wise of Clementine to press the palm of her hand 
firmly on my mouth to prevent me from yelling like mad. I'd never felt such 
intense and concentrated lust before and kept licking and biting 
Clementine's palm, but she didn't seem to mind, understanding quite well 
what I felt. 

I was so exhausted that I had to keep lying on the sofa for another hour. It 
occurred to me then and there that fucking could also become bad for one's 
health if one overdid it. And that's exactly what happened to Alois, being 
constantly used by his governess. 

From my lying position I saw how she had made him stand on the sofa seat, 
while she, standing before him, had again taken his limp and tired tool 
between her long teats, trying to revive it. When it did not affect him, 
this time, she took the prick in her mouth and sucked it like a piece of 
sugarcane, with loud smacking noises. Not noticing any immediate result, she 
stuck her head between his legs and licked his testicles and the sensitive 
skin between the fanny and the genitals, which visibly affected Loisl, whose 
whole body began to tremble, though his face remained as serious as ever. 

When she put his prick in her mouth again, he began to move very slightly 
and put his hand on her head. After another five minutes he actually had 
another hard-on, but if Clementine had thought she could make him screw her 
again, she miscalculated. He put his prick into her mouth again and ordered 
abruptly: 

"Leave it in!" 

To my astonishment, she obeyed and let the boy fuck her in the mouth with 
his short thrusts. Clementine let him perform patiently and soon began to 
twitch all over her body, but without letting Loisl's prick slip out of her 
mouth. Only once did she release it and begged: 

"Come, Loisl, let's fuck ... come now...!" Again I was surprised to see 
Loisl's reaction. "I said, leave it in your mouth, damn it!" His voice 
showed his anger. It was the first time he had betrayed any emotion since I 
met him. 

Soon he pronounced his ritualistic formula: "Finish with relish!" 

But when he started his teasingly slow in-and-out motions, Clementine let it 
slide out of her mouth a second time and begged: 

"No, don't let it come yet...." 

He wanted to force his prick back into her mouth, but she resisted this time 
and gasped and panted. 

"No, Loisl must fuck me ... little Loisl must be a good boy and fuck his 
Clementine ... not in the mouth ... but down there where it's much, much 
better...." 

Alois didn't want to, and both started to wrestle with each other, but the 
smaller boy had no chance of winning out over that fat governess. With great 
force she grabbed him by the hips like a child and forced him on his back on 
the sofa. Then lifting her skirts, she straddled him and buried his prick in 
her heated hole and began to swing her hips wildly up and down. Her flabby 
breasts covered Loisl's face and he actually disappeared below that 
sex-crazed woman. I was witnessing a regular rape. Now and then I noticed 
that the boy had taken one of her nipples between his lips, which showed 
that he had been well trained by her. Her fanny flew up and down sixty times 
a minute and, at last, she sank panting and groaning on top of the boy so 
that I couldn't see him at all. 

I had lain on the other end of the sofa, still tired and quite unaffected by 
the spectacle before my eyes. I dimly wished I could take Loisl away from 
that ugly, old woman and let him rest up for a few days. I was at least as 
horny as that obscene Clementine, but I would renounce my desires for a 
while to let the boy recuperate. While I was thinking this way, I realized 
that I really loved him. Although I became-as people say-"only" a 
prostitute, I came to know quite early that love means to think of the other 
one first, something that most of my later customers, even the noble and 
cultured ones, didn't know. Most of the "fine" ladies, the so-called 
respectable ones, I had occasion to meet-incognito, of course-during my long 
life, loved their husbands only to the extent of the jewels and costly furs 
they received from them. Women who are ready to sacrifice some of their 
comfort for the man they "love" have always been rare. More often than not a 
woman sacrifices her life for the man who deserves it least. 

When Clementine and Loisl had rested a while and then restored order to 
their clothes, the cook brought a tray full of all sorts of goodies that I'd 
never seen before, like hot chocolate with whipped cream and delicious 
little cakes. I began to get a slight idea of how the other half lived. The 
only pleasures we people of the poor working class could afford were sex and 
drinking. The latter was reserved for men, mostly. When my fortunes, in my 
late twenties, had made me, to all appearances, a member of the rich 
middle-class, sex was not so compelling any more as the only pleasure. By 
then I had learned to enjoy elegant dresses and comfortable living, also 
cultural pleasures like good music and stage plays and, above all, 
informative reading. Sex, when used as a profession, must be treated with 
intelligent discrimination. That's why frigid women often become the best 
and most successful prostitutes. I don't mean street girls, but those that 
are "kept in furniture" by a respectable man of good society who usually 
leads a double life. 

When Clementine, Alois and I had finished our mid-afternoon snack, I 
announced that I had to leave now. Clementine put a few of the remaining 
goodies in a brown bag for me to take home and insisted on coming with me as 
far as the door of the apartment. In the semi-dark anteroom she quickly 
touched her hand to my cunt and said: 

"You're going to be a sensible girl and keep your mouth shut, aren't you? If 
you keep everything to yourself, you may come back soon and ... you know 
what!" 

With that she pressed a silver coin into my hand and gently shoved me out of 
the door. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

The other boy who still sticks out in my memory of those early days was a 
classmate of my older brother, Lorenz. He was thirteen, tall for his age, 
slender and very proportionately built. I was attracted to his shock of 
black hair that was matched by a pair of jet black eyes which made him look 
like a handsome Italian. He was always pale, perhaps because he studied a 
lot and was very serious about doing his homework, as I could notice when he 
often came to us, or rather to Lorenz, to help him study and vice versa. 
Both were checking on the other's homework and correcting any mistakes. 

The boy's name was Schani, which was a nickname for Sandor, a Hungarian 
first name. He lived in the same street, only a few buildings removed from 
ours. Being a friend of my pious older brother, I thought Schani was also 
chaste and very religious, and that's why I never dared to say anything more 
than a conventional "hello" to him. He was always friendly, nodding his head 
when I greeted him and when he left again. 

One day Schani came to see Lorenz who had gone out. So were mother and 
Franz, my younger brother. Schani wanted to leave when he heard that Lorenz 
wasn't there, but I took heart to invite him in. He hesitated first, but 
when I said that Lorenz might be back any minute, he stepped over the 
threshold and walked slowly into the kitchen. I saw that he was just as 
embarrassed as I was and when I led him into the bedroom, he followed me in 
the same slow manner he had come in the front door. 

I was crazy about his black eyes and told him so. He smiled good-naturedly 
and didn't mind when I cuddled up to him. Getting bold, I put my arms around 
his neck and pressed my abdomen against the front of his pants. I expected 
him to press me against him and to grope under my skirt, but he only smiled 
vaguely and remained passive. 

I thought he needed more encouragement, and therefore I quickly lay down on 
the large bed and invited him to join me. He stepped close to the bed and 
just stood there. I gradually lifted my skirt to reveal my nakedness 
underneath and kept watching his face. When my slit was completely 
uncovered, he looked at it, still smiling and standing there without moving 
a finger. I became excited and wanted to take his tool from his pants, but 
he stepped back and said, almost sadly: 

"Leave it alone, it's useless...!" 

"But why...?" I almost yelled the question and jumped from the bed. 

"Just because...! I couldn't do anything!" I thought: "Aha! He's got the 
same mania for religious purity as my brother Lorenz." But somehow it was 
not the same attitude of moral indignation that Lorenz always carried with 
him like a phony halo. I decided to take the bull by the "horns." 

"Show me!" I commanded and grabbed his fly. He tried to shake me off, but I 
held him firmly and soon his long, thin, but very stiff prick was in my 
hand. With my other hand I lifted my skirt and wanted to stick that rigid 
stick into my slit, but he pushed me away and said in an almost frightened 
tone: "Don't ... I just can't...!" 

I was utterly surprised and felt helpless before that mysterious behavior of 
his. My feeling of frustration made me angry: 

"You are lying! I know you can do it, but you don't want to!" 

"I'm not lying," he said in a sad voice, "you've got to believe me, I really 
can't do it!" 

"This is ridiculous!" I said, getting angrier by the minute. "If you don't 
want to, just say so. That would be better than lying to me!" He put his 
tool back in his pants and buttoned his fly. "I assure you," he said in his 
sad, soft manner, "I'd really like to do it, but ... I just can't afford 
it!" 

Now my anger gave way to curiosity. 

"What d'you mean, you can't afford it?" 

"I can't talk about it!" 

"That's nonsense!" I became angry again. "You just don't want to fuck and 
are using a cheap excuse! I've said before you needn't lie, if you don't 
want to!" 

"I'm really not lying to you," he said, giving me a pleading look. Suddenly 
he touched my cunt through the material of my skirt, but then drew back and 
repeated: 

"No, I just can't do it's ... it's those damned women...!" 

I was flabbergasted. ""What women?" 

Schani began walking around the room and spoke as if he were talking to 
himself: 

"Those damned bitches! They don't leave me alone! I had to fuck them twice, 
today! Twice...." 

"Who the hell are you talking about?" I was really curious now. 

"Twice already...! And if I fuck you now ... then I can't get a hard-on 
tonight again, and if I don't get a hard-on she'll beat hell out of me!" 

"She? Who's she?" 

"Mother!" 

"Your mother?" 

"Yes!" 

"You mean ... your mother beats you up if you can't get a hard-on?" 

He nodded sadly. 

"That doesn't make sense to me. Why would your mother beat you up if you 
can't get a hard-on ... You don't have to fuck your mother," I added 
facetiously, "or do you?" Schani suddenly became furious and yelled: "You 
said it! Those Godforsaken women ... they're no good ... they're bitches, 
each one of them...." 

"And you've fucked her twice already, today?" 

"No, not her! She doesn't come home before tonight!" 

"So ... who the hell did you fuck twice?" 

"My sisters...." 

"What? Your sisters? Both of them?" 

"Yeah ... both of them! And if I fuck you now then I won't get a hard-on in 
bed tonight and mother will know at once that I've done it with Wetti and 
Rosa. And then she beats me up!" 

By now, Schani felt like telling me the whole story, a story which, of 
course, will shock all those "respectable" people who have not even a notion 
of an idea of the living conditions in the poorer districts of Vienna, or 
any other European city, for that matter. Incest was as natural with us as 
with animals, or some primitive tribes in South America. I've read quite a 
bit about it and can understand, today, to what extent inhuman and inhuman 
social conditions can kill all sensitivity in people. I know that even among 
some native tribes there is such a thing as an incest-taboo, but not in all 
of them. And if some of my readers assume that a "religious education" 
should have prevented poor working-class people from becoming as sexually 
primitive as savages, I want to remind them that, first, organized religion 
could not prevent deep human urges like sex from asserting themselves, and, 
second, that any of my readers should do some honest soul-searching and ask 
himself whether he could guarantee his reactions if he had to live and grow 
up with parents, brothers and sisters who have to sleep, eat, wash, and so 
on, in one kitchen and one bedroom. That was the average "apartment" of the 
Austrian workingman's family. 

Schani's story reflects the conditions of those days quite faithfully. 

"I never knew my father," he began. "He died when I was just a baby. So ... 
my two sisters and mother were my family as long as I can remember." 

I knew his sisters, Wetti and Rosa. I also knew his mother, a small, lean 
woman in her late thirties who must have been very good-looking in her 
youth, but who, like all workers' wives, began to fade once she was over 
thirty. Schani inherited her beautiful dark eyes. 

Rosa, the older sister, was eighteen, a blonde, slender girl with a lot of 
freckles on her face and a pair of firm, round teats whose nipples were 
always pointing through her blouse. The younger one, Wetti, sixteen, was 
short and sturdy, with full breasts that looked like those of Mrs. 
Reinthaler, and a well-rounded fat fanny that attracted the attention of 
most men in the street. 

Wetti lost her virginity when she was twelve. 

A young, door-to-door salesman found her alone at home and she made it quite 
easy for him to get between her legs. From that day on, her body began to 
develop all those provocative contours which she knew how to show off. 

Wetti, one day, told Schani what that door-to-door salesman had done and she 
demonstrated all the details to him by making him play the part of the man. 
He was only nine years old, but he liked the new game, and they often played 
"door-to-door salesman" together. One day they were caught in the act by the 
older sister, Rosa. They expected to be bawled out, but Rosa neither bawled 
them out, nor betrayed them to the mother. She did much better than that. 
The same night she called Schani to her bed. (The three shared one bedroom.) 
She proceeded to question him: 

"What were you doing with Wetti today?" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing...? And just because you did nothing you had taken her teats out of 
her blouse and put your hands under her skirt?" 

"Oh ... well ... we were just playing a game." 

"Show me right now what that game was." Schani, standing there beside Rosa's 
bed in the dark room, didn't know what to do. Wetti was fast asleep in the 
other bed and he heard his mother snoring in the kitchen. Again Rosa said in 
a whisper: 

"Okay, now show me the game!" 

She noticed that the boy was at a loss for what to do next. She encouraged 
him: 

"Come under the blanket with me!" She pulled him in beside her. 

He noticed at once that she was quite naked. 

Instinctively, he touched her firm teats and began to stroke them, while 
Rosa grabbed his stiff prick and rubbed it gently. He sensed how excited she 
was and he'd have liked to touch her between her legs, but he was afraid and 
not quite sure what she expected him to do. He and Wetti had always played 
the "game" with their clothes on, but here lay his older sister, naked, at 
his disposal, letting him stroke her big breasts and playing with his prick. 
What could he do next? he thought. Rosa saved him making a decision all by 
himself: 

"Have you often played this game with Wetti?" 

"Yes ... quite often...." 

"D' you want me to tell mother...?" she asked while massaging his prick all 
the time. "No, don't...." Schani whispered. 

"First you play with Wetti, and now you are in my bed and play with my teats 
and let me feel your stiff pencil ... D'you want mother to know about 
that...?" 

Schani protested: "You won't tell her anything about this, because you 
called me over here and told me to get in beside you...." 

"No, I didn't do anything of the kind ... Mother will believe what I tell 
her and not you. I'll say you came to my bed and wanted to fuck me. And that 
you've often fucked Wetti...." 

Schani tried to get away from her, but she pressed her teats into his hands 
again and held him firmly by his prick. 

"Come on, you idiot ... I won't say anything ... but I want you to do it 
with me, too! D'you hear?" 

Schani climbed on top of her and felt how she pushed his nightshirt up to 
his chest. Her nude body heightened his horniness to a degree he had not 
experienced with Wetti. Rosa put his prick between the warm labia of her 
hairy cunt, but when he tried to enter, he encountered an obstacle: Rosa was 
still a virgin, though one who was all set to be rid of her virginity. She 
grabbed his buttocks and pressed him against her, while Schani kept pushing 
his prick against the hymen which, at last, seemed to yield. Rosa tried to 
master her pain that made her moan a little, and Schani came as soon as his 
last trust had blazed the trail which he was to use often in the future. 

Rosa seemed satisfied with the mere fact that she was deflowered and sent 
Schani back to his bed. When he noticed blood spots on his shirt the next 
morning, he was frightened, but Rosa explained to him that there was always 
bound to be some blood when a girl loses her virginity. 

It didn't take long for Wetti to discover the nightly sex parties of Schani 
with her older sister, and it seemed quite natural that she should join them 
in Rosa's bed. The poor boy was obliged to gratify both girls, night after 
night. 

Schani wasn't quite sure how his mother caught on, whether it was his 
increasing paleness and the dark rings around his eyes that made her 
suspicious, or whether she overheard some noise at night. After one bout he 
had fallen asleep in Rosa's bed and their mother suddenly came in and saw 
him there. She woke all three of them up and ordered Schani back into his 
own bed. 

The next morning, at breakfast, she said to the girls and their brother: 

"A growing boy can't sleep with his sisters in the same bed. That's got to 
stop, once and for all!" 

Rosa, who hated to give up the nightly pleasures, protested: 

"He was afraid of something. That's why he came to me. That's all!" 

"All right," said the mother, "if Schani is afraid of sleeping alone, then 
he'll sleep with me, from now on. I can't let a growing boy sleep with his 
young sisters!" 

Schani's bed was taken to the kitchen and placed close to his mother's. At 
night she lay down next to him and, since he was "afraid," she pressed him 
close to her and let him play with her breasts until he fell asleep. Her 
breasts were not as firm as those of his sisters, but Schani liked them well 
enough and continued to play with them, night after night. 

After one week, Schani didn't fall asleep any more, but became more and more 
stimulated. Being rid of the continual demands of his sisters, his vigor had 
completely returned and playing with his mother's breasts didn't seem enough 
any more. He began to press himself against her body more closely so that 
she couldn't help feeling his strong erection. She yielded her breasts to 
him with more abandon, but didn't go any further. 

One night, Schani touched his prick to her nude thigh. She shivered 
violently and began to breathe faster, but he heard her whisper: "No! No!" 

But she kept pressing her breasts into his hands, exciting him all the more, 
so that he had trouble falling asleep at last. After another week of this 
probing and hesitating there came the night when his mother didn't push him 
back when she again felt his stiff prick on her thigh. Slowly, very slowly 
she moved her hand downward until she touched it and closed her fingers 
around it. Her breathing became heavier and, suddenly, she straddled the 
boy, put his prick into her hole, and pressing her breasts against his face, 
she encouraged him: 

"Yes, do it! Mother permits it! Push ... yes, push it in ... deeper ... 
deeper...!" Schani was now "under contract" to do it with his mother every 
night. She showed him various positions, with her on top, or vice versa, 
lying on the side, from the rear, and after two weeks he was a sexually 
informed boy. She induced him to do it several times every night. In the 
daytime, his sisters bothered him with their needs and he had to comply. 
They had listened to what had been going on in the kitchen with the mother, 
and now they put aside all shame and inhibitions. There was no time of the 
day, or the night, when his mother or his sisters didn't use him if they 
found him alone in the apartment. 

As time went on, the mother didn't mind any more that her daughters shared 
in the boy as long as they didn't weaken him in the daytime so that she 
could always be sure to enjoy him at night. It was a miracle that Schani, 
being only thirteen, was able to stand that shameless sexual exploitation 
without becoming seriously ill. When he told me the whole story, he became 
more and more furious and interrupted himself with exclamations like: 

"Those damned broads! I'm sick of all of them! If all women are going to be 
like that...." 

I thought this last remark was an allusion to the fact that I kept playing 
with his prick while he was talking. Although I was disgusted at hearing 
about the bestial selfishness of his mother and sisters, I couldn't suppress 
becoming horny myself. I became more and more stimulated and didn't know 
what to do about it. 

Suddenly we heard the front door being opened and I began to tremble, partly 
from being startled and partly from horniness and frustration. But it was 
good old Mr. Eckhardt who came in and I welcomed him as a savior in this 
situation. I quickly said good-bye to Schani, who was surprised at being 
shoved out of the door by me so abruptly. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

I hurried into the kitchen where Mr. Eckhardt usually sat around when he was 
at home. I hadn't had anything to do with him since Mr. Horak had given me 
that wonderful treatment in the cellar, and also since Loisl had made known 
to me that sex could be more than a momentary climax. I realized that I had 
neglected Mr. Eckhardt on account of those new experiences and decided to 
make up for it. 

As soon as I was in the kitchen I pounced on him and, without any ceremony, 
pulled his prick out of his fly and whispered: 

"Quick! Quick! Before somebody comes home!" 

I saw that he was in the mood, because his tool had become quite hard as 
soon as I touched it. But he asked, nevertheless: 

"What d'you mean ... quick? What is it?" 

I felt that he was at least as horny as I, but that he wanted to see whether 
I would be frank about it I was: 

"I want to fuck! Come, quick!" 

He wasn't expecting so much directness and began to tremble all over. He 
towered over me and we would have both fallen on the floor, but I didn't 
want a mere improvisation. I kept holding his prick and dragged him by it to 
the bedroom where I flopped down on the bed and pulled him over me. 

He was so uncontrolled that he'd have forced his prick into me and torn my 
box apart if I hadn't quickly closed my hand around that long tool so that 
it moved in it like in a tube. I let only his glans penetrate me and that 
was enough to make me come at once. He pushed into me with unrestrained 
force and suddenly I enjoyed it so much that I forgot all the others who had 
fucked me recently. Mr. Eckhardt had a tremendous orgasm and I was flooded 
all over my thighs and legs. 

I dried myself and then wiped Mr. Eckhardt's moist tool and hoped for a 
repetition, but he sat in the armchair and seemed quite exhausted. I didn't 
know what was the matter with me, I just had to feel that prick in me again. 
As I had seen Clementine do it, I took his soft prick in my mouth and went 
to work on it. I was soon rewarded for my great efforts. He had a terrific 
hard-on again. I begged him: "Please, stick it in all the way, now!" 

He didn't understand: 

"But ... but you don't have enough room for all of this . . 

And in his excitement he probed with his finger in my hole so forcefully 
that I let out a yell and said: 

"No! No, I didn't mean there...." 

He looked at me, helplessly: 

"But how else...?" 

I quickly turned my back to him and showed him what I had learned from Mr. 
Horak in the cellar, without, of course, naming my teacher. Soon I felt that 
long, thin instrument glide into my rectum after he had applied plenty of 
saliva all over it. Eckhardt's prick seemed even longer than Mr. Horak's and 
I felt well taken care of. I kept pressing my buttocks together and each 
time Mr. Eckhardt moaned so wildly that I repeated this little trick merely 
because hearing him moan increased my pleasure. Unfortunately it also made 
him ejaculate sooner than I wished, and this time he seemed to be drained of 
all force. 

But the devil must have egged me on and I again tried to give Mr. Eckhardt 
another erection. He gently pushed me away and said: 

"No, kiddo! Let me alone now!" 

Schani's story, no matter how unpleasant from a moral point of view-not 
because of the sex, but on account of the harm to the boy's health-had 
actually aroused me more than I was aware of. I saw in my mind the naked 
bodies of his sisters and himself doing it, and asked Mr. Eckhardt now: 

"Say, have you ever done it in the nude?" I'd never been so unashamed and 
direct in my talks with him. 

"You ought to know," he said. "You've been in my bed several times, 
remember?" 

"Yes, I know, but I mean really naked, without any nightshirt!" 

He smiled. "Why, have you ever done it that way?" 

"No, but I sure would like to! Have you?" 

"Of course! I was married, you know." 

I had never thought of Mr. Eckhardt as being a married man. 

"Oh ... did your wife die?" 

"No, she didn't die!" 

"What became of her?" 

"A whore!" 

I winced. Mr. Eckhardt used to call me his "little whore," several times in 
the heat of fucking, and I wondered now whether he'd meant it as a 
compliment. 

"Tell me, am I a whore, too?" 

He laughed and pressed me against him. 

"O no! You are my dear little Pepi!" 

I immediately made use of being hugged by him and played with his tool 
again. He still smiled: 

"You know, I've never done it with a little girl like you. You are really 
sold on fucking, aren't you?" 

Instead of answering, I put his tool in my mouth and let my tongue play on 
the glans, but-it remained limp and soft. From time to time, Mr. Eckhardt 
remarked: 

"That feels good!" 

"So why doesn't it get hard?" 

"You want it that way?" 

"Sure! Always!" 

"Pepi, Pepi, what would your mother say if she heard you talk like that?" 

I didn't know why he suddenly brought that up, but I wanted to show him how 
"sophisticated" I had become and said: 

"Mother would understand. She always wants father's dick to get hard more 
often...." Eckhardt was surprised and grabbed me by the shoulders. 

"Say, how d'you know that?" 

I told him of the scene at night when mother tried to get father to give it 
to her a second time, because she didn't come before, and how she said she 
would have to ask other men to do it to her. While telling him this I kept 
pressing his prick against my slit, still hoping to bring it back to life. 
He listened with great attention. 

"Are you sure your mother said that?" he said at last, while his prick 
suddenly became firm and hard again. "Are you sure she said she'd have to 
ask other men to fuck her...?" He took me on his lap and put his prick into 
me as far as it would go without hurting me and I moved up and down on it 
excitedly. 

"Ah ... I've come twice already ... ah, I'm coming again...." 

But Eckhardt went on questioning me: 

"Why doesn't your mother come to me to get a good lay?" 

I swung up and down on the tip of his dick and said, absentmindedly: 

"I don't know ... ah ... I'm coming again...." 

"Listen, Pepi, I'm going to tell your mother that she can count on me any 
time, okay...?" 

"I don't mind ... ah, this is wonderful ... I'm coming all the time ... 
fucking is good ... I want to fuck all the time ... ah...." 

Eckhardt was preoccupied with his own problems. 

"Tell me, Pepi, do you believe she'd let me fuck her...?" 

The mere thought seemed to excite him, be cause he began to push into me 
very hard. 

"Not so deep...." I begged. He pushed a little less hard. 

"Well ... would she let me...?" 

"Perhaps ... I really don't know...." 

"Your mother would really have room for my dick, wouldn't she...? Wouldn't 
she...?" 

"Sure, the whole thing would go in nicely." 

"Would you want me to fuck your mother?" 

"Sure," I said if only to please him. At that moment he began to ejaculate 
and I pulled away, but he said angrily: 

"Damn it, stay here until I've come. You can't leave me right in the middle 
of it...." 

I quickly grabbed his prick and jacked him off and saw the jet of semen 
spurt into the air as if it would never stop. It had become quite dark 
outside, and I went into the bedroom, undressed and lay down. Eckhardt also 
went to bed in the kitchen. 

I couldn't fall asleep and began to work on my slit which kept itching in 
spite of the several lays I had enjoyed that day. I left my bed and ran into 
the kitchen without my nightshirt. I stood next to Mr. Eckhardt's bed and 
offered myself again. First he didn't want me there, but soon he began to 
stroke my small nipples and then he let his fingers work on my slit so that 
I was just as stimulated as before. "Try and make it fast," I said. 

"Make what fast?" 

"Fucking, of course ... somebody might come home soon now...." 

"I'll be...!" He sat up in bed and put me across his knees, trying to see 
the expression in my face. "I'll be damned ... what kind of girl are you...? 
I've never seen such a thing 

... I've fucked you three times now and you still don't have enough...?" 

"Oh ... now in the nude...." I said almost timidly. 

"Well, I'll be damned! Your little cunt is quite red from all that fucking 
tonight ... and...." 

"Oh ... that's not from tonight...." 

"Is that so? When did it get that way?" 

His finger slipped gradually into my hole and I moved against it. My 
excitement didn't let me find any words at the moment. Eckhardt's face was 
close to mine. 

"Speak up, Pepi! Who have you been fucking around with all these days, eh? 
You don't seem to be doing anything else, and that's too much for a little 
kid like you. Come on, speak up!" 

His moving finger made it difficult for me to think, but I realized that I 
had to find a good answer that would not only make sense to him, but which 
could stimulate him, too. I decided that the time had come to tell about Mr. 
Horak. After all, all these adults loved to fuck around and so-nobody could 
blame anybody for doing what he himself was doing. Eckhardt kept pressing me 
to talk: 

"Well ... what are you waiting for? Who were the guys you've been screwing 
with ... you've got to tell me right now ... d'you hear?" 

"Mr. Horak...." 

"What? The man who drives the beer wagon? The guy who moves those barrels in 
and out of our cellar?" 

"Yep!" 

"That's a nice how d'you do! When did he start doing this to you?" 

"Oh, well, it's quite some time ago!" 

"What? Before I started doing it with you?" 

"No, but right afterwards!" 

"But ... where? Where did he get hold of you?" 

"In the cellar...." 

"And how could he rub you so hard that your box is so red?" 

"That's easy! He has a long prick...."Longer than mine?" 

"Yes, much longer, but not so thick!" 

"And how often does he fuck you every time?" 

"At least five times," I lied. "Always...!" 

"Come on," Eckhardt sounded quite horny. "Come, you little whore, I'm going 
to fuck you again right now!" 

I promptly slipped underneath him and he pushed his nightshirt up so that 
his hot body was covering mine. But-nothing doing. His tool was still limp. 

"Damn it," he cursed a few times. "Damn it, and I really want to...." 

"Me, too," I said and raised my belly toward his, squeezing his inanimate 
tool. Nothing happened. 

"I've got an idea," he said. "Why don't you suck it again a little? That'll 
help!" 

I was still trying to give it the hand treatment, without success. 

"Come on, Pepi! Put it in your mouth! I'm sure you've been doing it to 
Horak, too!" 

"Sure...." I admitted. I knew instinctively that his vanity was hurt and I 
could egg him on by bragging of other men's virility. 

He moved his abdomen over my face until his dick touched my lips. I again 
had a chance to practice a good blow-job. It requires great skill for the 
mouth to treat a penis with the same stimulation it usually gets only from 
the vaginal grip. I did my best to close in on Eckhardt's tool as narrowly 
as possible and after five minutes it actually began to twitch and become 
hard again. Now it was too big for my mouth and I made haste to slip upwards 
against the pillow and grabbed the prick and stuck the glans into my hole. 
The rest of it that didn't get in was taken care of with my hand, holding it 
tightly. 

Eckhardt moved faster than I'd ever experienced with him. A regular fury of 
the senses had gripped him and he was panting, gasping and moaning like 
crazy. 

"Ah ... I wouldn't have believed it ... I am really fucking you for the 
fourth time tonight ... it's incredible!" 

"Push faster ... faster!" I demanded, not paying much attention to his 
remarks. 

"What? Faster? Just wait, kid, I'm going to screw you so that you'll think 
of it to your dying day!" 

He wetted his fingertips and stimulated my nipples with them. A thrill went 
through my body down to the tips of my toes. I thrust my cunt toward his 
prick which managed to get in more and more deeply. 

Eckhardt was fully aroused. He put his lips to my ear and began to lick it 
so skillfully that I thought I was going to yell with pleasure. 

I felt as if I were being laid by six men simultaneously. Eckhardt, panting 
next to my ear, launched a broadside of furious remarks: 

"See? I'm fucking you as you've never been fucked before ... you horny 
little brat ... you whore ... I'll show you what fucking means .. 

Although I kept myself from emitting loud shouts, I couldn't avoid talking 
and gave vent to my feelings: 

"Jeez, Mr. Eckhardt ... that's really good ... you are the greatest ... I'll 
only do it with you ... nobody else, knows how to fuck like that ... I'm 
coming ... this is the third time ... yes, ram it in some more ... yes ... a 
little deeper ... yes ... that's good...!" 

I loosened my fingers from around the middle part of his prick and let him 
push it in a little more. It hurt, but I pressed my lips together and made 
up my mind to put up with a little pain. 

He kept licking my ear and whispering between licks: 

"Yes, I'll show you ... I'll show you what a good fuck is ... you ain't seen 
nothing yet ... I'll fuck you like I fucked my wife ... that bitch ... I 
don't mind if I knock you up ... I don't care ... ah ... now you are pushing 
back ... you get the idea now ... that's it ... keep pushing against me ... 
like it now? ... do you...?" 

I was in such a frenzy that I kept talking, trying to compliment him: 

"No, Mr. Eckhardt, nobody can fuck like you ... you're right ... you're the 
only one ... I'll never let Horak fuck me again ... nobody is going to fuck 
me from now on ... only you ... you alone ... not Mr. Horak, or Loisl, or 
Robert, or Franz, or Ferdl ... only you...!" 

"What?" Eckhardt exclaimed, "you've had so many pricks fucking you...?" 

"Yes," I said, "many pricks, many, many more ... I've been fucked by a whole 
lot of boys and men...." 

Eckhardt's prick worked like a piston. 

"You are a regular little whore ... and that's good ... now I can be sure 
you won't tattle about me...." 

"Oh no!!! No, Mr. Eckhardt," I stammered in a state of ecstasy. "I'll never 
tell anybody about you ... but you must fuck me every day ... d'you hear? 
... every day ... your prick feels so good in my cunt ... ah ... now I'm 
coming again ... yes, keep pushing ... hard ... ah...." 

"If I knock you up ... you must say it was Horak ... you understand?...." 

"Sure ... but you must fuck me every day ... d'you hear? ... every day...." 

"As much as you like ... I'll fuck you so often that my whole prick will 
find room in you ... and if I've got to do it every hour...." 

"Oh, that's fine...." 

But I didn't feel so fine any more. For the past few minutes his prick 
caused me more and more pain which was not exceeded by pleasure any more. 
I'd come so often that there was nothing left in me to come, I guess. I lay 
quite motionless under him and felt my hole getting sorer by the minute. 

"Aren't you coming soon...?" 

"Not yet!" he panted. "Aren't you coming?" 

"Not any more ... you try to come ... you're hurting me ... try to come 
soon...." 

He gave one more violent thrust that seemed to split me apart, and then he 
ejaculated such a tremendous amount of semen that it ran all over me and all 
over the bedsheet so that it became quite wet. His voice sounded weak from 
exhaustion when he grunted: 

"And now get the hell out of here ... you fucking brat ... whore...!" 

Without answering, I got out of his bed and went back to the room and put on 
my nightshirt. After I had lain in my bed for a while, I felt how sore my 
cunt was. Everything in me was burning. I got up again, lit a candle and 
examined my lower parts in front of the mirror. There was no blood and 
nothing seemed inflamed, but I was startled to see my labia looking limp and 
half open as if the muscles in that area had become too slack. 

I heard my folks outside the front door, and jumped quickly into the bed and 
pretended to be fast asleep, although I hadn't eaten any dinner yet. I heard 
how my parents and brothers ate and then came in to bed. After awhile I fell 
asleep. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

Next morning, Mr. Eckhardt didn't get up and said he was sick. He kept 
putting cold compresses on his head and, I believe, also on some other spot. 
I didn't feel too bad myself, but my cunt was still smarting, especially 
when I walked. Eckhardt and I avoided each other's eyes, and when I passed 
his bed in the evening, he hissed at me: 

"All this is your fault!" 

I became afraid that something was seriously the matter with him and asked 
my mother in the bedroom whether she knew something about Mr. Eckhardt's 
sickness. She didn't know and didn't seem to be much interested, but after a 
while she went to the kitchen and I asked him: 

"What exactly is wrong with you?" 

That frightened me, because I thought he might say now: "It's all Pepi's 
fault!" But he answered in a whispering tone and I couldn't understand a 
word. I only heard mother say: "Aw, come on now! I don't believe it!" 

I sneaked to the door and listened. I just had to know what the two were 
discussing. I heard my mother say in a much softer tone of voice: "But why 
do you do such a crazy thing?" 

"I couldn't help it," he whispered back, "that broad drove me crazy, that's 
why. I should have known better ... I know!" 

I still wasn't quite sure he wasn't going to tell on me. Mother said: 

"Boy, that sure must have been a horny bitch!" 

"No, not quite! She's only a child, not older than your Pepi...." 

I began to breathe more easily. 

But my mother exclaimed now: 

"What? And you have the guts to do that to a child? That's rape!" 

Eckhardt was laughing now: 

"Ha! Rape! Oh, yes, it was rape, but it was me who was raped! That brat just 
takes my dick from my pants and puts it in her mouth like a piece of candy. 
There isn't much left to rape, y'know!" 

Mother seemed horrified: 

"These kids nowadays ... they're all bad ... you can't watch them too 
carefully...." And then her voice became inaudible and I could only guess 
what she'd said when I heard Eckhardt answer: 

"Of course, it didn't get into her completely. 

Only a little bit ... give me your hand and I'll show you . . 

"No, thank you ... what d'you take me for?" 

"O come now! There's nothing to it!" 

Mother interrupted him: 

"Say, how many times did you say?" 

"Six times," he lied, and I began to enjoy the situation. I knew now why he 
talked the way he did. My curiosity grew from minute to minute. He was 
"making" my mother and she didn't know it. 

"Six times?" she said. "That's impossible! You tell that to somebody else, 
not to me . . 

"I give you my word," he said solemnly, "six times. That's why I had to stay 
in bed today." Mother seemed to marvel. 

"Six times ... my God ... no man could possibly do that...." 

"Look, Mrs. Mutzenbacher, I'm sure your husband must have made it with you 
six times, at some time?" 

Mother gave out a giggle. 

"My husband? That's a laugh...." 

At that moment somebody came and they had to stop the conversation. I went 
to bed and was glad that my secret was safe. 

Next morning Herr Eckhardt told us he was still sick, but he didn't stay in 
bed all the time. He put on his underpants and slippers and covered himself 
with an old overcoat. Mother often made him sit down in the kitchen to keep 
her company, and I noticed they were still discussing his great feat of 
virility. 

Four or five days later I had no classes after ten in the morning and came 
home. The kitchen was empty, but I could hear mother and Eckhardt talking in 
the bedroom. The glass panes in the upper half of the door connecting the 
kitchen with the bedroom were covered with white chintz curtains and one 
couldn't see much through them. I decided to listen, because I still wasn't 
quite sure they might not discuss me, after all. 

I suddenly heard my mother say, angrily: "You haven't heard a damned thing! 
You're making it up!" 

"I'm not making it up! Just try to remember how you told your husband you 
didn't come and wanted him to try another lay ... I could hear it quite 
distinctly from my bed in the kitchen...." 

Mother laughed now: 

"Ha! Another lay! You don't know my husband like I do! I've got to be 
grateful if he can do it once only!" 

"See? I was right! But perhaps you're not fair to him. He works hard all day 
and hasn't got the strength to keep it back long enough ... that's why he 
comes so fast!" 

Mother said abruptly: 

"Other men wouldn't be different!" 

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," said Eckhardt. "Take me, for instance, 
I can keep it back as long as I want to ... suppose you want to come three 
times before I do ... that's a cinch!" 

Mother laughed again: 

"Anybody can say that! You're just bragging, I know...." 

"Bragging?!" He sounded indignant. "Who's bragging? Let me prove it to you, 
you'll see that I'm not bragging!" 

Now I could see a little bit through the curtains. Mother was shaking her 
head and said: "No, no, you oughta know I don't do such things!" 

Eckhardt grabbed her by her hips. 

"Don't be a spoilsport! I'm just in the mood to do it a few times...." 

They wrestled a bit and mother threatened: "You'd better let go of me, Mr. 
Eckhardt, or I'm going to scream!" 

He took his hands away, but standing close to her he whispered passionately: 

"Why don't you be sensible and let me ... I've always admired you and liked 
you ... you're my type...." 

Mother stepped away from him and shook her head: 

"Leave me alone ... I'm a respectable woman!" 

My mother was about thirty-six, at that time, and still had a good, firm 
figure. Her face had preserved a certain freshness and was made prettier by 
her rich, blonde hair. 

"Y'know," Eckhardt said to her now, "nobody who sees you would believe 
you've already had three kids...." 

Mother didn't answer, and he went on: 

"I mean, looking at your face, one doesn't notice anything ... but ... in 
some other place one might see you've had three children ... Mother promptly 
fell into the trap. 

"You're wrong," she protested. "I'm still like I was as a girl ... 
everywhere!" 

He acted the incredulous man. 

"Aw, you've suckled the kids, haven't you? That must have done something to 
your teats ... necessarily . . 

"You don't know what you're talking about," she said in a hurt voice. "My 
breasts haven't changed a bit!" 

Eckhardt quickly stepped up to her and wanted to grab her breasts: 

"That I've got to see to believe it!" 

Mother quickly pushed his hands down. "You don't have to believe it if you 
don't want to!" 

But he was quicker than she and got hold of one breast which he squeezed 
gently and then exclaimed repeatedly: 

"Well, I'll be blowed! That's unbelievable! You've got a breast like a 
virgin! ... Really, that's the first time I've seen such a young breast on a 
married woman with three kids!" Mother still tried to keep him away, but 
with far less energy, and after a while she held still and said with a proud 
smile: 

"See? Now you believe me!" 

"You bet, I do!" gushed Eckhardt and took the second breast in his hands. 
Mother let him this time. He played with the nipples that could be seen 
quite clearly through the thin blouse and, soon enough, they became quite 
stiff. 

"Y'know," he said huskily, "y'know, you're wasting yourself with wonderful 
teats like these! A woman whose breasts are like this shouldn't try so hard 
to make her husband do it better so that she can come. With a woman like 
you, a man oughta fuck his soul out of his body to let you come, not once, 
but a dozen times ... My God, what wouldn't a man give to play with a pair 
of teats like these...!" 

"Well ... I'm just a faithful wife...!" said mother, but letting him play 
with her breasts as before. 

"Faithful wife!" Eckhardt chided her. "As long as the husband can satisfy 
his wife's needs ... yes ... I can see why she's faithful to him. But once 
he lets her starve, and she can't even fall asleep because he can't take 
care of her ... I can't see why she should be faithful...! Nature must be 
served, y'know! What you need and want is only too natural...!" 

So saying, he unbuttoned her blouse and soon the firm white breasts were 
resting in his hot hands. 

"You better let go!" she whispered. 

Eckhardt quickly bent down and kissed her left nipple. I could see a thrill 
going through her whole figure and heard her say softly: "Stop it! Stop it! 
... Y'know, somebody might come home!" 

She was standing in front of the large double bed, still open from last 
night, and Eckhardt, with a sudden thrust had thrown her backward so that 
she lay across the sheets. The next moment he was between her legs. She 
resisted with her knees, and he had trouble keeping her down. 

"Now, stop it," she repeated. "I don't want to. I'm really a good wife...." 

"Aw, don't be like that! I'm sure you must have tasted a strange cock at 
least once!" 

"Never, never! ... Get away from ... or I'll scream...." 

Eckhardt's dick was groping for the opening, and his hands kept stroking her 
breasts. 

"Only once won't do you any harm," he panted. 

"Jeez, if somebody comes home, now...." mother faltered. 

"Nobody's going to disturb us," he quieted her fears and began to push into 
her forcefully. She lay without moving and only repeated: "Please, don't ... 
please, don't...!" Suddenly she laughed and said: 

"You don't even find the right spot!" But after another few trials by 
Eckhardt, she whispered: 

"Wait ... wait ... not this way...!" Then she sighed deeply. His prick was 
safely ensconced in her. 

Everything was different now, as if the whole atmosphere in the place had 
crassly changed. And it had, I could feel the change myself. I was well 
acquainted with Eckhardt's regular thrusts and saw how he applied them now. 
For a moment I debated with myself whether I shouldn't go down to our cellar 
and look for Mr. Horak, because staying around here and having to be a mere 
onlooker, was not very enticing. But I was afraid I could be heard trying to 
leave the kitchen, and besides, I was too curious not to witness the scene 
in the bedroom. 

Soon my mother was responding to Eckhardt's mighty thrusts, which induced 
him to praise her: 

"Ah ... you are really good ... such a warm and tight cunt ... it's hard to 
believe ... and such young teats ... and how you can give me tit for tat ... 
ah ... that's so good that I won't come at all ... I'll just stay in 
you...." 

He had taken mother's legs over his arms and worked in her with methodical 
intensity. She had opened her thighs as wide as she could, and her breath 
came louder and louder. 

"Mary and Joseph...." she exclaimed, "what a big cock ... you almost hurt me 
... such a big cock ... and so thick ... ah ... sweet ... so sweet ... 
that's different than with my husband ... yes ... keep pushing deeper ... I 
can feel it in me up to my teats ... yes ... fuck me ... fuck me ... I feel 
I'll come soon ... ah ... fuck me...!" 

"Take your time," said Eckhardt moving like clockwork, "just take your time 
... I won't come ... take all the time you want ...!" 

"Ah ... that's really good." Mother was ecstatic: "I've never known such 
pleasure ... I've never known what it means to take my time ... ah ... my 
husband would have come five minutes ago ... ah ... that's wonderful how you 
do it ... push quite deep ... yes ... my husband could never do it this way 
... he doesn't even know it exists...." 

"Would you mind if I pulled out now?" Eckhardt asked and slowed up a bit. 

Mother gave a shout and hugged him tight with her arms and legs. 

"Not now, for God's sake ... I'm coming ... please ... please ... stay...." 

Eckhardt whipped his hips up and down and teased her: 

"See? Now you let me fuck you! But a while ago you pushed me away...." 

"Fuck me, fuck me ... Oh God, if I'd only known how good you are ... how 
good such a big cock feels ... how it feels to be fucked like that ... ah 
... now ... now!" 

She started to cry and moan and sob all at the same time and inhaled in long 
gasps. 

"I've come," she whispered, but Eckhardt kept moving in her and assured her: 

"So what? You'll come another time!" 

"Another time? ... ah ... you're right ... now ... now ... I'm really coming 
again ... I've never had that happen with my husband ... ah ... I'm dying 
... I can feel your cock up to my throat ... please, play with my teats ... 
please, and go on fucking me, please...." Eckhardt drew on his whole 
repertory of sexual stimulation to please mother. And while he was sucking 
her breasts and touching her at all the erogenous zones-as they are called 
now, I've heard-he kept whispering to her: "Now I can do anything with you, 
eh? I can suck your teats, and lick you all over, and you don't tell me any 
more that you are a respectable woman and a faithful wife, eh? Once a good, 
strong prick is in the cunt, all that nonsense stops...." 

Her voice reflected her happiness when she replied: 

"Yes, you should do everything to me ... ah ... just keep your wonderful 
dick in my cunt and your fingers on my teats ... that's all I want ... ah 
... I'm coming again ... it's the third time ... it's incredible ... aw, 
forget what I said ... respectable woman ... good wife ... for the first 
time in my life I'm happy ... go on fucking me ... I don't care if somebody 
comes in, now...." 

Eckhardt outdid himself. He worked on her breasts and stroked the backs of 
her thighs and legs, and at last, he grunted: 

"Now ... now ... I'm coming...." 

"Yes, do come...." mother was almost shouting. "I can feel it ... now, now 
... I can feel that warm semen ... and you still go on fucking ... that's 
incredible ... you're still coming ... ah ... ah ... I'm coming myself now 
... Jeez ... you'll make me a child ... with all that semen ... I don't care 
... ah ... when my husband comes, he gives two little squirts and then he 
stops moving ... but you ... you keep fucking all the time ... ah ... 
ah...." 

Both quieted down and didn't move for a few minutes. Eckhardt got up first 
so that mother was able to sit up. Her breasts were naked and her skirt up 
over her knees, and her hair had come loose and hung down over her 
shoulders. She put one hand over her eyes in a gesture of shamefulness, but 
through her fingers she looked at Eckhardt and smiled. 

He pulled her hand from her face, but she said: 

"Don't laugh at me, I'm really ashamed of myself." 

"Nonsense," he said, "you've got to face up to facts! You're happy now, and 
that's the damned truth!" 

She put her hand around his dick and marveled at its size: 

"It's really something what such a good cock can do to make a woman happy 
... I feel like it's still in me...." 

With a sudden motion she bent forward and put the glans between her lips and 
then shoved the whole thing into her mouth. There was an immediate result. 
That wonder-cock was stiff again as if it had never been limp. 

"Come," invited Eckhardt, pulling it out of her mouth, and trying to push 
her onto the bed. "Come, let's fuck again!" 

"What?" Mother opened her eyes wide. "You mean you can do it again? Now?" 

"There's nothing to it! A few more times, if you want to. Of course, only if 
nobody comes in and interrupts us!" 

"Jeez, I hope nobody comes ... I don't know what's happening to me ... I'm 
crazy about you and your dick...." 

"I'll tell you what we'll do," suggested the inventive Eckhardt. "To be 
quite safe don't let's lie down. I'm going to sit in this chair and you're 
going to straddle me." 

Mother did everything he said, and soon she was swinging up and down on that 
huge tool which seemed to hold her impaled. 

"This is much better," she gasped, "much better than lying down ... I get it 
much deeper into me ... I've never had it so deep in me...." Eckhardt 
grunted: "See? If you hadn't been so proud all the time, we could've had a 
good time all these weeks!" 

Mother lost all control and began to sob and moan: 

"Ah, such a wonderful fuck ... hold me by the teats ... please ... I want to 
feel you everywhere ... you do it so good ... o my God ... o my God ... for 
fifteen years I've been married ... and I've never been fucked like this ... 
a husband just doesn't deserve it ... ah ... no, he doesn't deserve it ... 
to have a faithful wife...." 

Eckhardt repeated his artifices holding her breasts, tickling the nipples 
and sucking at them, and touching her on all the sensitive spots on her body 
as far as their position permitted it. Mother went plumb crazy: 

"Ah ... I'm coming all the time ... I didn't know such a thing existed ... 
are you sure it's natural ... ah ... I'm coming again ... yes, it must be 
natural ... I didn't know what a man can mean to a woman ... for the first 
time in my life I'm a woman . . 

After a few more minutes, Eckhardt came again with long spurts of his 
inexhaustible semen and mother bit into his shoulder to stifle a scream of 
wild pleasure. Then both remained quiet in that chair until she got up and 
repaired her disordered dress. But soon she was kneeling before Eckhardt and 
put his tool into her mouth, licking and sucking at it with a persistent 
fury. 

"You are sold on it, now, eh?" he said while her treatment sent a pleasant 
shudder through his body. "Are we going to be together more often now?" 

She interrupted her activity and whispered: "I'm always alone here, in the 
mornings, you know that." 

"Sorry, I've got to attend to my business again from tomorrow on." 

Mother saw a solution: 

"Why don't I come to you in the kitchen on the nights when my husband is in 
the tavern?" 

"And the children...?" 

"Bah, the kids are asleep about that time." Eckhardt must have thought of me 
when he said skeptically: 

"You can never be quite sure that they're really asleep...." 

"Don't worry," mother was sure of herself, "my husband always does it with 
me when they're asleep." 

Eckhardt must have thought of me again, but he said: "Are you sure? Well, 
it's okay with me!" 

During this conversation my mother was playing with his tool which looked 
quite presentable and ready for work. 

"Come," Eckhardt suggested, "let's do a quickie before somebody comes home!" 
Mother got up from the floor. 

"What? Again? How could you do it? I've never known what a real man can do 
... okay ... but let's hurry ... it's so late...." 

She lay down across the bed and lifted her skirts. 

"No, not that way," Eckhardt said, "turn around!" 

He made her stand in front of the bed and bend forward, with her forehead 
resting on the blanket, and her fanny raised toward him. He rammed his dick 
into her and she made a low gurgling sound and started moaning almost 
immediately: 

"I'm coming right now ... hurry ... try to come too ... quick ... please, 
try to come...." Eckhardt whispered hoarsely: 

"Yes ... I'm coming now ... I wish I could have stroked your teats ... ah 
... now ... I ... am ... coming...." 

They knew they could not afford to linger like this without risking 
discovery. My brothers could walk in any moment now. Eckhardt pulled his 
dick out and dried it with his handkerchief and buttoned his fly. Then he 
sat down on a chair and wiped the perspiration off his face. 

Mother took the china washing bowl from the washstand, filled it with water 
and put it on the floor. Squatting above it, she washed her cunt very 
carefully. When she was through she put her skirt back so that it hung 
neatly down her legs again, but she hesitated to stow away her nude breasts. 
She held one out to Eckhardt and begged: 

"Quick ... kiss it once more!" 

He obliged, kissing and licking both nipples before she buttoned her blouse. 

"Maybe I can come out to the kitchen tonight," she ventured. 

"Okay with me," he grunted, his voice a little fatigued. 

Then mother, without being aware of it, began to talk about me: 

"Well, and what are you going to do about that young little bitch you told 
me about?" 

"What d'you mean?" he stalled. 

"That young girl who made you fuck her six times, the other day." 

"Well, what about her?" 

"You still going to fuck her...?" 

"Why? You aren't jealous, by any chance...?" 

"But I am," she said forcefully. "I want you to fuck me only ... nobody 
else...." 

Eckhardt feigned surprise: 

"But you let others fuck you, too...." 

"What? How can you say that? Who else fucks me?" 

"Your husband, of course!" 

"Ah, that one! From now on I won't give it to him any more...." 

"You can't do that! You known damned well he'll want to fuck you ... and, 
after all, you're married to him ... don't forget that...." 

"Yes, you're right," mother answered slowly, "but he doesn't want it more 
than once in two or three weeks. And when he does it, he does it quick-quick 
like a rabbit and comes at once ... that's all." 

"Okay, and I am going to fuck my little girl friend once every two or three 
weeks, too. 

What's more, I can't even get completely into her ... so, we are only fair 
to each other, you and me...." 

"Be careful," mother warned him, "you're playing with dynamite! If somebody 
finds out about it, they'll put you in prison!" 

Eckhardt laughed: "Don't you worry, old girl, Eckhardt can't be caught that 
easily! Don't think you're going to be short-changed on account of that 
little bitch just because I'm going to fuck her once in a while...." 

Mother hugged him and said: 

"You'd better go into the kitchen now. It's almost noon and the boys will 
want to eat soon. I wonder why Pepi isn't home by now...." Before I could 
sneak out the front door, Eckhardt had opened the door coming from the 
bedroom and saw me. He was startled at first, but when he saw me smirk all 
over my face, his fear changed to embarrassment, and he couldn't speak for a 
moment. Then he came close and whispered: 

"Did you see something?" 

Without answering him, I put my hand under my skirt and played at my slit 
and kept smiling at him. He quickly replaced my hand with his and said: 

"You're not going to talk, eh?" He questioned me while his fingers drummed a 
tattoo on my slit. I merely shook my head and he seemed assured. He removed 
his hand because mother might join us any minute. 

Ever since that memorable day, I watched every night to see whether mother 
was going to sneak out into the kitchen. She promptly did so whenever she 
knew father had gone to the tavern. All I could hear from the bedroom was 
some subdued panting, now and then. Sometimes I also found them together in 
the kitchen whenever I came home from school before noon. But they were very 
careful so that nobody could have suspected anything when seeing them 
talking quite harmlessly together. 

I never permitted Mr. Eckhardt to fuck me, from that time on. I really 
didn't know what made him undesirable to me, all of a sudden. When he came 
home one afternoon and found me alone, he grabbed me and wanted me to yield, 
but I resisted him with all my strength. He pushed me down on the floor and 
tried to take me by force, but I pressed my knees and thighs together and 
kicked him in the belly, so that he seemed to have gotten the message. He 
suddenly let go of me and gave me a long, strange look, but he never tried 
to touch me again after that. 

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

During the following months I limited myself to Mr. Horak and to Alois. 
Horak was always delighted when I came down in the cellar and never 
disappointed me. One day Schani appeared quite unexpectedly and told me that 
his mother and Rosa were menstruating so that he had to fuck only Wetti, 
last night. That's how I got to enjoy Schani for the first time. We had a 
"quickie" stand-up job in the kitchen, because it was never too safe in the 
afternoon. 

It is strange that, although I had wanted to do it with Schani all those 
months, I can't remember anything special about that "quickie," except that 
Schani noticed something about my breasts. 

"You know," he said, squeezing them, "your teats are beginning to show." 

He was right, they were not really full yet, but when I was naked I could 
see they looked like the halves of two big oranges and were round and very 
firm to the touch. Once when I was visiting Mr. Horak in the cellar again, I 
guided his hand under my blouse and when he felt my developing breasts, he 
was so delighted that his prick became hard at once, no matter that he had 
just finished fucking me for the second time. I owe it to this lucky 
circumstance that he laid me a third time, squeezing my breasts all the 
while. 

Franz fucked me a few times in those days, but he kept thinking of Mrs. 
Reinthaler. Up to then, he had not been able to approach her with his secret 
wishes. I thought that I was perhaps in a position to act as intermediary. 
So-one morning I found her up in the attic, or rather the drying-loft, as 
the place under the roof was called where the women in a tenement building 
dried their linen after washing it in a special laundry room in the cellar. 

I ran down to Franz who was playing in the courtyard and told him of my 
fortunate discovery, but he was shy and stalled. I told him how she let 
herself be fucked by Mr. Horak and how much she liked it. I also mentioned 
her huge, white and firm breasts, but it was in vain. Franz didn't have the 
guts to go up in the drying-loft and start some diplomatic approach. Being 
an "experienced woman" now, I offered to come with him and open 
negotiations. We arrived just when Mrs. Reinthaler had begun to take the dry 
sheets off the clotheslines and fold them neatly into the big basket. I 
spoke up very politely: 

"How are you, Mrs. Reinthaler?" 

She turned around quite astonished and said: "Well ... hello, you two! What 
are you doing here?" 

"Oh, we are just coming to visit with you," I said as casually as I could. 

"Visit with me? I'm very busy as you can see." 

"Sure, and we want to help you!" 

"No, no, I can do it myself!" 

I saw I had to take matters into my own hands, which I did quite literally. 
Stepping up to Mrs. Reinthaler, I grabbed her breasts and began to stroke 
them. Franz stared at that majestic bosom and couldn't take his eyes off it. 

The fat little woman pressed me against her and inquired: 

"What are you doing, Pepi?" she asked again. "Oh, you've got such a 
beautiful pair of teats," I flattered her. 

She blushed a flaming red and squinted over to where Franz watched her most 
attentively and gave him a smile. He grinned back stupidly and didn't move. 
Now I took those impressive globes out of her blouse and went on playing 
with them. She let me do it, but looked at Franz. 

"What are you doing, Pepi?" she asked again. "You know, Franz would like 
to...." I whispered. 

I felt how her nipples became rigid, but she asked nonchalantly: 

"Well? What is it that Franz would like to...?" 

"You know what I mean," I whispered. 

She smiled and let me pull her blouse back on either side so that her 
breasts were quite free. 

"I'm going to stand watch by the door," I announced, and, moving away from 
her I pushed Franz toward her so firmly that he landed with his face smack 
between her big teats. I posted myself in front of the entrance to the 
drying loft and stood guard so that my brother could fuck Mrs. Reinthaler, 
just as I had stood guard whenever Mr. Horak wanted to fuck her in the 
cellar. 

As far as I can remember, that was the first matchmaking in my life; the law 
would have named it procuring. On second thought, I had also pandered my 
mother to Mr. Eckhardt, by telling him of her dissatisfaction with my 
father's impaired potency. Without this information, Eckhardt would not have 
found the courage to proceed as he did and offer mother the first chance of 
being a satisfied woman in all her life. 

Franz, that idiot, was still leaning with his face against Mrs. Reinthaler's 
bosom and didn't move. She put her arm around him and asked: 

"Well? What can I do for you, kid?" 

He couldn't have answered even if he'd had the gumption to say something, 
because she had gagged him with one of her large nipples, and he sucked away 
at it like a thirsty baby yearning for a drop of milk. Beginner though he 
was, Franz must have done a good job, because the passionate little woman 
was twitching all over and I knew that the time had come for action instead 
of yakking. 

I found it unnecessary to go on playing watchdog and walked up to Mrs. 
Reinthaler in order to assist at whatever she decided to do. She lay 
backward on her laundry-basket full of dry linen, pushed back her skirts and 
soon exposed her bushy cunt which suddenly seemed so roomy that I was afraid 
my brother's head might disappear in it entirely. She firmly pulled the boy 
over her and inserted his little stick into her box that clamped down on it 
almost audibly. 

Franz began to move as fast as the ticking of a watch, and Mrs. Reinthaler 
burst out laughing: 

"Ah ... that tickles me ... but it's not bad ... it's nice being tickled 
down there...." 

She was lying without moving herself and asked me: 

"Where did he learn to do it so well? Does he do it often?" 

"Sure," I said. 

"And always so fast...?" 

"Yep," I confirmed. "Franz is a fast fucker!" Since I found there was not 
enough excitement in the air, I knelt next to Mrs. Reinthaler and began to 
work my tongue in her ear as I'd learned from Mr. Eckhardt. She purred with 
pleasure. 

"Don't fuck so fast, kiddo," she told Franz. "Give me a chance to push, too 
... wait ... I'll show you ... yes ... you see? ... it's much better this 
way...." 

She regulated the rhythm of Franz' motions and made her fanny move up and 
down so that the basket made crackling sounds. 

"Yes ... yes ... that's good ... I'm going to come now ... ah, Pepi you 
drive me nuts with all that licking in my ear ... oh, go on doing it ... ah 
... ah ... I'm coming again ... what kind of children are you two anyway ... 
ah ... that's wonderful, Franz ... why don't you take my nipple in your 
mouth...?" Franz obediently began to suck at one nipple as if he were dying 
of thirst. 

"Hey, you...." Mrs. Reinthaler shouted. "What's the idea? You've stopped 
fucking ... I was just about to come ... yes ... put it in again ... and 
move faster now ... that's good, now ... Jeez, now he lets go of my teat ... 
why don't you keep sucking my nipples...?" 

Franz still hadn't learned to coordinate his caresses, that's why I came to 
his assistance. I stopped licking Mrs. Reinthaler's ear and worked on her 
nipples, alternately. As I was standing with my legs on either side of her 
head, she would reach up and tickle my slit, which was really thoughtful of 
her. She did an excellent job so that I could easily imagine I was being 
screwed, too. 

We were working in complete harmony now and were moaning in unison. At last 
we all came simultaneously. Mrs. Reinthaler was enthusiastic: 

"Ah ... ah ... you're wonderful kids, you two ... ah ... Franz ... I feel 
your semen spurting into me ... and you, Pepi, you're getting quite moist in 
your little hole ... ah ... we're having a good time...!" 

The three of us had collapsed, one on the other, so that we must have looked 
like a bundle of clothes on that large laundry basket. 

Suddenly Mrs. Reinthaler pushed us off her and jumped up. She was blushing 
now and the reaction set in. She was definitely embarrassed. 

"I say ... these kids today ... wouldn't have believed it. .she murmured 
and, leaving her laundry basket behind, ran downstairs. 

Franz and I sat down on the heap of laundry and I took his prick in my 
mouth, hoping it would soon be stiff again so that I could enjoy it, too. 
After all, being an onlooker has its charms, but there's nothing like being 
fucked in person. 

"Come on, Franz," I said, "fuck me now!" 

"No," he said, "Mrs. Reinthaler will be back!" 

"So what? She knows that we two do it together!" 

"I don't want to," he said stubbornly. 

"But, why...?" 

"Because ... because ... you've got no teats!" 

"I have, too...!" I retorted indignantly and tore my blouse open and exposed 
my nice round oranges. He began to squeeze them and I, quickly, lay down 
and, without further ado, put his prick into me and we did a "quickie." It 
was quite nice, and after we'd finished we left the basket with the laundry 
where it was and went downstairs. 

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

From then on, Franz always tried to get Mrs. Reinthaler alone. But she 
didn't want to take any risk of being discovered and took him to her 
apartment when her husband was at work. There she could train him 
methodically and to her heart's content. He actually progressed quite 
satisfactorily. She was quite bold about her interest in my brother. Often 
she came to our door, and using some excuse like, "Could the boy get me 
something from the market?" she took him to her place. I always knew what 
was going on, of course. 

Such was the state of things, when my mother died. Nobody told me what her 
illness was, but since she always looked very healthy, it must have been 
that severe influenza which she neglected so that it developed into a 
regular pneumonia. 

I was only thirteen and in the middle of puberty. The fact that my breasts 
grew relatively fast, and that a lot of curly hair soon covered my cunt, 
gave me great satisfaction. I am quite sure it was the result of my 
premature sex activities that my body developed so speedily. Up to the day 
my mother died, I had been having intercourse with about two dozen different 
men, and, in keeping with my passionate nature, I didn't let one day pass 
without being fucked, at least twice. 

I don't remember many of the men I accosted with my provocative smile and 
who took immediate advantage of my inviting behavior. Once I was almost 
strangled by a drunken locksmith who pressed his hands around my throat 
while he was fucking me, but since he came almost at once, he let go of me. 
But having had that experience, I was on my guard against similar 
individuals. 

When mother died, we children cried a great deal, because she was a good 
mother to all of us, while we were more or less afraid of father who could 
be very abrupt and strict. My older brother, Lorenz, used mother's death to 
frighten me: 

"See?" he said, "that's how God punishes you and Franz for your sinful 
actions . . 

His words hit me in a sensitive spot. I had loved my mother very much, even 
though I discovered that she was just as human as I was, or rather because 
of it. Therefore, Lorenz' moral pronouncement somehow made sense to me and I 
believed him. 

From the day my mother died, I refrained from any sexual act and made the 
firm decision not to let any man fuck me any more-at least not for quite 
some time. I couldn't stand looking at Mr. Eckhardt any more and he also 
took no notice of my presence. Mother's death must have hit him hard, too, 
because he seemed quite depressed and didn't talk to any member of our 
family. One week after the funeral, he gave notice and soon moved to some 
other part of town. I felt much better when he had left us. 

Franz and I were by ourselves far more often now, but I did not encourage 
him any more, and when he tried to grab my teats one day I slapped his face. 
He looked at me, quite surprised, but he left me alone from then on. 

Mother's death, as I see now, represented a milestone in my young life and 
perhaps I could have really kept all my good resolutions and led a different 
sort of life if other, equally incisive impressions, had not pushed me ahead 
in the direction in which I had started out. 

END OF PART ONE 



PART TWO 

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

My mother had been dead for two months, and I still kept my resolutions to 
be a good girl. At school, my teacher had been praising my diligence for the 
first time and told me that I was a very intelligent girl and could really 
become a first class student if I continued to improve. 

To my own astonishment, I managed to live a chaste existence, not even 
wishing to see a prick, let alone feeling one between my legs. 

It was about that time that confession was becoming obligatory for pupils in 
Austria, a predominantly Roman Catholic country, and soon a day had been 
chosen on which I, with all my classmates, had to attend confession at our 
local church. Although I had no religious streak in me whatever, my mother's 
death and the stern remark of my brother, Lorenz, had aroused profound guilt 
feelings in me. Even today I can't explain to myself what I was afraid of 
unless it was an uneasy conscience that made me believe that I had overdone 
my sex escapades. I never believed sex in itself to be "sinful" as I've 
always said, but I do believe today that a child should be permitted to be a 
"child" in the real sense of the word. Around the turn of this century, it 
was a known fact that the children of working-class families were unable to 
develop gradually and normally, because they were forced into too much 
intimate living among grown-ups. Their parents had no privacy, nor did they 
themselves. Working hours were long and hard in those days, and most 
children had to be left to their own devices, while the fathers of families 
were absent from early morning until late in the evening. By Saturday, 
which, in most cases, was also a working day, they were ready to get drunk 
and forget their working-week. 

To sum it up, when I decided to "confess my sins," together with all my 
classmates, it was not from religious conviction, but from a quite 
irrational belief that my mother would, perhaps, still be alive if I had not 
been so sex-obsessed and done everything in moderation. It was the "too 
much" of sex, and not fucking as such, that I thought to be wrong for a 
young child like myself. 

I had made up my mind not only to purify myself by confessing to have 
"committed fornication," but also the mortal sin of never having confessed 
my sex bouts before. 

On former occasions, when our priest used to ask me, after I had recited the 
list of my "sins": "Did you break your chastity?" I always replied with a 
resounding: "No!" 

The priest was a dark-haired, young man, very pale in his serious face. He 
always looked at us very severely so that we were deadly afraid of him. His 
big nose seemed to point at us like a reprimanding index finger. 
Nevertheless, I decided to confess everything and leave nothing out. 

The church was crowded with schoolchildren and all three confessionals were 
taken by different priests. I was lucky to be examined by an elderly, fat 
priest whom I knew by sight only. I had always liked him on account of his 
round, smiling face. This gave me great encouragement when I knelt down in 
front of the grilled window. 

First I confessed all my "minor sins," but he interrupted me, asking: 

"Have you perhaps broken your chastity?" 

"Yes," I replied in a trembling voice. 

"With whom?" 

"With Franz." 

"Who is that?" 

"My ... my brother...." 

"Your brother? Hm! Your brother, eh? And with whom else?" 

"Well...." 

"You did it with somebody else, too, didn't you...?" 

"Yes...." 

"Speak up...." 

"With Mr. Horak...." 

"Who is he?" 

"The beer delivery man in our building." 

"And who else?" he kept asking with a slight tremble in his voice. 

I recited the whole list of names as best as I remembered it. Of course, in 
the case of my "anonymous" sex partners, I merely said, "a soldier," or "a 
strange boy," and so on. 

The priest didn't make any remark until I had finished the long enumeration. 
Then, after a short pause, he asked: 

"And how did you commit the sin of fornication with all those men?" 

I didn't know how to reply to that. He growled: 

"Just say how you did it with them!" 

"With ... with ... you know what I have between my legs," I stammered. 

I saw how he shook his head impatiently. He shot me a question without any 
warning: 

"Did you fuck? Yes, or no!" 

"Yes," I said, feeling a little more at ease when hearing the familiar term, 
though it sounded peculiar coming from him. 

"And did you take it in your mouth, too?" 

"Yes!" 

The priest sighed and when he spoke again his voice sounded a little husky: 

"God ... my child ... those are mortal sins ... mortal sins...." 

I became really afraid now and thought he might refuse me absolution, but he 
said: 

"You must tell me everything ... do you hear? ... everything ... God, this 
is going to be a long confession ... I can't let the other children wait so 
long ... you'll have to come alone and make your confession to me in private 
... that's all I can do for you ... you understand...?" 

"Yes, Father...." I stammered. 

"This afternoon, around 2 o'clock ... I'll be expecting you!" 

I promised to be punctual, and he added: "You've time enough, now, to 
remember every detail, do you hear me? Every detail! Because, unless you 
confess everything, and I mean everything, the absolution won't have any 
effect at all!" 

I sneaked out of the church feeling crushed. I went home and sat down, 
trying to remember all my adventures, which was not very easy, even at that 
time. I was very much afraid of that confession in private, which meant I 
had to visit the Father in his own room in the priests' quarters next to the 
church. I was also afraid of the kind of penance he would make me do to 
atone for so many mortal sins. 

Shortly before 2 o'clock I was about to leave, and my brother Lorenz asked 
me where I was going in my only good dress. 

"To my Father Confessor," I said proudly to impress my pious brother, "he 
asked me to confess to him in private." 

"Oh...? Is it Father Mayer, perhaps?" Lorenz asked. 

"Yes, Father Mayer!" 

Lorenz gave me a peculiar look, but I turned around and left. 

It was a warm summer day and the cool interior of the rectory was not an 
unpleasant place to go, I thought, if only I were on a different kind of 
errand. I stopped at the door that had a sign on it which read "Fr. Mayer," 
and after a slight hesitation, I knocked gently. 

"Who is it?" I heard his big voice. 

"Pepi ... Pepi Mutzenbacher!" 

He opened the door from the inside and invited me to step in. He was in his 
shirt sleeves and his enormous belly threatened to bust his belt at any 
minute. Seeing him for the first time outside the church and in mufti, I 
noticed his obesity more than ever. It gave him a ponderous presence which, 
together with his red, clerical face, overawed me very much. He already knew 
most of my personal life, and the fear and the shame made me blush. 

"Praised be Jesus Christ," I greeted him with the customary formula reserved 
for priests in Europe. 

"In all eternity!" he responded with the proper reply. 

I also kissed his big fleshy hand and he told me to sit down. I looked 
around and saw that the windows looked out on a yard with tall green trees. 
On one wall hung a large, black crucifix; before it was a nicely upholstered 
prayer stool. Close to the other wall stood a large iron bed with a nicely 
embroidered spread. In the middle was a big writing desk with an upholstered 
armchair in front of it. 

I sat down on a smaller chair beside the desk. 

Father Mayer had put on his cassock and was buttoning it from the collar 
down to the shoes: it must have had at least twenty buttons. 

"Come over here," he said and we both knelt on the prayer stool and recited 
the Lord's Prayer. Then he made himself comfortable in the big armchair and 
let me stand in front of him, leaning against the desk. 

"Well, you may start," he said. 

I found it difficult to begin and looked at the floor. He took my chin and 
forced me to look at him. 

"Listen," he said, "you already know that you have committed mortal sins ... 
fornication is a mortal sin ... and with your own brother ... incest!" 

That was the first time I heard that word, without knowing what it meant. I 
began to tremble. 

"Who knows," he continued, "perhaps you are already beyond salvation ... if 
you want me to save your soul, you must tell everything ... and tell it with 
genuine repentance." 

He talked in a low, hesitant tone which increased my awe. I began to cry. 

"Stop bawling!" he growled. 

I sobbed only louder. 

He became more gentle and patted my arm. 

"Now, don't cry, kiddo ... perhaps we can find a good solution ... but you 
must talk!" I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, but I still couldn't 
speak. 

"Yes, my child," he said, "the temptations in this world are great ... you, 
perhaps, didn't even know that you were committing mortal sins. After all, 
you are still a child ... you didn't know what you've been doing is sinful, 
did you?" 

"No," I said, feeling a little better. 

"Well, that already sounds much better! Now, let me see, you did not follow 
your own urge, but you were seduced, hm?" 

"O yes, Father," I said eagerly, "I was seduced!" 

"That's what I thought," he nodded and looked more friendly now. "If a girl 
has things like these and men see them," he was touching my breasts, "they 
become tempted, too. The devil is always waiting to draw us into his snares. 
And these here are snares . . 

He again put his palms on my breasts and it comforted me to feel his warm 
touch. It had been quite some time since a man had touched my breasts, and 
having a priest touch them seemed harmless enough. 

"Yes, my child," he went on, "that is clearly the work of the Devil, the 
arch-tempter, to give a child such firm round breasts that belong on a 
mature woman . . 

With that he took both my teats in his hands and kept holding them. 

"These are real women's breasts," he said, giving them a tiny squeeze, "but 
a God-fearing woman must hide them so as not to tempt men. Teats like that, 
my child, are instruments of voluptuousness ... God gave them to women so 
that they can suckle their babies, but the Devil has turned them into means 
of pleasure for the fornicators ... that's why one must hide them 
carefully!" 

I found it quite natural that he kept holding my teats while he said all 
this, and I listened to him with great attention and, almost, reverence. 

"All right my child, now let us get back to you! Begin to tell me about it!" 

Again I was unable to comply and I blushed. "Yes, my child, I can see that 
you feel shame. It shows that your heart is pure ... you are ashamed to talk 
of those things. Aren't you?" 

"Yes, Father, that's it!" I said with great feeling. 

"I thought so," he said. "Well, I'll respect your shamefulness and make it a 
little easier for you. I'm going to ask all the questions and you'll answer. 
And if you're ashamed to describe something with words, you may show me with 
gestures what you mean, will you?" 

"O yes, Father," I assured him and grabbed one of his hands that held my 
breasts and kissed it gratefully. 

"You must know, my child," he explained, "that unless I am informed of all 
the sorts of fornication you have practiced, I can't give you any absolution 
... now, tell me, you took the prick into your mouth...?" 

I merely nodded. 

"Often?" 

I nodded again. 

"And now describe all the things you did with it ... one after another!" 

I looked at him helplessly. I really didn't know what he meant. 

"Well, my child, did you caress a prick with your hands?" 

I nodded. 

"How did you caress it ...?" 

I was at a loss what he expected me to say. 

"Show me exactly what you did, and how," he whispered. 

I was more at a loss than ever to guess what he wanted me to do. 

He smiled sanctimoniously: 

"It's quite all right, my child, for you to use my prick to show me what you 
did ... nothing of the ordained priest's body is impure ... every member of 
it is pure ... nothing that he does in the fulfillment of his sacred duty is 
sinful...." 

I was greatly frightened and remained motionless. 

He took my hand and put it next to the fly of his trousers, still 
whispering: 

"You may take out my penis and use it to show me all the sins you committed. 
I let you use my sanctified body so that you can purify yourself by using it 
for demonstration." 

He unbuttoned his fly and put my trembling hand inside where I felt some 
warm pulsating stiffness. A short, thick prick burst out, hard and ready as 
any I'd ever seen. 

"Now show me, my child, how did you caress it?" 

I was awfully embarrassed, but I closed my fingers around that dick and 
moved them awkwardly up and down a couple of times. 

Father Mayer's face was serious. 

"Was that all you did? Don't try to keep anything from me ... if you want to 
be absolved...." 

I massaged his prick a few times more. "What else did you do with it?" 

I remembered what I had learned from Clementine, that ugly, fat little 
governess of Alois', and took the priest's prick between my thumb and 
middle-finger and tickled his glans with my index so that the foreskin 
retreated completely around it. 

He leaned back in the armchair. 

"What other sinful artifices did you do?" 

I was afraid to go ahead with my demonstrations, and let go of his prick. 

"I ... I put it in my mouth," I lisped. 

He began to breathe audibly. 

"And how ... how did you do that?" 

I looked at him questioningly, but he gave me a serious look full of dignity 
and said: "Don't you want to show your gratitude for the mercy I am showing 
you? Know, my child, that you are already half purified by touching me the 
way you touched your lovers, those fornicators...." 

Somehow I thought this made sense and I was overjoyed to be given a chance 
to deserve my absolution. I quickly knelt before him and put his thick, 
short specimen into my mouth. "What?" he asked, "only the tip?" 

I obediently put the whole thing in my mouth. "Is that all...?" 

I began to lick and suck it, and the more my tongue touched that velvety 
glans the less shy I became, until I noticed that I was actually excited as 
if all this were not part and parcel of my confession. I heard Father Mayer 
moan: "Ah ... ah ... such carryings on ... ah ... what a sin ... ah...." 

I didn't want him to suffer any longer and took his prick from my mouth and 
dried it carefully with my handkerchief. When I looked up I saw that his 
face had become almost purple. He grabbed my hand: 

"And what else did you do ... with all those pricks ... those sinful pricks 
... what else did you do with them...?" 

"I committed fornication, Father," I whispered, using the new term I had 
learned. 

"I know that," he gasped, "I know that. You have shown me now three kinds of 
fornication and by doing so you have become purified from these three kinds 
of mortal sin. But you have done various other kinds ... with all those 
pricks ... do you deny it...?" 

"O no, Father!" 

"Then speak up! What else did you do?" 

"I did a lot of fucking, Father!" 

"How did you ... er ... fuck?" 

I looked surprised. 

"Well ... fucking is fucking, after all." 

"That doesn't tell me anything," he said, becoming angry, "you've got to 
show me how you did it!" 

I had reached another impasse. I didn't dare to lift up my skirts and put 
his prick into my cunt. 

"All right, child ... do you want me to show you what you possibly did?" he 
asked, "shall I show you myself?" 

"Please, do!" I said. I was quite curious about what was going to happen 
now. After all, it was for the sake of becoming absolved from my sins. I 
hadn't had a prick in my mouth, or in any part of my body, for quite some 
time, and if it was possible to have a little sex with a holy man to have my 
body purified, I didn't see why I shouldn't let him push it right into my 
hole. 

He got up and led me to the large bed. 

"Now show me," he said, "how you did it." 

"Oh, Father, you know," I said. 

"Don't give me that, child. I know nothing at all. You must tell me 
everything. Now ... did you lie below, or on top of your fornicator?" 

I lay down across the bedspread and let my legs dangle over the edge. 

"That's the way you were lying?" 

"Yes, Father!" 

"You can't possibly sin this way. The devilish tempter can't do anything to 
you if you just lie like this. You must have done something else ... or ... 
did he perhaps lift up your skirt?" 

"Yes, Father!" 

"This way...?" He had pushed my skirt quickly above my belly so that my nude 
thighs and the slit bordered by curly blonde hair lay exposed. 

"Was it this way?" 

"Yes, Father!" 

"And like this...?" He parted my knees. 

"Yes...." 

He stepped between my thighs and his fat belly rested on me, though he was 
still standing. 

"And your fornicator's prick entered you in this way to rouse sinful fleshly 
lusts in you...?" 

I thought it unnecessary to reply, because he was shoving his sanctified 
candle into me. It felt nice and warm between my labia. He penetrated me 
very slowly and carefully. I couldn't see his face, but I heard him grunt 
and groan when I pinched his prick with my labia. I was glad to be fucked 
again, for a change, and all the more so as it was not only no sin, but, on 
the contrary, it was a fuck that was going to absolve me from all my 
previous fucks. This fuck was going to make me as pure as an angel in 
heaven. 

Father Mayer began to move in and out, and I was tasting again, after so 
many months of abstention, the immense joy of having a good, sturdy prick in 
my cunt. I felt a mixture of surprise, delight and happiness, but gradually 
something began to dawn on me, and all my former misgivings disappeared in a 
flash. I knew now that the Reverend Father Mayer was nothing but a horny 
hypocrite, playing a "sinful" comedy in order to get a piece of ass without 
appearing to be a sinner. 

I made up my hind to play my assigned part in this comedy and let him 
believe that I thought he could actually purify me with his sanctified body 
by giving me a good fucking. And, besides, what did I know? Maybe a priest 
like him had the power to absolve me from my sins. I didn't worry about it 
any more, and since I heard him groan on me, more and more, I began to swing 
my fanny up and down, making him groan and sigh like anybody enjoying a good 
lay. 

Suddenly I had an idea. The Reverend Father had insisted on my showing him 
quite exactly how I had fornicated. I decided to become exactitude itself. 

"Father ... Father...." I whispered. 

"What is it...?" he asked, gasping. 

"You're not doing it correctly!" 

"What ... what do you mean...?" 

"My fornicator moved in and out very firmly and with great force and he 
stuck his prick into me as far as he could." 

He actually increased his speed and pushed into me like a pump handle. 

"Yes...." I said again, "yes, Father ... now you've got the right idea ... 
ah ... you're doing it fine ... faster now ... faster ... ah...." 

"You're a good girl," he panted heavily on me, "you're a good girl ... tell 
me everything that you can remember ... tell me everything...." 

He couldn't go on talking because he needed all of his breath to work on me. 
But I didn't need any further encouragement. 

"That's it, Father ... now you're on to it ... I'm coming soon ... Father 
... try to come at the same time ... at the same time ... ah ... I'm coming 
now ... I'm sorry to be so fast ... what can I do? ... your prick feels so 
good ... you have a wonderful prick ... Father...." He was supporting 
himself with his hands on either side of me as best he could and tried to 
bend over me as much as his fat belly would let him. His face was a bluish 
red and he looked at me like a dying calf, but he kept working with a frenzy 
that was astonishing considering his great obesity and his shortness of 
breath. 

"I'm coming soon," he panted, "let my penis be an instrument of divine mercy 
to you, my child ... it will do you only good ... only good ... now I'm 
going to anoint your vagina with my semen ... it will purify your whole body 
... ah ... I'm coming now ... soon...." But he took his time and I wanted 
him to give me more pleasure by stroking my breasts. "Father," I interrupted 
him, "I have also sinned with my breasts...." 

He glanced at me stupidly: "How...?" 

"Because ... ah ... ah ... I'm coming again ... ah ... because when somebody 
fucked me, I let him also caress my teats and suck my nipples...." 

I noticed at once that his big belly would not permit him to absolve me from 
that special sin, too. 

"Later ... my child ... later I'll purify your teats ... yes ... move your 
sweet little cunt ... it feels great ... you are a good girl ... you know 
what to do ... now ... now ... I'm coming ... ah ... ah ... sweet ... 
sweet...." He discharged a flood of semen into me and kept sighing: 

"Ah ... this is it ... ah ... ah...." and with his last thrust, " ... ah ... 
what a sin!" 

When he had finished, he suddenly said with great dignity: 

"You have heard my words, my child ... I've imitated the kind of talk made 
by the tempter when he roused in you the lusts of the flesh ... I had to do 
that, because repeating the acts your fornicator committed with you, and 
repeating the words, the shameless words he moaned over you ... all this 
takes away the curse of the sinful actions you committed in the past. To 
repeat all this with a man ordained to the priesthood purifies you truly!" 

I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to dry all the moisture off me. I knew 
now that what he told me was nothing but a shrewd trick aimed at what he 
thought was my credulity, the credulity of a girl coming to confess her 
sins. But I let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak. A lay is a lay, and Father 
Mayer meant to me now what Mr. Horak and Mr. Eckhardt had meant to me in the 
past. But I liked him better because he was an educated man and I needed his 
good will as a priest. 

The benevolent savior of my sinful body and my pure soul was sitting down in 
the armchair. He was still panting heavily as if he had done some exhausting 
work, which he had. 

"Come now, Pepi," he called me over to him. "Now I'll take care of your 
sinful teats, so that your purification will be complete." 

He unbuttoned my dress and, with great care, he brought out my breasts 
which, in those days, were really an appetizing pair. Round and very firm, 
with nipples that looked like ripe strawberries against the milky white of 
my skin, they aroused the erotic zeal of Father Mayer to no small degree. He 
began to lick them, first the nipples, then the surrounding area, with his 
fat, though skillful tongue. After he had done that for a few minutes, he 
inquired: "Is this the way your various fornicators have attempted to rouse 
your lusts?" 

"Yes, Father, you have guessed it!" 

"Good! But were you just looking on without doing anything yourself? Didn't 
you perhaps play with their pricks at the same time?" 

Now I knew what he would like me to do and I began to work on his limp tool. 

"Sit on top of the desk!" he ordered. 

I complied and placed my fanny on the large blotter on the desk and let my 
feet rest on his knees. 

"Now comes the best part of it," he said, and then correcting himself, he 
added, " ... I mean, the most important part of the purification." I didn't 
quite know what he was going to do and smiled at him noncommittally. 

"Yes, my daughter," he said, breathing heavily, "now I'll undertake to 
purify you quite thoroughly so that nothing of that sinful influence will 
remain in your body." 

He lifted my dress and folded it securely over my thighs, then he put my 
legs over his shoulders so that I had to support myself on my elbows in a 
reclining position. 

He brought his thick lips to the lips of my little box and I could feel his 
hot breath there. Suddenly his warm tongue performed a thorough lick down 
the length of my cunt and I felt a most delightful sensation. Up to then it 
had been my male partners who had had to be serviced in this way. None of 
them had ever applied his tongue to my cunt. Had I known what extreme 
pleasure can be gotten that way, I would have insisted that the various 
enjoyers of my body had done it to me. 

I almost began to feel affectionate toward Father Mayer who took the 
purification rite so seriously. I began to move my fanny and noticed an 
involuntary twitching in my cunt. 

"Are you enjoying it?" he asked, interrupting his labor for a moment. 

"O yes, Father, it is most enjoyable, I am very grateful to you!" 

"Has any of your tempters done that to you?" 

I was in a dilemma. He might not continue this delightful activity if I 
denied it, according to what was true. Because he had mentioned that he had 
to imitate everything that was done to me in order to purify me by that 
repetition, this time performed by a man of God. But I counted on his need 
to continue satisfying his own greed and risked telling him the truth. 

"No, Father, this is my first experience...." and I lifted my fanny so that 
my wet grotto lay invitingly open before him. 

I had not miscalculated, because he nodded and said: 

"In that case my doing it will sanctify your misused body by applying my 
tongue to the most sensitive part of it. My lips that are pronouncing the 
holy words during worship are touching you now and will wash away any trace 
of sin in you." 

I was eager to make him continue and ventured to push his large red face 
down toward my cunt again. He did not resent my taking such a liberty with 
his holy person and began to concentrate on my clitoris which roused in me 
an unknown kind of bliss that could never be achieved by the most skilled 
finger technique. 

Today, at the end of my career, I have come to the conclusion that only few 
men are familiar with the supreme role that the clitoris plays in the sex 
life of women. It is all the more sad as those men who call themselves 
"solid citizens," take inexperienced girls for wives without knowing the 
most primitive things about the sexual constitution of their mates, who 
enter marriage with a lot of romantic ideas and no knowledge of the sexual 
part at all. It is a case of the blind trying to lead the blind, and, in 
dire contrast to the contention of moralists that a marriage is chiefly 
based on mutual respect of the partners, I maintain that all the respect in 
the world is not sufficient to compensate a husband, or a wife, for having 
to lead a poor sex life. 

Father Mayer, a professional celibate, knew more about women than most of 
the married men I encountered in my own profession. It may be that hearing 
so many diversified confessions of both sexes had given him an education 
that is sorely missing in the lives of non-celibate people. 

But these thoughts did not occur to me at the moment when my ambitious 
confessor was giving my clitoris a masterly workout. Although I had thought 
I had become superior to the situation in which that strange private 
confession had placed me, I suddenly became immersed in the most-voluptuous 
mood I'd ever known. That thick, though quick and elastic, tongue seemed to 
control my whole nervous system and I felt the room whirl all around me as 
if I were riding a merry-go-round. I closed my eyes and gave myself 
unrestrainedly to this bliss. 

Without the slightest shame I mouthed my intense feelings: 

"Ah ... Father ... you're sure the most holy man I've ever met ... I'm going 
to be a pious girl from now on ... I promise ... I'll always come to you to 
confess ... ah ... there's nothing like being purified by you ... ah ... you 
sure have the grace of God in you ... ah ... I'm coming all the time...." 

Without answering, Father Mayer now let his tongue enter quite deep in my 
cunt and that gave me the sensation of being fucked by a new kind of prick, 
a regular miracle prick that could do what no other prick had ever done to 
me before. I was losing my head and kept murmuring like mad: 

"Ah ... Father ... you darling ... you are so sweet ... you are my savior 
... my sweet heart ... nobody does it better than you ... it must be God's 
grace that gives you such power ... ah ... I'm coming again ... I'm going 
crazy ... I ... I ... want to do something for you ... give me your holy 
prick ... put it into my cunt ... fuck me ... or, no! ... stay where you are 
... it's too sweet to stop ... I've got to yell ... I can't stand so much 
bliss ... heavenly bliss...." 

He suddenly stopped and I saw his purple face and his foaming mouth over me. 
He grabbed my hips and made me sit up straight. 

"Yes...." he panted with great effort, "yes ... I'm going to insert my penis 
into your sweet little cunt again ... come ... sit down on my knees...." 

He leaned back in the armchair and I began a wild ride, impaled by his stiff 
candle, or rather only its tip, because his big belly didn't permit more of 
it to slip into me. I had to grab the arms of the chair to keep my balance 
and all the good will that the ministrations of his tongue had awakened in 
me went into the speed with which I swung up and down until we both came at 
the same time, and I could see that my Father Confessor didn't enjoy it any 
less than I did. 

He let me slide down from his lap and got up to give me a towel to dry 
myself. 

"I guess you want to make water now," he said and brought a big chamber pot 
from the adjoining closet. 

I sat down on it and urinated without any shame. My bladder needed that 
release and, besides, all the holy oil that he had injected into me was 
running out of me, too. 

Father Mayer was standing next to me and buttoned up his trousers and the 
cassock over it. I got up and rearranged my wrinkled dress so that it looked 
not too bad and would not arouse any curiosity when I came home. But before 
I had buttoned my dress completely, Father Mayer had to pat my breasts 
affectionately as a kind of leave-taking. I was waiting for what he was 
going to do next. But I was disappointed. 

He had assumed his dignified bearing again and gave me his hand to be 
kissed, saying: "Go home, now, my daughter. The devil will have no more 
power over you. Pray often until tomorrow morning when you must come to 
church to confess any undue thoughts that may arise in your still unformed 
mind!" 

I obediently kissed his thick hand and took my leave. Before I had reached 
the door, there was a knock on the outside. He opened it and I saw a girl 
from my class on the threshold. 

"I've no more time today," he told her rather abruptly. "You'd better come 
tomorrow afternoon...." 

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

The girl and I left together and walked next to each other without talking 
for a while. Her name was Melanie. She was the daughter of a well-to-do 
restaurant owner and although she was only thirteen, her body was so much 
developed that one would take her for the wife of the owner. She was very 
fat so that she had to keep her legs apart to be able to walk without 
rubbing her thighs against each other. Her huge behind and her large breasts 
were quite conspicuous. She could not possibly look at her navel without 
using a mirror. I had always thought Mrs. Reinthaler had the biggest teats, 
but regarding Melanie I had to revise my opinion. 

After some minutes of walking silently, she suddenly said: 

"What were you doing there, at the rectory?" 

"I might just as well ask you what you were going to do there," I shot back. 

"I asked you first...." said Melanie. 

I didn't answer. 

"You don't have to tell me," she continued. "I have a good idea what you 
were doing there...." 

"If you're so smart, why don't you tell me what it was...?" 

She glanced at me sideways. 

"Perhaps one of those confessions about fornication, eh?...." 

I burst out laughing, but didn't say anything. "Was this the first of its 
kind?" she asked. "Yes, today was the first time ... and what about 
yourself...?" 

"Oh ... I am used to it. I've confessed to him about twenty times. And not 
only myself, but also some of the other girls, like Grossbauer, Klein, 
Ferdinger, Schurl, yes and Hauser, too...." 

She kept enumerating several other classmates of ours. I was baffled, to say 
the least. Melanie asked me now: 

"Did he do a blow-job on you, too...?" 

"Did ... did he do it to you...?" I asked, probing. 

"Of course!" she said. "Father Mayer takes his priestly duties very 
seriously. He always puts his tongue into me ... he does it to the other 
girls, too ... it's got something to do with purification ... he really does 
it awfully well ... don't you think so...?" 

"Yes," I admitted. "Awfully well!" 

"Has anybody else ever done a blow-job on you?" 

"No, today was the first time...." 

She began to brag: 

"I've known about this for quite some time. Our headwaiter is an expert at 
it ... he does it to me whenever I want him to ... all I've got to do is to 
look for him in the bunkroom where our waiters and busboys sleep...." 

"But what do all the others in the bunkroom say to that?" 

"Nothing! They know about it and never come in when we do it together...." 

"What? They all know about it...?" 

"Sure, why not? Any of them will fuck me whenever I want it...." 

I kept my mouth open for a while. Melanie did not pay any attention to my 
surprise, but went on giving me all the details: 

"We have one headwaiter, two waiters, one barman, one busboy and then, our 
coachman, who is also taking care of the horses...." 

"How old are they...?" 

"They're all young men and very strong. The busboy, of course, is only 
fourteen ... just a shrimp!" 

"How did it start ... I mean with those men...?" 

"It began with the coachman. About two years ago he had to drive me to the 
eleventh district in town, and when we were on our way home it began to get 
dark. We were just crossing over a field when Johann-that's the coachman's 
name-put his hand on my teats. I was sitting on the driver's seat, right 
next to him. My teats were already big when I was only eleven. 

""What are you doing, Johann?' I asked him. He didn't answer but made the 
horse stop and stuck his hand right into my blouse and grabbed my naked 
teat. Again I asked: 

""What are you doing, Johann?' 

"No answer, but he lifted my skirt and touched my cunt. I repeated the 
question. ""What are you doing, Johann?' 

"Of course, I had a good idea what he wanted. You know Lini Ferdinger in our 
class? She, too, has big teats. It was she who told me all that's necessary, 
what goes on between men and women, but I was still without any experience 
myself. 

"I kept asking the coachman: "What are you doing, Johann?' 

"He acted as if he were hard of hearing. He let go of me and stepped down 
from the carriage. Suddenly he'd found his speech again: 

""Come, Miss Melanie...? ' he said and lifted me down from the seat. Without 
any ceremony he laid me down in the grass right next to the narrow road, and 
I thought now I was going to find out whether all that fat Ferdinger had 
told me was true. The next moment Johann was lying on top of me and made me 
open my knees. He held me by my teats, and all of a sudden I felt his dick 
push into me. I let out a big yell, but he put his hand over my mouth and 
went on to move in and out. Soon the pain gave way to a pleasant feeling and 
when he saw that I had relaxed; he took his hand from my mouth. Again I 
asked him: 

""What are you doing, Johann?' 

"He didn't answer, but sprayed his semen into me and grunted a little. Then 
we both got up and he helped me to get back on the driver's seat. After a 
while he said to me: 

""You've got to wash up the blood stains when we get home, so that nobody 
notices anything!' 

""What blood stains?' I asked. 

""Well ... you were still a virgin ... that's why! ... You know ... ' 

"I didn't, but I'd have liked to look at my cunt to see what he meant. I 
also would have liked to get a good look at that thing he stuck into me and 
wondered what it would feel like if I touched it with my hand. But I was too 
shy, in spite of everything. 

"After we had driven for a while, he turned to me and said: 

""Miss Melanie isn't going to talk about it, I hope? ... ' 

"That gave me courage. I cuddled against him and put my hand on his fly. He 
immediately gave me his dick and I kept playing with it without either of us 
saying anything all the way home. When we were close to our restaurant, 
Johann suddenly said: 

""That Peter is a damned liar!' 

"(Peter is our barman.) 

""Why d'you say that, Johann?' 

"He hesitated for a moment. 

""Tell me, Johann, I want to know!' 

"He smiled sheepishly: 

""Y'know, that boy told me he'd fucked you . . 

""What? How could he say such a thing...? ' "I became quite angry and 
assured Johann that nobody had ever touched me before. 

""I know, now!" he said. "That's why you've got to wash off the blood from 
your pussy. You were really a virgin!' 

"A few days after that, I went to our stables and Johann put me on one of 
the feed-boxes and gave me another taste of his prick. It still didn't go in 
completely the way it does today, of course...." 

"You mean to say," I interrupted her, "the prick of a grown-up gets all the 
way into your cunt....?" 

Melanie laughed. 

"Of course, stupid! Our headwaiter has one like a stallion and he can put it 
into me up to his balls. And Father Mayer's prick, too...." she added 
proudly. 

"I can't believe that...." I said, moved by sheer jealousy. 

"If you can't believe it, just don't," she pouted. 

After a while she suggested: 

"You know what? You can see for yourself if you come with me to our place 
now. I'll go to the boys' bunkroom because Father Mayer didn't give it to me 
today, and I'll look for Leopold. If we find him, you can watch and see how 
his huge prick goes right into me. Lini Ferdinger didn't believe me either 
and I made her see for herself ... She saw how Leopold fucked me!" 

"That's fine," I said. "I'll come with you then!" 

I was really anxious to see how this fat girl with the enormous teats was 
getting laid, and I hoped to get a chance to play with her nipples when 
things got going. 

Women's breasts have always interested me, somehow or other. I guess, one 
doesn't have to be an outright lesbian to be a little stimulated by a 
woman's figure. But I don't want to go into that now. My sexual appetite was 
whetted, and having been made "pure" by my Father Confessor, I thought I 
could permit myself to taste a little of that well-known pleasure again. If 
that Leopold was such a stallion as Melanie said, he might have something 
left over for me. Melanie continued her story: 

"A few days after that second lay, I went again to the bunkroom, but I found 
only Peter, the barman, there. When I saw him I remembered what Johann had 
told me and I shouted at him: 

""You damned liar! How could you tell such lies about me, huh?' 

"He laughed: "What's biting you, Miss Melanie?' 

"His laughter only increased my anger. 

""How dare you tell Johann that you've fucked me, you shameless liar, you! 
Johann knows it isn't true ... ' 

"I saw that I had betrayed myself now ... Peter would know when I said this 
that Johann had already fucked me. Naturally he knew at once. He kept 
smiling at me and said: 

""Johann is the liar, not me! I never said I fucked Miss Melanie. I only 
said I'd like to fuck her ... There's no harm done, is there...? I just 
couldn't help myself ... because Miss Melanie is so beautiful ... you see, 
you can't be mad at me for admiring you...." 

"He came over to me and stroked my breast. My anger disappeared immediately. 
I had come to be laid, and when Peter said now: "Do let me, Miss Melanie, 
please!' I told him to bolt the door. He did it with alacrity. Well ... and 
then I lay down in one of the bunks and he fucked me very slowly so that I 
really enjoyed it." 

"D'you fuck with the busboy, too?" I asked. "With Maxi?" she laughed. "Of 
course!" 

"Who made the first approach, you or he?" I wanted to know. 

"Approach? That's a good one! That impertinent shrimp! He watched me 
secretly doing it with Peter, one day, and the next afternoon he surprised 
me in the toilet where I'd forgotten to bolt the door. He said he knew why I 
always came to the bunkroom and I should let him, too. So, in God's name, I 
let him. We had a quick standing-up party. It was quite nice." 

"And what about Leopold, the headwaiter?" I wanted to know. 

"Oh, that one! Maxi told me about how he always bragged to the other boys he 
had the longest prick of them all. So I became quite curious. Leopold always 
works until very late at night and can afford to sleep until noon. One 
morning I went to see him in the bunkroom, knowing he'd be alone. He was 
still asleep. I bolted the door and he woke up from the noise I was making 
and yawned and said: "What's up?' "Why don't you get up, you lazy bum,' I 
said, but he didn't want to. "Let me stay in bed for a while,' he said. I 
began to tickle him and he grabbed my teats and held them, looking at me 
steadily. I didn't move and returned his look. Suddenly he pulled me down to 
him and when I was lying next to him, he put his prick into my hand. Boy, I 
was almost frightened when I felt that big thing. A horse would be proud to 
have that. 

"In a jiffy he was over me and began to shove that monstrous dick into me, 
but suddenly he pulled it out again and said: 

""No, Miss Melanie! I'm afraid that's still too big for you. You might get 
hurt. I'm going to do something else instead.' He put his head between my 
legs and gave me a workout with his tongue that was really something! I had 
to bite into a corner of the blanket to keep from yelling. I came perhaps 
three or four times. Then he said now he could think of himself, and he put 
his prick between my teats, pressed them together, and in a few minutes he 
squirted his juice right into my face...." 

"What?" I said, "the headwaiter fucks you only between the teats...?" 

"O no, that was only in the beginning, two years ago, when I was only eleven 
... Now he fucks me quite regularly ... I told you, you can come with me and 
see how he does it...." We had arrived at her house and walked through the 
restaurant. Leopold saw us and looked up from the table he was setting. 

"Is father here?" Melanie asked him. 

"No, he's at the coffeehouse!" 

"And mother...?" 

"She's still sleeping...." 

"And where's Johann...?" 

Leopold laughed: "He's gone to the market downtown!" 

"Well," said Melanie, "what are we waiting for?" 

Leopold's face darkened with excitement and he whispered: 

"Okay, I'll come in a little while ... go ahead...." 

He was a little guy with a clean-shaven, pale face, not very attractive at 
all. But I was curious to see that phenomenal tool he was supposed to have. 

Melanie and I went to the bunkroom, a large room with white-washed walls and 
four iron beds in each corner. Leopold appeared almost immediately. He 
didn't quite know what to make of me, but Melanie threw herself on a bed 
that must have been his and called him over to her. He gave me an 
appreciative glance and asked: 

"Perhaps the young lady would like to get fucked a little...?" 

Then he knelt by the bed and buried his head between Melanie's thighs. I sat 
down next to her head and saw her eyes were already turned up in the throes 
of pleasure. 

"I'm going to be good to you, too...." I told her and opened her blouse. Her 
overgrown teats were really something to see. Firm and well-shaped, with 
small pink nipples like two strawberries inviting to be tasted. No matter 
how I squeezed, those teats always jumped back into place like elastic 
rubber balls. It was a real pleasure to play with them and to suck at those 
strawberry nipples. 

Leopold's eager tongue, caressing her clitoris, and my efforts on her teats, 
made Melanie rear up her whole body and screech with delight: " ... That's 
too much ... I've never had it so good ... yes ... yes ... suck my teats ... 
suck my teats ... it's so good what you're doing ... I wish I could do 
something for you, too ... ah ... ah ... if I could only get my tongue on 
your cunt ... I'd do it to you like Leopold does it to me ... ah ... ah ... 
ahh .. 

She let out a scream so that I let go of her breasts. I was afraid she could 
be heard by somebody. But Leopold assured me: 

"There's nobody around here who could hear anything. In a minute she's going 
to yell even louder!" 

He prepared to mount her. 

"Look at his prick...!" Melanie said. 

I slid down the edge of the bed and Leopold lifted his belly from Melanie's 
so that I could see that rare specimen of a prick. It measured at least 
eight inches and was curved like a bologna sausage. I couldn't resist taking 
its large tip into my mouth. 

Leopold didn't let on what I was doing, but started playing with Melanie's 
breasts. His prick was twitching so violently that it nearly forced my jaws 
apart. When I applied my fingers to it, I marveled at the distance between 
the glans and the root of that terrific stem growing from a thicket of black 
hair. 

"Okay," I heard Melanie say, "let him fuck me now...." 

I had to release that wonderful tool and watched with fascination how it 
disappeared bit by bit into Melanie's moist hole. 

"Look...!" she said. "See how the whole thing goes into me...?" 

There wasn't much that I could see, but I probed with my hand and felt that 
thunderbolt disappear into Melanie's cunt until my fingers touched only the 
enormous balls. 

Melanie started to let out a few loud yells: "Haaah ... hah ... hah...." 

Then she inhaled deeply and said: 

"It's only when Leopold fucks me that I can't help yelling like that ... 
it's because I'm coming' all the time ... all the t ... ahhhh ... ahhhh . . 

Leopold fucked her with the violence of a bull in heat and since she hugged 
him with her legs, she moved up and down with him so that the bed squeaked 
and began to move on the floor with little jerks. 

I felt a familiar itching in my cunt and jumped on the bed, sitting down on 
the pillow above Melanie's head. Almost mechanically I threw back my skirt 
so that my cunt was exposed and Melanie, who'd noticed it, said to Leopold: 

"You can lick her, can't you?" 

He stopped sucking her nipples and approached my grotto. His tongue 
surrounded my clitoris like the body of a snake and I was soon in the same 
state of excitement as Melanie. Then he made his tongue as stiff as a prick 
and stuck it into my hole so that I mixed my moans with Melanie's. All three 
of us came together. 

Leopold put his giant machine back into his pants and disappeared. He 
couldn't afford to be missed in the restaurant too long. Melanie and I had 
to take quite some time to come down to earth again and make ourselves 
presentable before we left the bunkroom. 

 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

The next morning I had to go to church again to continue my confession just 
as Father Mayer had requested. 

It was a strange feeling to kneel before the confessional and tell the 
priest the kind of things that are usually not discussed in a church. 

He asked me with great dignity: 

"So you have committed the sin of fornication...?" 

"Yes, I have." 

"You let yourself be fucked?" 

"Yes!" 

"By many men...? 

"Yes!" 

"You've also put the male genitals into your mouth...?" 

"Yes...." 

"You also manipulated them with your hand...?" 

"Yes...!" 

"You did something else with them, too...?" 

"Yes!" 

"What was it...?" 

"I was fucked from the rear, too...." 

"From the rear, you say...?" 

"Yes, Father...." 

"But not in the rectum...? 

"I'm sorry to say ... yes...." 

"You didn't mention that yesterday...." 

"Sorry, you didn't ask me...." 

He thought for a minute: 

"Yes, you're right. I forgot that ... well, did you fornicate in any other 
form...?" 

"Yes!" 

"What else could there be...?" 

"Oh, I had my cunt licked...." 

Father Mayer said angrily: "You don't have to confess that ... that was no 
sin...." 

"I didn't mean you, Father ... it was also somebody else...." 

"What? When? Who?" 

"Yesterday afternoon ... Leopold did it. . "Who is Leopold...? 

"The headwaiter in Melanie's restaurant ... " 

"My God! How did that happen?" 

I confessed the whole interlude. He shook his head in wonderment. 

"You certainly didn't lose any time! Did you do anything else...? Did you 
perhaps play with any female genitals...? 

"Yes ... with Melanie's teats ... also with the teats of other girls...." 

"And you committed incest with your brother?" 

"Yes," I said to appease him, because I still didn't quite know what the 
word meant. 

That was all. He gave me a strange look and then told me what penance I must 
do. 

"You'll pray every day, my child, fifty repetitions of the Lord's Prayer, 
then fifty Ave Marias and fifty repetitions of the Creed. And now go and sin 
no more! Your sins are forgiven! But if the devil should again win out over 
you, don't hesitate to come at once to me so that I can purify you again. 
But if you should tell anybody of the sacred relationship that you have with 
your Father Confessor, everything is lost and your soul will be condemned 
for all eternity! Now, go, my child!" I left the confessional with a much 
lighter heart than when I had entered it. The penance was stiff, but I 
figured it was still better than not being saved at all. 

Nowadays I do wonder how little I reflected about that incident. I suppose 
our superstition is never so strong as when we feel guilty. Even the 
"enlightened" people are not quite free of superstition, I discovered. 

During the weeks following that memorable confession, it seemed to me that 
Father Mayer was watching me closely in class. He always looked at me so 
peculiarly that I thought he was carrying a grudge of some sort, though I 
had no idea what it could be. 

But soon I saw that his attention sprang from other motives than anger. One 
day when he was walking up and down between the rows of our desks, he 
stopped next to me and gave me a friendly pat on my head and stroked my back 
a few times. During this demonstration of affection he kept talking to the 
class as if nothing special were happening. He told us that he would give us 
a lot of homework as preparation for the strict examination he was going to 
hold, the following week. 

Such examinations were conducted according to a routine that was Father 
Mayer's very own. First he dictated to us all the questions and then he 
summoned one pupil after another to come up to his desk on the platform and 
write some of the answers on the blackboard. The whole class had to copy 
those answers in their notebooks. 

I was the first girl that was called up to the platform. 

"I'm sure you've studied everything well," Father Mayer said, making me 
stand between his knees, with my back against his desk. The back of the desk 
reached down to the floor so nobody could see how he grabbed one of my hands 
and pressed it against his fly. I could distinctly feel his erection. When 
he released my hand I did not pull it away. He gave me a meaningful look and 
turning to the class, he said: 

"All of you write down very neatly what I'm going to dictate!" 

While he dictated some episode from the Bible, he opened his fly and let me 
hold his thick, curved prick. I was very proud of being thus "chosen" and 
duly rubbed his stick until I heard his breath coming faster and faster. I 
stopped from fear I might make him come then and there, but he put my hand 
back, and he himself slipped his hand under my skirt and began to tickle me 
on my slit while looking me straight in the eyes. I returned his look and he 
smiled almost imperceptibly. We understood each other. At last he sent me 
back to my desk and asked another girl to come up to him. He had been 
dictating all this time at a slow pace. 

I could see from my desk how that girl was also standing between Father 
Mayer's legs and from her awkward movements it was easy to infer that she 
was going through the same experience I had. 

After five minutes the girl was dismissed and Father Mayer called my name. 

"Bring your notebook and pencil with you," he added. 

This time he made me face the desk and asked me to write what he continued 
to dictate to the class. I wondered what he was going to do this time. When 
he lifted my skirt in the back I knew what he wanted. Soon I felt his hot 
prick trying to enter my hole from behind and since he pressed his hands on 
the front of my thighs I understood that I should sit down. Soon he was 
neatly within me and I feigned bending over my notebook one moment and then 
sitting back again. This way I kept my hole moving around the prick and 
saved Father Mayer the risky business of making any movements himself. 

Today, in retrospect, I can't help marveling at the enormous boldness of 
that voluptuous priest who fucked me in front of the whole class while 
dictating some pious epistle from the Bible. I remember how excited I was 
and how I tried hard to control my facial muscles when I suddenly came. I 
felt Father Mayer come without noticing any change in the monotonous manner 
of his dictation. I came a second time and was hard put to pretend that all 
my concentration was focused on what I was supposed to be writing. Father 
Mayer couldn't expect anything but the zig-zag scrawl I produced with my 
pencil while he was giving me the business. When he had come, he pulled out 
of me and smoothed my skirt down before he told me to go back to my desk. 
Soon after that the bell announced the end of the lesson. 

On the way home, Melanie and the girl who had also been "examined" by Father 
Mayer, came up to me. 

"Could you see it?" I asked. 

"He fucked you, today," said Melanie. 

The other girl, Ferdinger, laughed: 

"Yes and no . . 

"We know the procedure...." added Melanie. 

"He's never fucked me," said Ferdinger as if complaining. "I only jack him 
off on such occasions." 

I wasn't surprised at that. She was a lean, ugly creature and had nothing to 
show except a pair of pointed teats that stood out provocatively against her 
thin blouse. 

Melanie boasted: "Oh, he fucks me all right. 

He's been doing it since last year. He hasn't asked me lately, though." 

If Father Mayer was neglecting Melanie, it was, definitely, on my account. 
He concentrated his attention on me. "As long as you are touching my 
sanctified body," he explained, "you'll not fall into the clutches of sinful 
fornicators, and if it should happen, you'll come to me for purification." 

From then on, he kept me after class about three times a week. In the empty 
classroom we could be quite at ease and go through all the "purification 
rites" at our leisure. He, usually, let me ride on his prick and squeezed my 
teats while I was straddling him. It never took longer than ten minutes so I 
could always be home on time. 

When all is said and done I must admit that I really liked Father Mayer, no 
matter that he was, plainly speaking, a hypocrite and a corrupter of girls, 
as the phrase goes. Celibacy is a task for a saint and in all my life I have 
never met one. 

Of course, it is one thing for a priest to relieve tensions by having 
clandestine sex relations with adult women, and another to choose for this 
purpose young girls at a school where he teaches religion. And yet, although 
I don't condone the actions of Father Mayer, I felt sorry for him when he, 
at last, became a victim of his uncontrolled sex drive and his lack of 
responsibility. 

He was so careless as to seduce a girl in the third grade who didn't know 
what it was all about and consequently talked about it. She was a little 
beauty, only eight years old, rather pudgy with the rudiments of breasts 
that looked quite promising for the future. When Father Mayer played the 
same sex-games with her, protected by the wall of his desk, as he did with 
us older girls, she seemed to have actually believed it was a new kind of 
game and told her mother about it. The woman not only reported it to her 
husband, a construction worker, but did a great deal of hell-raising of her 
own. Both parents went to the police who had Father Mayer arrested and set a 
date for a general hearing on the case. 

My father received a summons to report to the police court and bring me 
along. When we arrived there, we found the whole first floor full of parents 
and children. There were fifteen girls of my class and about a dozen from 
lower grades. They looked sheepish and kept silent, giving each other 
embarrassed smiles. The parents talked quite loudly about the case, 
complaining to each other and cursing the unfortunate priest who had 
"debauched their innocent daughters," as they said, not realizing that most 
of us were not so innocent any more and had had several sexual experiences 
before Father Mayer took it upon himself to "purify" us during confession 
and play sexual games with us behind his desk. 

My father was quite unprepared for what he heard from other parents and 
asked me whether all this was true. I was too ashamed to answer and he gave 
me a long, searching look, but didn't question me any further. 

Melanie, who had also come with her father, was the only girl who behaved 
with great self-assurance and didn't mind discussing the event with adults. 
As a matter-of-fact, she enjoyed being questioned by some of the people, but 
every time she wanted to elaborate, her father told her to shut up. 
Otherwise he was quite calm and didn't participate in the excited gossip 
going on all around him. People, sizing up Melanie's huge teats and broad 
fanny, shook their heads and said: 

"That one is no child any longer. It's not surprising that he did it with 
her. Look at those teats and that broad ass!" 

Some of the fathers accompanied their remarks with appreciative glances that 
betrayed anything but indifference to Melanie's abundant charms. 

At last it was my father's and my turn to appear before the police 
magistrate. He was a very handsome young man who tried hard to hide his 
amusement at the often peculiar answers and comments he had to listen to. 
Next to him sat an older man who was the police physician as we found out 
later. 

"Well, my child," asked the magistrate, "has your priest done anything to 
you...?" 

I was trembling with fear. 

"No, sir ... he hasn't done anything to me...." 

"I mean, has he touched you in any way...? You know what I mean, don't 
you...?" 

"Yes...." 

"And where did he touch you...?" 

I pointed silently to the spot between my legs. 

"What else did he do...?" 

"Nothing...." 

"Didn't he put something in your hand...?" 

"Well ... yes . . 

"And what was it...?" 

I didn't answer. 

"All right ... we know what it was. And now, tell us ... did he perhaps put 
that thing there in that spot you showed us...?" 

"Yes...." 

"Did he put it in the whole way...?" 

"No ... not the whole way...." 

"Only a little bit...?" 

"Yes ... perhaps half of it...." 

The magistrate laughed and the doctor at his side smiled broadly. My father 
gave me a strange look and kept silent. 

"Where else did he touch you...?" continued the young magistrate. 

"Here...." I pointed to my breasts. 

Since my thick woolen dress covered my chest quite chastely, the magistrate 
looked at the doctor questioningly who got up and groped quite business-like 
around my teats and said dryly: 

"O yes, there's quite enough to touch...." That was a surprise for my 
father, who looked curiously at my bosom whose development was new to him. 

"And now tell us ... what is your name...?" the magistrate looked down at a 
list in front of him. "O yes, Pepi ... Now, Pepi, didn't you resist at all 
when the priest touched you that way...?" 

"Resist...? What do you mean...?" 

"I mean, didn't you push his hand away...?" 

"No, sir...." 

"And why did you touch his ... I mean that thing of his at all...?" 

"Because Father Mayer wanted me to...." 

"Because he wanted you to...? But he didn't force you, did he...?" 

I hesitated, because the question might lead to complications: 

"Well ... no...." 

"If he didn't force you, why did you let him do all those things to you...?" 

"Just because he wanted to . . 

There was a moment of silence during which the doctor and the magistrate 
glanced at each other. 

"Now, listen Pepi," continued the magistrate, "why didn't you simply tell 
Father Mayer that you didn't want to do this, or that...?" 

"Because I was afraid...." 

"Afraid? Of what...?" 

"Oh ... because ... because . . 

"Because he is your teacher of religion ...?" 

"Well ... I just was afraid...." 

"You mean to say ... it was real fear...?" I decided to stick to that: 

"Yes ... fear ... just fear...!" 

But the magistrate was not convinced: 

"Tell me, Pepi ... are you quite sure you didn't make it easy for him...? 
Hm? Did you never let him know, somehow, you liked to do it? Or did you look 
and smile at him in a certain way...?" 

The young magistrate imitated the "come-on" look and smile used by 
streetwalkers trying to acquisition male customers. I had to smile in spite 
of my fear. 

"No, sir ... I didn't do that...." 

"All right, Pepi ... but now tell us one more thing! And you must tell us 
the full truth, do you hear? The whole truth, d'you understand?" 

"Yes sir...." 

"Were the things that Father Mayer did to you agreeable...?" 

I looked at him questioningly. 

"What I mean is this: Did you like what he did to you...? Did you get some 
pleasure out of it...?" 

I was too afraid to answer that. 

"Listen, Pepi, did you like touching his thing and playing with it...?" 

"O no ... I didn't...." 

"You didn't? All right, but-and tell the truth now-did you like it when he 
put that thing into you...? Or did it hurt...?" 

"Well ... sometimes it did hurt...." 

"But ... not always...?" 

"Not always...." 

The magistrate was looking at me searchingly now: 

"In other words ... it was pleasant ... sometimes...?" 

"O yes, sometimes...." I admitted, but quickly added: "But only rarely...!" 

The magistrate and the doctor smiled, and my father looked furious. 

"Now we're getting somewhere...." the magistrate went on, "and now repeat 
it, Pepi ... it was pleasant and you liked it ... eh?" Being afraid of my 
father, who looked angrier by the minute, I said: 

"No, sir ... I didn't like doing it...!" 

"But you said yourself that it was agreeable...." 

"I can't help it ... it wasn't me who did anything ... I just felt ... I 
mean it didn't feel too bad when his thing moved in me...." The magistrate 
interrupted me quickly: 

"All right ... all right ... In other words, you didn't like doing it, but 
it felt good without your wanting it to feel good. Is that it...?" 

"O yes ... that's it...!" 

He turned to the doctor: 

"Would you mind examining the child so that we may be quite sure?" 

Before I knew what was happening to me, the doctor had lifted me up on a 
tall chair and stuck something hard into my cunt after probing first with 
his finger. Then he pulled that instrument out and said to the magistrate: 
"Yes, it's true. The child's had intercourse with him." 

I got down from the high chair, feeling embarrassed. 

The magistrate turned to me again: 

"Now tell us, Pepi, do you know whether Father Mayer did the same thing to 
some other girls, too...?" 

"Well, there are so many of them waiting outside...." 

He laughed and said: 

"Yes, I know that, Pepi ... I only want to know whether you know something 
... or perhaps saw something...?" 

"Yes ... Melanie Hofer and Ferdinger have told me so themselves...." 

"And he's done the same things with them as he did with you...?" 

"No ... he didn't fuck the other one ... I mean he didn't fuck 
Ferdinger...." 

There was a moment's silence. My father looked surprised. 

"Tell me," said the magistrate, "where did you hear that word? Did Father 
Mayer use it...? 

"No...." 

"Well ... where did you hear it first ...?" 

"Oh ... you know ... at school ... the kids talk a lot...." 

"Did Hofer or Ferdinger teach you the word...?" 

"I don't think so...." 

"Well ... who did...?" 

"I can't remember...." 

There was a pause during which the magistrate leafed through the papers in 
front of him. Then he said: 

"Now you said he didn't fuck Ferdinger ... is that right...?" 

"Yes, he only played with her...." 

"But he did it with the Hofer girl...?" 

"O yes ... he fucked her quite often...." 

"Have you ever seen it...?" 

"Yes, I saw it ... once...." 

"And the other times...." 

"She told me about it...." 

The magistrate turned to my father and said in a solemn tone: 

"We are very sorry, Mr. Mutzenbacher, that you had to listen to such a sad 
testimony from your child. It is, of course, deplorable that an 
irresponsible and sex-obsessed priest deflowered your daughter, but take 
heart, the girl is so very young that she won't necessarily suffer any bad 
consequences from it, provided she is properly supervised from now on. And 
rest assured, the whole affair will be kept secret so that your name and 
that of your daughter are protected from any publicity." 

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

My father and I went home without exchanging a word. At that moment I was 
really convinced that Father Mayer had deflowered me. He received a stiff 
sentence because his victims were so young. 

I can't help feeling sorry for him because he certainly didn't "corrupt" me, 
or Melanie. We both had been pushovers for anybody who tried to get us. But 
today I realize that the affair with Father Mayer was quite decisive for my 
future life, because if my own father hadn't heard of it, I still might have 
changed like my classmate, Melanie, who became a good wife and the mother of 
six children. Most of the other girls who were involved at school, underwent 
a similar change and forgot those early adventures. 

Around fifteen and sixteen, those girls began to use their brains and 
realized that they didn't want to be saddled with an illegitimate child and 
ruin their chances of a good marriage. They controlled their sex drive and 
got interested in all sorts of things that didn't offer them any 
temptations. The men they married didn't have any idea that their wives were 
not innocent any more, and even if some of them were not always faithful, 
like my late mother, they didn't overdo it and didn't become whores, which, 
unfortunately, was my own fate. 

I want to make it quite clear that what had happened to me up to the 
examination by the police magistrate, did not contribute to my becoming a 
prostitute. It was rather what happened after that fateful day that ruined 
all my chances of staying away from a professional sex-life. I have already 
said that I don't regret having become what I am, but I do regret what 
caused it. The reader will soon understand what I mean. 

My two brothers had begun to earn their own keep. Lorenz, the older, worked 
in the same shop as my father, and Franz was apprentice to a bookbinder who, 
according to the custom in those days, had taken him into his home, thus 
providing for his board and room. Franz told me on Sunday afternoon when he 
came to visit us that he could have as much sex as he wanted to, because his 
master's servant girl, a healthy young country wench, let him sleep with her 
every night. 

We still rented the iron bed in the kitchen, but the "sleeper" who had been 
with us for some time was an old man who left early in the morning and 
returned late at night, when I was already asleep on the sofa in the 
bedroom. Father slept alone in the large double bed. 

When we had come home from the hearing at police headquarters, father kept 
an ominous silence that frightened me more than a severe bawling out would 
have done. A few days later, after we'd eaten our dinner, he growled: 

"I really should put you over my knee and give you a good beating until your 
ass becomes black and blue ... you shameless bitch...." 

I became afraid since this was the first remark he'd made regarding the 
affair. I stammered : 

"But ... you know ... it wasn't my fault...." 

"Okay ... so it wasn't your fault ... but that guy is a no good 
sonofabitch...." 

He muttered something under his breath and then grunted: 

"What's done is done ... but from now on I'm going to keep my eye on you ... 
you're not going anyplace without my permission ... d'you hear? And ... and 
. . 

He began to stammer and suddenly he yelled at me: 

. And from tonight on ... you're going to sleep right here...!" 

He pointed to the double bed he used to share with my mother. When he saw my 
surprised look, he added: 

"We've always got some "sleeper' in the kitchen ... you never can tell ... 
we've got to be careful ... and I'm going to keep my eyes open . . 

I couldn't say anything and while my father left for a few beers at the 
tavern, I lay down on the side of the bed where mother used to sleep. When 
father came home it must have been close to midnight. I was already asleep, 
but I woke up when I became aware of his voice: 

"Are you here, Pepi ... are you here...? " "Yes, father...." I answered 
sleepily. "Where are you...?" 

"Here ... father...." 

He groped for me. 

"Ah ... here you are...." 

I felt his hand on my chest, but when he took one of my teats in his hand I 
lay like paralyzed. 

"That's it...." he stammered...."that's where that damned priest touched 
you...?" 

"Yes ... father...." 

"And here, too...?" 

He had grabbed my other breast. 

"Yes, father...." 

"What a goddamned sonofabitch ... a no good bastard ... to do such a thing . 
. 

He kept my breast in his hand and began to play with the nipple. 

"How did he do it ... that bastard...?" 

"The way you're doing it...." I whispered. He slid his other hand under my 
shirt and touched my cunt. His fingers combed my pubic hair. 

"Pepi...." his voice was quite husky. 

"Yes ... father...?" 

I was so frightened that I couldn't move a limb. 

"Pepi ... did ... did he ... touch you here, too...?" 

"Yes...." 

"Perhaps with his ... his prick...?" 

I couldn't understand all these questions. My father knew exactly what had 
happened with Father Mayer. What was his purpose? "Answer me ... did he put 
his prick there...?" 

"Yes ... father...." 

"Did he put it inside...?" 

His finger tried to open my slit, but I pushed his hand away. 

"But ... father...." I protested. 

"I damned well want to know it...." he hissed. 

"But ... father ... what are you doing...?" His finger was in my cunt. 

"Father ... father ... stop it ... stop it ... you know he was in there ... 
stop it now...." 

"Did he fuck you...?" 

His finger went in deeper. 

"Yes ... he fucked me ... but it wasn't my fault ... why don't you leave me 
alone ... I didn't want him to do it...." 

"I hope it's true...." he growled. Then he took his hands off me, turned 
around and went to sleep. 

The next few nights nothing happened and I almost forgot the incident. When 
I'd tried to explain my father's strange behavior to myself I thought he was 
not only drunk, but also quite furious about what had happened to me. 

A week later, on a Saturday, we had dinner at the tavern and when we came 
home we went at once to bed. Suddenly my father put his hand on my breast 
and whispered: 

"Pepi...." 

I pretended to be asleep. 

"Hey ... Pepi...." 

"Yes, father . . 

"How ... how often did that priest fuck you ...?" 

"I don't remember...." 

"Tell me ... how often...?" 

"I really don't know any more . . 

"Hey, you ... I want to know...!" 

He squeezed my breast so hard that I cried out. 

"Don't ... father ... it hurts...." 

"Answer my question ... how often...?" 

"Perhaps ten times...." 

"What? Ten times? That pig...." 

He played with my nipple which became quite stiff. 

"Ten times? You mean ... in one day...?" I couldn't help smiling. 

"No, father ... on ten different days...." 

"I'll be damned ... ten times...!" 

He kept fingering my nipple. The stimulation began to affect me more and 
more. It was a strange mixture of curiosity, well-being, horniness and fear. 
It was the fear which made me push his hand away. 

"Stop that, father ... what are you doing...?" 

"Nothing...." he muttered and took his hand off me. 

He left me in peace for another week. I always tried to fall asleep before 
he came home. I didn't exactly understand why he behaved that way and 
thought it might still be his fury against Father Mayer that upset him 
whenever he thought of it. 

But one night he started all over again. We had gone to bed rather early and 
I felt his hand groping for me in the dark. 

"What've you been doing all day...?" 

His hand slid into the opening of my nightshirt at my neck and closed over 
my breast. "Oh ... nothing much ... father...." 

I pushed his hand away and tried to protect my breasts by pressing my palms 
against them. He tried nevertheless to get hold of them while he talked: 

"You been in school...?" 

"Yes...." 

"You got a new priest there teaching religion...?" 

"Yes, father...." 

"Does he also play with your teat like that ...?" 

He had gotten hold of one breast and fondled it. 

"No ... father...." 

"And what about the teacher...? " 

"It's a woman, father...." 

"And you're quite sure that the priest doesn't do anything...?" 

I tried to push his hand away. 

"No, father ... nothing ... nothing at all...." 

He let go of my breast and, with a quick movement, his hand was between my 
legs before I could press them together. His fingers closed over my cunt 
with a firm grip. I struggled: 

"Please, father ... father...." I felt quite uneasy and all the more so 
because that warm hand woke up all the familiar desires. "Please, father ... 
don't...." 

"Listen, Pepi...." his voice was husky again. 

"Listen ... if the new priest should try to do this to you...." His fingers 
played a tattoo on my cunt. 

"Yes...?" 

He tried to insert a finger into my hole. 

"If that new man tries to do things like this 

... don't let him ... d'you hear...? don't let him...." 

"No, I won't father ... but now stop it...." 

I quickly closed my legs and jerked my fanny sideways and was free of his 
hand. He grunted: 

"Okay ... okay ... now go to sleep like a good girl...!" 

I obediently turned on my side, but I couldn't sleep. What was going on in 
my father's mind? 

I couldn't figure it out, mainly because I was too stimulated to be able to 
think clearly. I still didn't suspect his motives, but I was greatly afraid 
of myself and my reactions. When I felt his hand in my cunt and on my teats 
I almost forgot who touched me and I wanted to be fucked. I caught myself 
wishing to touch his prick and feared he'd kill me if I ever forgot myself 
that far. I became more and more convinced my father was doing all this 
touching and playing merely to test me, to see whether I'd give in to 
temptation. 

Although I had learned the word, incest, from Father Mayer, I thought he 
used it to describe the sin of fornicating with my brother. It didn't occur 
to me that its meaning could go any further. 

One night when I'd been fast asleep, I woke up feeling father's hands all 
over my body. He touched me very gently and got me terribly excited, but I 
pretended to be still asleep. I had made up my mind to find out what he 
actually wanted of me and decided not to let him notice that I was awake no 
matter how far he would go. 

He tickled my nipples and began to take them into his mouth ... first one 
and then the other. It became more and more difficult for me to hide my 
excitement. I heaved a big sigh and then went on to breathe regularly, still 
feigning deep sleep. 

I still believed he did all this to test me. When a new touch of his tongue 
on my nipples made me twitch, he stopped to see whether I was awake, but I 
began to snore so convincingly that he seemed assured. 

Suddenly he lifted the blanket off me and raised my nightshirt up to my 
belly. My horniness made me almost burst, but I still feared that my father 
did all this to find out how I'd react so that he'd know whether I'd be a 
pushover for other men. Now he slowly pushed my legs apart and squatted over 
me, supporting himself on his hands. When his hot prick tickled my slit I 
twitched wildly and he stopped momentarily. I felt him watching me. I 
pretended to feel all this in my sleep and to react merely automatically to 
exterior stimulation. When his prick pushed against my cunt, my fanny began 
to move imperceptibly up and down while I didn't stop my snoring. Now I 
suddenly realized what my father wanted. Since my mother's death he hadn't 
had a woman. 

Although the memory of it has become anything but pleasant for me, today, I 
didn't resent the situation when it happened. I managed to feign being 
asleep even when my father rubbed his prick against my grotto and I was 
tempted to grab it and stick it in myself. Fortunately he came instantly and 
I felt his hot semen flood my belly. He wiped it carefully off with his 
nightshirt and seemed relieved that I was not awake. After a while I heard 
him snore on his side of the bed. 

This experience took away all fear from me. My father, after all, was a weak 
mortal like other men, and he desired a female body even though it was the 
body of his daughter. Today I know that incest is not limited to the lower 
strata of society, although poor living conditions offer easy temptations. I 
also know that when my father had ordered me to sleep next to him in the 
marital bed, he was following an instinct of which he himself wasn't aware. 
He really believed it was to be better able to watch out for me and to 
protect me against some possible attempts of our "sleeper" to lure me to his 
bed in the kitchen. If I had known in those days what I have come to know in 
my older age, I'd perhaps have been able to resist not only my father's 
blind urge, but, above all, my own. But I was young and ignorant and 
prematurely obsessed with sex. 

The following night I stayed awake until my father came home, but pretended 
to sleep when he entered the bedroom. When he heard my imitation of snoring, 
he was less careful than the previous night. He lay down quite close to me 
and pushed his and my shirt way up to our hips and then pressed his body 
close against mine. I felt his stiff tool twitch against my thigh and 
decided to play the game to THE END, this time. 

My father shoved my shirt up to my throat so that his lips had free access 
to my nipples, which he began to suck, alternately, so that I was soon 
wishing he'd go on to more important things. He didn't make me wait for it 
and soon squatted between my open thighs. I let my fanny dance like the 
night before when his prick touched me in my center. My movements made him 
bold and he tried to enter me slowly. While I kept on snoring I moved slowly 
in order to make his entrance easy, and soon enough he ventured a forceful 
thrust so that he penetrated me almost completely. 

Now I knew I could afford to let him know I was aware of what was going on. 
I sighed aloud and opened my eyes and exclaimed: "Father ... what ... what 
are you doing...?" 

At the same time I was moving my hips obligingly. 

I noticed he was startled, but also too excited to stop. I had to save face 
somehow without discouraging him. While I continued to move my hips, I 
whispered: 

"For God's sake ... what are you doing? ... stop ... you mustn't do 
that...." 

My hips moved stronger and faster. I heard my father whisper hoarsely: 

"I ... I ... don't know ... I must have been dreaming something...." 

"Dreaming? But we aren't dreaming now ... what are we doing...?" 

"I ... I didn't know it was you ... I thought. . 

"Yes, it's me, father ... it's me, Pepi ... it's me...." 

And I made my fanny dance in an ever increasing rhythm. 

"Father ... father ... you ... you are fucking me...." 

I embraced him firmly and gave up all pretense. He was poking me now with 
sharp thrusts and grabbed my teats without answering me. 

"This is a sin, father ... I'm afraid ... ah ... faster ... faster ... 
that's good ... but I'm afraid...." 

"Nonsense," he spoke at last, "nobody'll know about it...." 

"No...." I assured him, "I'm not going to tell a soul...." 

He was increasing his speed, and murmured: "Good girl ... good girl...." 

I lost all inhibitions now. 

"You enjoying it, father...?" I asked bluntly. 

"Yes ... o yes...." His mouth groped for my nipples. 

"You can always fuck me, father ... if you want to...." 

"Shut up now ... yes ... I want to...." 

"Ah ... father ... I'll come soon ... push faster...." 

I was happy I needn't pretend anymore. Father was like Mr. Horak, or Mr. 
Eckhardt. Everything seemed to be permitted now. 

"Are you coming, too...?" 

"Ahh ... yes ... now ... now ... ah ... that's good...!" 

We both came at the same time and then fell asleep in each other's arms. 

The next day father seemed very shy and avoided looking at me. When he 
talked to me he was almost inaudible and never turned in my direction. I 
addressed him as little as possible and waited for the night. 

When we both were lying in bed again, I took his hand and put it on my 
bosom. 

"Father ... are you mad at me...?" 

"No ... I'm not mad at you...." 

"I just thought ... because you didn't talk much today...." 

"I was thinking a lot ... that's why...." 

"What were you thinking about ...?" 

He began to stroke my breasts. 

"I was thinking ... if that bastard of a priest was doing it with you ... 
why, it's all the same anyway ... I mean ... I don't feel so bad about us 
doing it now...." 

I put my hand under the blanket and grabbed his prick that became hard at 
once. 

"Father ... if you feel like it ... let's...." 

"In God's name ... let's do it...." he said quite huskily. 

This time I mounted him and planted his stick into me while he held me by my 
teats. We both came after a few minutes. 

From then on my father was very nice to me during the day. Whenever we 
passed each other he took me by the breast and I quickly knocked my fingers 
against his fly. He began to tell me of things that happened at his workshop 
and of his money problems, and we both tried to budget our household so that 
we could save a little, every week. He also bought me new dresses as often 
as he could afford it, and he delegated me to collect the rent from our 
"sleeper." In brief, he treated me like an adult and it gave me a lot of 
self-confidence. 

One night I said to him: 

"Do you remember what I did to Father Mayer, sometimes?" 

We had just finished a good number and father's prick was limp again. 

"No," he said, "what was that?" 

"You want me to show you...?" 

"Yes ... I'd like to know...." 

I began to work on his tool with my lips and tongue. 

"D'you like it, father...?" 

"Yes ... ah ... that feels good...." 

I worked on him with all the artistry I had acquired and soon enough his 
joystick was rigid and ready again. 

"Father...." I said now. "Father Mayer put his tongue in my pussy, too...." 

"Do you want me to do it ...?" 

"O yes ... please...." 

He pushed me on my back and stuck his head between my thighs. He was quite 
adept at it, and suddenly he interrupted the pleasant activity and decided 
to fuck me. I liked either treatment and soon we both finished with great 
satisfaction. 

 CHAPTER NINETEEN 

About this time we lost our "sleeper," who had been accepted in a home for 
the aged that was managed by the municipality. His place was taken by the 
headwaiter of a small coffeehouse in our district, a more or less shabby 
place, frequented by streetwalkers, pimps and the likes. He never came home 
before three in the morning and then slept until noon the next day. Then he 
left at once for work. 

Rudolf-that was his name-was a thin man with a pale complexion, almost 
yellow, and the mere hint of a mustache, if the few short hairs on his upper 
lip could be called that. 

I didn't like the looks of him and when he tried to grab my breast on the 
second day, I slapped his hand. He gave me an ugly look and let go of me. 

But a few days later he tried a new maneuver while I had something to do in 
the kitchen. He hugged me from behind and started in on my teats as if he 
were beating a tattoo on a drum. I was afraid my nipples would get stiff and 
I began kicking my legs in all directions so that he had to release me. He 
said quite angrily: 

"Well, well ... I suppose you are a great lady who may be touched only by 
priests...." 

That startled me, and I yelled at him: 

"Shut up this minute!" 

"Okay ... okay ... I see, you permit only a member of the clergy to fuck 
you...." 

He must have heard something about it from some of the other tenants in the 
building. Head-waiters collect all the gossip of a neighborhood like 
barbers. 

"Listen," I said severely, "if you won't leave me alone, I'll go to the 
police...." 

That stopped him, but he became quite furious and kicked his things around 
in the suitcase under his bed. He put his hat on and was about to leave, but 
came up to me and hissed: "You're threatening me with the police ... YOU ... 
I'll show you ... you little whore ... you'll soon go down on your knees and 
beg me to fuck you...!" 

I laughed at him and be banged the door behind him. 

But I had misjudged him and it was he who had the last laugh. 

One morning when my father was about to leave I was still in my shirt and 
father quickly touched my teats as an affectionate good-bye gesture. At that 
moment the door from the kitchen opened and Rudolf's face appeared just as 
father pulled back his hand. 

"Excuse me," Rudolf said politely, "could I have my breakfast a little 
earlier this morning? I've got to go to the magistrate before going to 
work...." 

We thought he hadn't seen anything and father left. 

But when I went in the kitchen to prepare the coffee, Rudolf grinned all 
over his face and said: 

"Aha, now I know ... your father has your permission to play with your 
teats, eh...?" 

"You're lying...!" I said, but felt how red my face had become. 

"Lying? Ha! I've got good eyes in my head. I saw it just a while ago...." 

"You didn't see a damned thing! Father just told me to wash more carefully 
... that's all...." 

He laughed and stepped in front of his washbasin, and without any sign of 
embarrassment pulled his prick from his pants and began to wash it. When I 
ran into the bedroom, he called after me: 

"I've got to wash better, too...!" 

Then he came after me into the bedroom and said: 

"Yes, I've got to wash better, because very soon your ladyship is going to 
beg me to fuck her...." 

This time I didn't say anything. 

Several weeks passed without Rudolf speaking to me. We tried to ignore each 
other as best we could. Father and I continued to give pleasure to each 
other, not every night, but often enough to try out all the tricks I had 
learned from others. Having this new relationship with my father had a 
peculiar effect on me. I avoided meeting any boys and men, and minded my own 
business. 

I did go to confession twice and discovered that the new priest had the same 
idea of giving absolution as his fat predecessor. But he was careful enough 
to limit his acts of purification only to licking the cunts of his female 
devotees with his skilled tongue. I, being older than his usual charges, and 
also more reliable, was purified with a few good lays. 

When I visited him the second time, I decided to find out how far his power 
of absolving people would go. I confessed to him my relationship with my 
father. He threw up his arms and exclaimed: 

"O God, you are lost...!" 

I wasn't fooled by his clerical can't and told him I was ready "to do 
anything" to get absolution from him. 

"I'll do severe penance...." I assured him. "Penance...? What kind of 
penance...?" I knelt in front of him, and after pulling his aspergil from 
his pants, I began to lick it so that he let out a loud groan. 

"Come ... he said, and made me bend over the bed and then purified me with 
his stick from the rear. I felt he was very conscientious about it. When he 
had deposited his liquid in me, I again went to work on his tool with my 
lips and made him fuck me a second time. 

He let me go only after I had promised to stay away from my father. I 
promised, and he gave me absolution. I knew that he would forgive me if I 
had to break my promise. 

After several weeks of my new relationship with father, our sex activities 
were gradually limited to Sundays before getting up. I discovered that most 
workingmen were so tired all week that they had to save up their energies 
for the weekend. There was an exception, now and then, but only if I took 
the initiative and got my father turned on. Nevertheless, every morning he 
liked to fondle my breasts while he and I got dressed. It put him in a good 
mood before going to work. 

One Thursday morning he was quite horny, because, for some reason or other, 
we hadn't done anything the previous Sunday. After fondling my breasts for a 
minute, he suddenly pushed me backward on the bed and was just about to 
enter me, when the door opened and we heard Rudolf exclaim: 

"Oh ... pardon me...." 

We immediately jumped up as if a bomb had exploded next to us. Father went 
to the kitchen and I heard him say to Rudolf: 

"That lazy girl has to be pulled out of bed by force ... she doesn't like to 
get up otherwise . . 

Rudolf laughed, and when my father came back to the room, I looked at him 
questioningly. 

"Don't worry," he said, "he didn't see anything." 

I didn't answer, but I was not convinced. As soon as father had left, Rudolf 
burst into the room. 

"Well, what was it this morning? Did father tell you again to wash yourself 
more carefully...?" 

Since I was still in my shirt, I held a towel in front of my breast, but he 
pulled it away and said: 

"Cut out that nonsense, Pepi...." 

He didn't call me Miss Mutzenbacher any more. I didn't like this impertinent 
familiarity and told him so. 

"Ha!" he laughed raucously, "perhaps I should apologize to a whore like you 
that fucks her own father, eh?" 

"We didn't fuck...." I said truthfully. He had interrupted us before we were 
able to do anything. 

"You shut your filthy mouth!" he yelled. "Perhaps you're going to tell me 
again that I didn't see anything this time." 

"You didn't...!" 

"Is that so...? Perhaps he wasn't lying on you? And you didn't have your 
shirt up to your belly, eh?" 

"No, I didn't ...!" 

My voice had become less firm. Rudolf stepped close to me and hissed: 

"Before I opened the door, I looked through the curtains over the panes. You 
know one can see quite nicely. You should put up thicker curtains...." 

I remembered that that was exactly how I could observe my mother and Mr. 
Eckhardt. It seemed a long time ago. 

"And you know what I saw...?" Rudolf said with an ugly grin. "First, I saw 
how your father played with your teats. Then, you pulled his prick from his 
pants ... and then he pushed you on the bed...." 

I looked at the floor. 

"Well...?" Rudolf grabbed my chin and made me look at him. "Is that not 
true...?" I couldn't say anything and looked again at the floor. 

"And now," he went on, "because you were always so fresh with me, I'm going 
to report the whole thing to the police." 

I didn't expect that and began to be very much afraid. He gloated over my 
anxious expression and tried to scare me even more. "Both of you are going 
to prison...." 

"No...!" I yelled. 

"No? We are going to see about that! I can testify under oath, if 
necessary...!" 

He moved toward the front door. 

I pulled him back and begged: 

"Please ... don't...." 

"It's too late now...." He grabbed the door knob. I didn't let go of his 
sleeve. 

"Please ... please...." 

"Please, what...?" he asked sarcastically. "Please ... forgive me for being 
the way I was...." 

"Aha! ... now all of a sudden?" 

"Please, don't go to the police ... please...." 

"It's too late for all that please-business ... I'm going to the police 
right now...!" 

I began to cry: 

"Please, don't do it ... it wasn't my fault.. "What wasn't your fault...?" 

"Well ... that my father...." 

"Oh? I see! And it wasn't your fault either that you pushed me away when I 
wanted to touch you a little, eh?" 

He put his hand on my breast and looked at me. 

"I'll not act that way again...." I promised. "So ... now you let me play 
with your teats...?" 

"Yes ... Rudolf...." 

He tore the shirt off me and began to tickle my nipples with his long 
fingers. 

"Now you let me do this...?" he laughed. "Yes ... Rudolf...." 

He rubbed his fly against my cunt and asked: "And this...? You'd let me do 
it, too...?" 

"Yes ... Rudolf...." I seemed to have lost all willpower. 

"That's interesting ... the great lady would like me to fuck her now, 
eh...?" 

I saw that I had no other way out. 

"Yes ... Rudolf...." 

He laughed. "But I don't want to fuck you. I want to report you and your 
father to the police...?" 

I began to sob again. Rudolf took me by the chin. 

"If you want me to fuck you ... you'll have to ask me very nicely to do you 
this favor...." 

"Please, Mr. Rudolf," I begged, "do me the favor and fuck me, please...." 

His sadistic needs seemed to be satisfied. He told me to follow him to the 
large bed. 

"Lie down and open your legs...." 

He looked me all over and then ordered: 

"Open my fly...!" 

When I had done what he ordered, his stiff prick burst from his pants. It 
was thin and pale and I touched it shyly. Rudolf climbed over me and said: 

"You must stick it in yourself." 

When I felt him in me, I heaved a sigh of relief. I wasn't sure whether it 
was the feel of his prick in me, or the knowledge that he wouldn't go to the 
police now. 

"And now, you must say: "Please, Mr. Rudolf, do fuck me!' " 

I didn't mind saying that. He took one of my breasts and began to play with 
it, while his thin prick was working within me. I hated the man with all my 
heart and would have liked to kill him, but soon my excitement got the 
better of me and I concentrated on the pleasure that was beginning to make 
itself felt. 

Rudolf had a special way of fucking. He pulled his prick out almost 
completely and then pushed it in with one sharp thrust. After he'd done that 
about ten times, my fanny began to dance, and I didn't understand why I had 
defended myself so strongly against Rudolf's advances in the first place. 

"Ah ... ah...." he exclaimed. "I can see that Pepi would like me to fuck her 
more often, eh...?" 

"Yes, Rudolf ... faster ... I'm about to come ... yes ... you must fuck me 
often ... yes...." 

"Fine ... that way we'll get along...." 

"Ah ... I'm coming, Rudolf, try to come, too...." 

"I'm taking my time...." he said. 

Suddenly, without stopping his even, slow thrusts, he asked: 

"You're doing it often with your father...?" 

"No...." I lied. "Today he tried for the first time...." 

"Don't lie to me...." he hissed. 

"Ah ... I'm coming again...." 

"Tell the truth...." he commanded. 

"Yes ... yes...." I stammered. 

"So your father fucks you often ...?" 

"Yes ... I'm coming now ... faster...." 

"When? When does he usually fuck you...." 

"At night...." 

"How long has this been going on...?" 

"About half a year...." 

"Every night...?" 

"No...." 

"How is he? ... good...?" 

"Yes...." 

"Better than me...?" 

"No ... no...." I tried to flatter him. "Ah ... I'm coming again...." 

"You doing a blow-job, too...?" 

"Yes...." 

"For me, too...?" 

"Sure...." I promised. 

"And does he eat your pussy, too...?" 

"Yes...." 

"You like that...?" 

"Yes...." 

"D'you want me to do it, too...?" 

"Yes ... Rudolf...." 

It was really incredible. He fucked me for half an hour and I had hardly any 
juice left to come with. At last he gasped: 

"I'm coming ... now ... now...." 

His semen squirted into me with such force that it felt like an injection 
from a water hose. 

Afterwards he lay next to me and played with my breasts. 

"When I met you I knew I was going to fuck you ... he said. 

"How could you know that...?" 

"It was easy. I heard about that affair with the priest ... I also noticed 
you were sleeping in the same bed with your father . . 

"He asked me to...." 

"I believe that...." he said laughingly. 

I took it as a compliment. 

"You're not going to tell anybody, are you...?" 

"No ... provided you let me fuck you...." 

"O yes ... you can fuck me as often as you like...." 

"And, by the way...." he smiled, "I've known about it for some time...." 

"What...?" 

"Your doing it with your father!" 

"But ... how could you...?" 

"Because I watched you two ... several times...." 

I was still frightened, even though Rudolf had promised not to tell anybody. 
Father and I had been too careless, it seemed. 

"When did you see us...?" I asked. 

"Oh ... usually on Sunday mornings...." 

"Really...?" 

"Want me to prove it...? Okay, last Sunday, for instance, you were lying on 
top of him. Then you took his dick in your mouth to make it hard again ... 
and when he was ready for the second number, he was lying on you ... 
correct...?" 

"Yes ... I remember...." It was just before sunrise and it was sufficiently 
light to let any body watching us through the thin curtains over the glass 
panes in the door, make out what was going on in the bedroom. 

Rudolf got up and made ready to leave. "Okay, now you are my second 
mistress...." 

"Your second...?" 

"Sure! I've already got one ... and you are the new acquisition ... It's 
nice to have two mistresses...." 

"Who is the other one...?" 

"You'll meet her soon...." 

He had to leave for work then. Every morning after father had left, he 
questioned me about what had happened at night. He also wanted to know if 
I'd fucked with other men, but I was smart enough to deny that. Nor did I 
tell him of the new Father Confessor. Rudolf didn't fuck me every morning. 
Sometimes he only played with my teats, or rubbed my slit with his finger, 
and sometimes he said quite frankly: 

"No fucking today ... my other mistress took everything out of me last 
night...." 

I still didn't go all out for Rudolf, except when he was fucking me, but, on 
the other hand, I didn't hate him any more. I couldn't help seeing that he 
was very clever and respected him for it. 

 CHAPTER TWENTY 

Every other week I went to confession, but that new priest was quite 
different from Father Mayer. He didn't keep up all the holy talk about 
purification and damnation. As soon as I entered his room, he took my 
clothes off, then his own, and we went through a series of remarkable lays. 
It was gratifying to see what an enthusiastic pussy-eater that man was. He 
made it very easy for me by making me forget his clerical status. He always 
called things by their real names and told me many dirty jokes. After a 
while I became quite familiar with him, even calling him by his first name. 

Rudolf had become quite nice to me, which made our relationship tolerable. 
He didn't watch father and me any more, because I had admitted what was 
going on. 

When father and I were groping and fondling each other early in the morning, 
I was quite free and uninhibited, knowing that I had nothing to fear from 
Rudolf who usually slept right through until noon, unless I felt like waking 
him sooner. I even began to say jokingly: 

"Well, this morning you really could have seen something if you'd watched 
again...." 

He laughed and then inquired: 

"Oh ... you two been fucking again...?" 

"No ... but we played around quite a bit...." 

"Okay, play as much as you want to ... I won't be watching any more ... I 
need my sleep...." 

He said that quite often and I believed him. I became so overconfident that 
I even pooh-poohed father's warning every time we seemed to be too loud. 

"Don't worry," I said, "Rudolf is sound asleep." 

One morning my father was very horny and after sucking my nipples for a few 
minutes he wanted to do the regular stuff. 

"Be careful," I said, "Rudolf might hear us...." 

"Aw, don't worry," father repeated my own phrase, "he's sound asleep...!" 

We started a standing-up number. I didn't want to be caught doing it in bed, 
in case Rudolf woke up and wanted to embarrass us. 

"Quick ... father...." I hurried him. "Try to come soon...." 

"But then you won't get anything out of it...." he protested. 

"Never mind ... it's not necessary...." 

I knew I could get Rudolf to fuck me later on so that it was easy to take an 
unselfish attitude, if only to make father finish soon. But he didn't like 
that and insisted on being generous. "No...." he said, "I want you to enjoy 
it...." Against my better judgment I let him push me across the unmade bed 
and he really went to town on me. 

"Ah ... it's especially good today...." he gasped. 

"Yes ... I'll be coming soon...." I admitted. "Ah ... me, too ... in a few 
seconds...." Just when I felt his first squirt of semen splash into me, the 
door opened and Rudolf's voice said, quite calmly: 

"Well, well ... neighbor I What are you doing there...?" 

Father was so completely taken by surprise that he quickly finished his last 
few thrusts and completed his ejaculation. 

Again the voice of Rudolf sounded: 

"Oh ... don't let me disturb you, neighbor...." 

Now my father straightened up and just stood there panting, pale as death. 
Rudolf kept his eyes on him like a snake hypnotizing a bird. I was still 
lying on the bed and didn't know what to do or say. 

"Well, let's cover up the girl first," Rudolf said and pulled my nightshirt 
down over my legs. Then he put a pillow on my chest and said: 

"Keep those teats covered. They excite me...." 

Father was still standing there, speechless. Rudolf turned to him: 

"Well, neighbor ... lost your speech...? What were you doing with the girl, 
eh...?" Father began to stammer: 

"Mr. Rudolf ... you ... you're not going to ruin me...?" 

Rudolf laughed: 

"Ruin you...? But why? It's nobody's business if you want to fuck your 
daughter ... after all, you made her, didn't you? Without you she wouldn't 
be here...." 

"Mr. Rudolf...." father was still stammering, "you know ... I'm a widower 
... and ... and I'm not so old yet ... and I have no money to ... to ... you 
know what I mean ... and, after all, I can't just sweat it out of my system 
... a man has got to...." 

"Sure ... sure...." Rudolf interrupted him, but father's face was full of 
fear. 

"Mr. Rudolf," he pleaded, "you must swear a holy oath that you will not tell 
anybody...." Rudolf laughed: 

"I won't swear a damned thing ... it's not necessary ... but get dressed and 
come into the kitchen ... we're going to have a long talk now...." 

Father got dressed in haste, but when we both went into the kitchen, Rudolf 
had already left. Now I was frightened, too. Father had to go to work and 
left soon. I tried to get through the day somehow or other, and at night 
when father and I went to bed, we both were too depressed to talk. Before 
falling asleep I heard father mumble: 

"If that bastard reports me ... I'm going to kill him! ... I don't care...." 

I couldn't blame him for feeling like that and thought that I, for my part, 
would not take it lying down if Rudolf actually turned out to be a traitor. 
I'd implicate him in every way. 

We both fell asleep, but woke up again. We wanted to hear when Rudolf came 
home. At last we heard the squeaking of the front door; it must have been 
three in the morning. 

"He's here now...." said father, who knew I was awake, too. "Shall I talk to 
him now...?" 

"You can try...." I said. 

Before he could get up, the door opened and Rudolf addressed the darkened 
room: 

"Hey, neighbor ... are you asleep...?" 

"No, no...." father assured him. "What can I do for you, Mr. Rudolf...?" 

"That's easy ... tell Pepi to come to me in the kitchen...." 

"What? What did you say...?" Father sounded upset. 

Rudolf's calm voice repeated: 

"Just tell Pepi to keep me company for a while ... I'm sure you have no 
objections ... or do you...?" 

My father understood that threatening question and kept silent. Rudolf was 
waiting in the door. At last father whispered to me: 

"Okay, Pepi ... go to him ... there's nothing we can do about it ... you'd 
better go to him...." 

Father's voice sounded sad and low. 

I quickly jumped out of bed and walked to the door where Rudolf took me by 
the arm and then shut the door. 

"Come," he said, "lie down in my bed with me...." 

We were soon resting in his narrow iron bed, and he began to giggle, and 
cuddled against me: "Fine! And now listen to me: You're going to stay here 
for ... say, half an hour ... and then you go back to him and tell him I 
fucked you, okay...?" 

"I don't dare...." I whispered. 

"Don't be silly! He won't do anything to you. First, he knows he's lost the 
right to talk like a father, and second, he told you himself to come to me 
... so what can you lose...?" 

We were lying in silence and I was waiting for him to speak again. 

"You're going to tell him I fucked you, okay...?" 

"But ... aren't you going to...?" I asked, surprised. 

"Nope ... I've just fucked my girl friend twice ... and I'm all played 
out...." 

"Aw, come on, Rudolf ... you're a pessimist...." and I touched his 
joy-stick, "don't give up so easily...." 

He seemed astonished and groped for my breasts. 

"Say, Pepi ... you really want to...?" 

"Try me...." I challenged him. 

"Okay, I'll try...." 

"D'you want me to put it in my mouth...?" 

"Wait ... I'm going to show you something so that you'll get something out 
of it, too...." With that he mounted me, but he put his head between my 
thighs while I put his prick in my mouth. It was my first acquaintance with 
what the French call the sixty-nine position as symbolized by the two 
figures "69." Rudolf's tongue gave me plenty of pleasure, but his tool 
remained inactive. I tried not to moan too loud on account of my father's 
presence in the next room; but when Rudolf noticed my excitement, he got 
into the mood and his prick soon became as hard as can be. I quickly turned 
around so that our genitals met the way they should, and we both controlled 
our panting as much as possible. Although Rudolf had a sadistic streak, he 
instinctively shrank from hurting my father where it was not necessary. When 
he came, he lifted my abdomen so high that he nearly pushed me out of the 
bed. His orgasm overwhelmed him so much that he did something he'd never 
done before: he kissed me. 

"Go back now," he said when he had calmed down. 

"I'm afraid...." I said and I spoke the truth. "Nonsense, Pepi! If there's 
something he doesn't like, tell him to come out here and talk to me. Remind 
him that it was he who agreed to let you come to me...." 

I sneaked back to the bedroom. Father didn't move and I thought he had dozed 
off, but when I got into bed, he said: 

"Well ... what did he want ...?" 

"Nothing...." 

"He wanted something, didn't he ...?" 

I hesitated. "You ... you can guess...." 

"What? You mean he fucked you...?" 

"You sent me to him yourself . . 

"He really fucked you...?" 

"It wasn't my fault . . 

"You come over here, at once...!" he ordered. 

I crawled to his side and he pounced on me violently, pulling up my 
nightshirt at the same time, and spreading my legs apart. I'd never felt his 
prick as hard as this time. 

"Don't worry," I told him, "it doesn't change anything between us ... and 
I'll never let that guy do it to me again...." 

"Shut up, you whore...!" he hissed. "That's what you are ... let's face it 
... I" 

He rammed his tool into me so that I thought it touched nay stomach inside. 
He began to push like a wild bull. I'd never known him to be that way. It 
was a mixture of anger, horniness and jealousy. 

"Sonofabitch! ... Now that guy fucked you, too...!" 

"Father ... I'm coming ... you do it so good...." I flattered him. 

"Shut up, you whore ... did you perhaps blow him, too...?" 

"Yes ... he put his prick in every hole in my body ... he also licked my 
pussy ... it was good ... now ... faster ... faster ... I'm coming soon...." 

I knew father wanted to hear what Rudolf did to me, because it excited him. 

"That bastard ... did he make you come...?" 

"Yes ... of course ... several times...." 

I'd hardly finished saying it when I felt his semen shoot into me. He 
slumped down on me and groaned in deep satisfaction. We soon fell asleep. 

There was a holiday a few days later and father could stay at home. He had 
not exchanged a word with Rudolf after that fateful night. He always left 
when Rudolf was still snoring and was already sleeping himself whenever 
Rudolf returned from work late at night. That holiday evening I had cooked a 
good dinner and when we'd eaten, father lit his pipe and read the newspaper. 

At 9 o'clock Rudolf came home, which was an unusual thing for him to do. He 
was quite friendly and put two bottles of wine on the table. 

"Hiya, neighbor!" he greeted my father. "How about having some good wine 
with me...?" 

Father, who never refused a drink, accepted with alacrity, and when Rudolf 
said, meaningfully, "No hard feelings, I hope?" he understood and said: 

"Hard feelings...? Oh, you mean about Pepi...? No ... there are no hard 
feelings...." 

"Neighbor, you are a regular guy ... let's have a good time. From tonight 
I'll have lots of free time. After a while I might look for another job, but 
in the meantime I'm going to live, for a change. Would you mind if my girl 
friend joined us?" 

"Your girl friend...?" Father was surprised. 

"Yes, I left her outside ... should I tell her to come in...?" 

"Sure...." father said, "you shouldn't have made her wait...." 

Rudolf went out to the staircase and came back with a very lean girl of 
about fifteen. She had a snub-nose and a wide mouth and her eyes had a 
certain provocative look peculiar to streetwalkers. The only redeeming 
feature was her overdeveloped bosom. It was quite firm and trembled slightly 
when she walked. 

We all began to drink and Rudolf told one joke after another. His girl, 
Zenzi, laughed at everything he said. Whether she did it to play up to him, 
or whether she actually found him to be a good comedian was not certain. 

Father soon became high and also laughed often and heartily. After a while 
Zenzi and I began to feel the effect of the dry wine. 

Rudolf lifted one of Zenzi's breasts and said to father: 

"Look at this, neighbor ... this is firm and hard like a rock!" 

Zenzi laughed and father squinted at the big teat in Rudolf's hand. 

"Touch it, neighbor," Rudolf encouraged him, "don't be shy ... I'm not the 
jealous type...." Father didn't follow the invitation, and Rudolf came over 
to where I was sitting. 

"Yes, Pepi also has nice teats ... very nice teats ... just as nice as 
Zenzi's ... but they're not so big and more round...." 

He fondled my breasts, looking all the while at father who didn't move a 
limb. Rudolf ordered Zenzi to move closer to father: 

"Hey, Zenzi, be a good girl and show Pepi's father your teats...!" 

She laughed again and obediently opened her blouse so that one big globe 
burst out of it. It was really a well-formed teat, with large pointed 
nipples of a dark-red hue. I was hardly aware that Rudolf had his hand 
inside my blouse and was playing with my breasts. He addressed father again: 

"Well ... neighbor ... how'd you like it...?" 

"Yes ... very pretty ... very pretty...." Father couldn't resist and began 
to fondle Zenzi's teats. She laughed and thought it great fun. 

"Why don't you give me tit for tat, neighbor...?" Rudolf asked laughingly. 
And then to Zenzi: 

"Entertain the gentleman, Zenzi...!" 

She opened my father's fly and pulled out his dick and his balls. She began 
to caress them gently while looking at father with a smiling face. 

"Go ahead, neighbor ... Rudolf laughed, "if you want to fuck Zenzi ... don't 
let me detain you...." 

Father let Zenzi massage his prick and didn't say anything. 

"Zenzi...." ordered Rudolf now, "you are going to let the gentleman fuck you 
now, okay...?" 

Zenzi immediately lifted her skirt and was about to straddle my father's 
knees, but Rudolf cut her short: 

"Zenzi...!" he sounded severe, "you forget what a good girl has to do 
first...." 

She knelt in front of father and took his prick into her mouth. 

"Stop sucking...!" Rudolf told her after a few minutes, "and do the next 
thing that has to be done!" 

Father couldn't control himself any longer. He pushed the girl on the bed 
and dropped on her, while she skillfully inserted his dick into her hole. He 
began to work in her furiously so that Rudolf and I didn't wait any longer 
and flopped down on the other half of the double bed. 

The bed was soon squeaking and groaning under the concerted motions of the 
four of us. Zenzi kept exclaiming: 

"That's so good ... Rudolf, Pepi's father is a good fucker ... yes ... 
that's a good fuck ... suck my teats ... bite my nipples ... ah...." 

But Rudolf was too busy giving me a passionate workout to pay much attention 
to his girl friend. Soon we all came and lay back exhausted. 

Then Rudolf told Zenzi to get up and said: "I'm taking Zenzi into the 
kitchen to my bed. We're going to do the second number with our own girls, 
eh?" 

He and Zenzi disappeared in the kitchen and father began to play with my 
breasts while I tried to revive his dick with my lips. I was successful and 
just when I was slipping under father's belly to install him within me, we 
heard Zenzi's voice from the kitchen: 

"Ah, Rudi ... fuck me ... fuck me ... so many guys have fucked me, but you 
are the best ... go on fucking me ... I do everything you want...." 

Rudolf grunted: 

"Aw, shut up ... silly girl ... open up and let me fuck you ... you talk too 
much...." Father had began to poke me and I asked: "Is she really that 
good...?" 

"Yes ... very good...." 

"Is she better than me...?" I asked jealously. 

"No ... no ... you're better ... yes ... yes ... wiggle your ass like that 
... that's good...." 

And I seemed to have learned something from Zenzi, because I muttered: 

"Ah ... fuck me ... fuck me ... you're the best...!" 

 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 

After that crazy night, Zenzi moved in with us and slept with Rudolf in the 
kitchen. I didn't exactly like her, but she was always friendly and did what 
she was told so that I soon got used to her being around. Father and Rudolf 
exchanged partners frequently, but Rudolf got the better end of the deal 
because he wasn't working and could stay at home whenever he liked, and he 
often fucked Zenzi and me alternately the same afternoon. 

One day, when I came back from the store with some groceries, I saw Zenzi 
standing with Mr. Horak near the entrance. She greeted me cheerfully, but 
Horak didn't seem to know me. I was mad and when I found Rudolf upstairs I 
decided to take my revenge. 

"Didn't you see Zenzi someplace...?" he asked. 

"Sure ... down by the entrance...." 

"Doing what?" 

"Mr. Horak had her by the teats when I walked by...." 

To my surprise Rudolf laughed: 

"Ha! The beer man? That's okay if he likes doing that...." 

When Zenzi joined us after more than an hour, Rudolf talked with her in the 
kitchen. I expected him to give her a good bawling out. 

"Where were you for so long...?" 

She laughed: "He fucked me ... at last...." 

"What? Already? Where...?" 

"Down in the cellar!" 

"And what's the result...?" 

"Here! Two guilders! See? Solid silver...!" Rudolf laughed aloud and told 
her to use the money to buy him cigarettes and then give him back the 
change. 

I wasn't too surprised at that, because Horak used to give me some money, 
too, once in a while, but Rudolf's behavior seemed odd. 

A few days after this, Zenzi appeared with a man at the front door. It was 
already twilight and I couldn't see the man distinctly. Rudolf pulled me 
into the bedroom and said: 

"We've got to stay here for a while. Zenzi has a customer!" 

Customer? It took me awhile to get the idea. We heard the bed squeak in the 
kitchen and then Zenzi began her customary exclamations: "Yes ... fuck me 
... fuck me good...." 

But the man interrupted her: 

"Just shut up ... I can't stand any yakking when I'm fucking ... just let me 
fuck you and keep quiet...!" 

"Bastard!" whispered Rudolf close to me. Listening to the goings-on outside 
stimulated me and I touched Rudolf's fly, but he pushed my hand away and 
hissed: 

"Not now ... this is business! Don't you understand...?" 

At last we heard Zenzi's shrill giggle: "Finished...! It was good!" 

We heard the jingling of coins and then the opening and closing of the front 
door. Zenzi joined us soon. She was in the nude and handed Rudolf the money. 

"Three guilders! He was a real gentleman!" Rudolf pocketed the money. 

"Now get dressed, quick!" 

While she was slipping into her dress, she told us what a small prick the 
man had and how quickly he moved. 

"Don't talk so much, Zenzi, and get going. Bring us some wine and 
cigarettes. And make it snappy!" 

When, she had left, he turned to me: 

"How about a quickie now...?" 

He didn't wait for my answer, but pushed me against the wall and did a quick 
standing-up job. I was so stimulated by what had gone on in the kitchen that 
I came before he was finished. 

"Tonight you're going to sleep with me...." he declared, "and then we're 
really going to do a good job!" 

Zenzi came back with the wine and the cigarettes and father came home soon 
afterwards. We all started in on the wine and Rudolf and father were soon 
quite drunk. 

Father put his hand under Zenzi's dress and Rudolf told her at once to 
undress. 

"And you, too...!" father said to me. 

In a minute Zenzi and I were stark-naked and went over to the men who were 
sitting on the sofa. When Rudolf was about to touch me, father protested: 

"No! No stranger is going to fuck my daughter ... it's me who's going to do 
it...." Rudolf wanted to say something nasty, but Zenzi had already 
straddled him and buried his prick between her thighs. I was riding on my 
father's dick and soon the entertainment ended in a general chorus of moans 
and sighs. 

We were so tired that we lay down all four of us, on the large bed. The men 
were snoring, but Zenzi and I were still awake. We hadn't drunk much and 
felt cheated by the fact that our men had gone to sleep so fast. 

"Want to get fucked...?" asked Zenzi. "Sure ... but you can't get them awake 
now!" 

"That's not necessary...." she laughed. "I'll show you how to go about it. 
Every time that Rudi is drunk, I can still get fucked. Just watch...." 

She grabbed Rudolf's prick, that became immediately hard. I got hold of 
father's dick and wanted to put it in my mouth, but Zenzi held my arm. 

"No, don't do it now! You can do that only if a guy isn't drunk. When he's 
drunk he'll shoot the whole load into your mouth." 

Soon both pricks were standing up like candles. 

"Which one do you like?" I asked. 

"I don't want any ... I've fucked enough for today!" 

"But ... but what are we going to do...?" 

"That's easy ... you'll take on both of them...!" 

She told me to start with father and to straddle him with my face toward his 
feet. Zenzi tickled my clitoris, and soon I was moving up and down and 
enjoying it to the utmost. Father began to moan in his sleep. Zenzi also 
sucked my nipples so cleverly that I came at once and when I felt father's 
load spray into me I came a second time. His dick became soft and limp, and 
Zenzi suggested: 

"Quick, now take Rudi's prick...!" 

I moved over and squatted in the same manner over Rudolf's middle, and Zenzi 
repeated her kind ministrations so that I was soon moaning again: 

"Jeez, I'm coming ... ah...." 

"Rudi's prick is good...." Zenzi laughed, "you can't help coming soon 
whether you want it or not...." 

I bent forward and took her nipple in my mouth as if following some blind 
instinct. It increased my pleasure and opened up the sluice gates for all my 
secretions. Soon I sank forward and sighed: 

"I'm finished ... help me get off him...." But Zenzi propped me up firmly 
and said: "No, you must go on until Rudi comes ... that's the decent thing 
to do...!" 

I was grateful when I felt his liquid splash into me after a few seconds and 
then both Zenzi and I slumped down between the two men and fell asleep. 

After about and hour I woke up and found Zenzi trying to revive my father's 
limp dick. 

"Now I feel like doing it...." she explained to me when she noticed I was 
awake. 

But no matter how she tried, father's tool was not usable any more. 

"Come on," I said, "try Rudi's...." 

But even Rudolf's reliable machine was on strike and Zenzi, in desperation, 
licked it furiously so that it began to twitch after a while and seemed to 
get hard. 

"O my God...." I heard Zenzi whimper. "He's coming already...." 

She coughed and pulled the prick out of her mouth and the rest of the semen 
was shooting into the air like a fountain. Zenzi spat out the portion she 
had received in her mouth into her handkerchief and yammered: 

"O God ... O God ... all that work for nothing ... and now I'm more horny 
than before ... all that sucking has made me more horny ... what can I do 
now...?" 

I laughed, but she was angry: 

"Yes, you can laugh ... you could get it when you wanted it ... I was stupid 
... I shouldn't have said no...!" 

She suddenly pulled my hand between her legs and begged: 

"You do it to me...." 

"But how...?" 

"I'll show you ... come ... lie on top of me...." 

I did as she told me and she began to rub her cunt against mine, then she 
said : 

"Put your finger into my hole...." 

I drilled my index finger into her and kept moving it like a prick. She 
yelled: 

"Yes ... that's it ... that's it ... move faster...." 

I played with her nipple, using my free hand, and put my lips to her other 
teat. Suddenly she gasped: 

"You did it ... now ... now ... I'm coming...." 

I kept poking my finger in her and sucking her nipple until she collapsed 
with her last twitch. Then, at long last, we were both tired enough to sleep 
peacefully until morning. 

I felt really friendly toward Zenzi from that night on, and whenever we were 
alone and horny, I repeated the pseudo-fuck of the other night to her great 
satisfaction. 

She kept earning money by bringing men to the apartment from time to time, 
and I could learn many things about people by listening in the bedroom. 

Once Rudi and I were in the bedroom together when we heard Zenzi appear in 
the kitchen with a man whose quavering voice marked him as at least sixty 
years old. 

Zenzi was laughing: 

"Gee, what a little thing you have...." 

"Never mind ... once it's stiff it is quite big...." 

"But it isn't stiff...." remarked Zenzi. 

"Put it in your mouth, then!" 

"How much are you going to give me...?" 

"What am I going to give you...? Okay, let's make it ten guilders...!" 

Rudolf, sitting next to me, gave a start and hissed: 

"Jeez! Ten guilders! That guy sure has dough! 

After a while we heard Zenzi say: 

"It's hard, now ... quick ... let's do it...." We heard the bed squeak, but 
after a while Zenzi was laughing: 

"It's soft again ... o God...." 

The old man was whispering something and soon we heard the two rolling 
around in the bed. Suddenly Zenzi began: 

"Yes ... that's good ... go on ... faster...." Rudolf explained: "I bet he's 
eating her pussy now...!" 

"Oh, now you've got a hard-on again...." Zenzi exclaimed, "come ... let's 
try it now...." But soon Zenzi laughed again: 

"Bang ... it's collapsed ... it's no use...." 

"That's not true...." the old guy hissed, "just put it in and don't 
talk...." 

The bed was squeaking and Zenzi exclaimed: "But you don't have it in...!" 

"Never mind! I'll do it. . 

The bed kept squeaking and, at last, Zenzi started to moan: 

"Thank God ... now ... at last ... fuck me ... faster ... what? ... that's 
all? ... o boy...!" 

We heard them get up and walk around and then Zenzi said: 

"Thanks a lot! Come again soon!" 

The front door banged and Zenzi came running to the bedroom. 

"Look!" she shouted and gave Rudolf a ten guilder note which was soon 
converted into food and lots of wine and cigarettes. Naturally, we had a big 
celebration that night and we got so soused that I couldn't remember what 
happened before we fell asleep. It was the second time that my father didn't 
wake up in time to go to work and when he came home in the evening he told 
us he'd been fired. 

Rudolf comforted him and said: 

"Don't worry! You'll soon find another job." But father couldn't see it that 
way and said the boss had no right to do that after using his skill for over 
a dozen years. 

"Don't be silly!" Rudolf said. "It will do you good to be able to sleep in 
the mornings for a week. And then you'll feel good and can look around for a 
new job. After all, a skilled journeyman like you doesn't have to worry to 
find work." 

Father agreed, at last, and got used to sleeping late in the morning. He 
stayed at home a great deal and passed the time playing cards with Rudolf 
and playing around with Zenzi and myself. There was always enough wine to 
keep him nicely drunk. 

One day he was still at home when Zenzi brought a customer up and father 
joined Rudolf and me behind the door where we were eagerly listening to the 
goings on in the kitchen. When Zenzi came in, afterwards, and gave Rudolf 
three guilders, father made big eyes. He hadn't realized that Rudolf was 
able to live on his girl friend's earnings, and became quite thoughtful. 

A few days later, the manager came up and told Rudolf very politely that he 
was sorry, but the landlord had got wind of what was going on and sent word 
that we would have to move out unless Zenzi stopped bringing strange men 
home. 

After the manager left, Rudolf had a big conference with Zenzi in the 
kitchen. They didn't join us but went straight to bed. From then on Zenzi 
was seldom at home during the day and returned only very late in the night, 
sometimes even the following morning. When she handed her earnings to 
Rudolf, father showed great interest in the amounts she made. 

Zenzi being away most of the time, I had to satisfy both father and Rudolf 
whenever they needed me. It kept me quite busy running from one bed to the 
other during the night, or in the morning. 

Father was in a rut now and forgot that he ought to be looking for work. He 
had borrowed money from Rudolf several times who had complied without saying 
anything. But after a few weeks of that, Rudolf replied to another of 
father's requests for a loan: 

"Why don't you let Pepi earn some dough...?" 

"Pepi...?" Father looked astonished. "What d'you mean...?" 

"I mean she could earn just as much as my Zenzi ... My father stiffened. 

"What? Pepi should become a whore ... a prostitute...?" 

"Aw, neighbor ... that's just a word! Thousands of girls are earning money 
that way ... and she's been fucking with us anyway...." 

"But that...." father hedged, "that isn't the same thing! What she's doing 
here remains in the family...." 

Rudolf laughed: 

"The world is a big family! Don't take on, my friend! Do you think if you, 
her own father, fucks her it's more virtuous than a stranger fucking her? 
And what's more, I trained Zenzi to get only the better kind of customers. 
That way she always makes good money. None of her customers is such a dirty 
bastard as that Father Mayer who fucked Pepi without giving her a cent! That 
dirty old bastard...." 

"Yes, he's a dirty old bastard," father echoed, his anger at the priest 
being aroused again. 

"See?" Rudolf went on, "and it wouldn't do Pepi any harm to earn some money 
for her father, would it? You've been slaving for many years to earn some 
dough to keep your kids alive. Let them reciprocate for a change!" Father 
weakened: "Yes ... it's true what you say...!" 

"Now you're talking...." said Rudolf. "Why don't you let Pepi go with Zenzi 
until she's learned how to go about it...? She's a pretty girl, Pepi is, and 
I bet she'd come home with at least three guilders every day ... that's more 
than you earned...." 

I felt quite flattered at his words, but father said anxiously: 

"That sounds okay ... but ... what about the police...?" 

"Forget the police...." Rudi said contemptuously. "Have I, or Zenzi, ever 
gotten into trouble with the police...? Let Pepi learn from Zenzi! She can 
show her how to stay clear of the law!" 

"But...." father stammered, "but ... if it should happen one day...?" 

"Okay! Suppose something does happen, one day ... you can always tell the 
police that the girl does it on her own and you didn't know a damned thing 
... I'm sure Pepi will cooperate and protect her old man...." 

This was the first time I learned that I had to be careful about the police. 
I'd kept silent while the men were discussing me and nobody seemed 
interested in what I'd have to say to all this. 

Father tried to make up his mind, but at last he said: 

"I don't want the girl to be a whore ... not that...." 

And he kept repeating it over and over, until Rudolf interrupted him: 

"But ... for Christ's sake ... who the hell says she has to spend her life 
that way...? The whole thing serves only to make it easier for you until 
you've found some work again! As soon as you can make money again, Pepi can 
stop looking for customers and do whatever she likes ... marry a respectable 
man...." This seemed to convince my father and he lost all his doubts when 
Rudolf added: 

"Why d'you think I let Zenzi earn money that way? It's only for the time 
being-because I have no job now. She'll have to stop it when I work in some 
coffeehouse again ... then she'll have to be a good girl again!" 

 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 

The next day I accompanied Zenzi to the inner districts of the city. She had 
told me never to wear a shirt under my blouse or dress, so that my breasts 
could be noticed. We were heading for the center of old Vienna, the St. 
Stephen's Square. From here radiated the main avenues and streets in all 
directions. 

Zenzi was in her element and smiled whenever men passed us. I couldn't bring 
myself to do it-yet. When I had been a mere amateur, it was great fun to 
smile provocatively and see the effect it had on boys and men of all ages, 
but now I was supposed to be a professional and it would take a little time 
to get used to my new status. Besides, my father's misgivings about the 
police were still in the back of my mind. 

Zenzi took me to the little furnished room that Rudolf had rented for her in 
an old, cheerless building near St. Stephen's Square. An old toothless hag 
opened when Zenzi knocked at the door of a fourth-floor apartment. 

The room we stepped into was the kitchen-as in all of the older, cheap 
tenement buildings-and through an open door, at one end of it, I saw a very 
small room whose one window offered no other view than the dirty wall of a 
light-shaft. 

The old woman looked at me suspiciously when Zenzi introduced me as her 
"best friend." 

"Is she fourteen?" she asked. 

"More than that," lied Zenzi, "she's not very tall for her age, that's all." 

"Okay," the woman said in an unfriendly tone, "you know that you've got to 
give me one guilder every time you come with a customer. And never after 
eight in the evening! That's the rule!" 

We went back to the street. 

"Don't mind that old bitch," Zenzi advised. "She has a one-track mind. Money 
is all she cares for. Now, remember: never accost a man when a cop is near, 
and, second, always ask a customer for the money before you let him do it!" 

We were slowly walking from St. Stephen's Square toward the Opera. It was in 
Kaerntner Street, the most elegant section of the inner city, and all around 
us costly jeweled ladies and elegant men were walking in either direction. 

"Don't turn around, now," Zenzi warned me. "A very elegant fellow is 
following us. He's going to pass us soon to see how we react. If he turns 
his head you've got to smile. You know what I mean...." 

It happened exactly as Zenzi predicted. When we smiled, the man slowed down 
and smiled back at us. 

"We have to turn into this small street, now," Zenzi said, "he won't talk to 
us otherwise." 

We had gone a few steps down the narrow Dorothea Street when the man 
followed us. Zenzi drew me into a large building entrance and we waited. 
Soon the man looked in and said: 

"Hello ... how are you...?" 

"Fine...!" Zenzi answered. "Would you perhaps like to come with us? I've got 
a room pretty close...." 

"No...." he said, "I don't have much time...." 

"We can stay here on the staircase. It's an old office building and nobody 
is here these days." 

The man kept looking at me and asked: "Would you like to...?" 

"Sure...." I said. He carried a cane with a knob of ivory and silver, and 
the watch chain on his vest was of sparkling gold. 

We went up to the first floor and stopped on the landing. Zenzi said: 

"I'm going to stand watch. Take all the time you need...." 

She went to the banister and looked down, with her back to us. The man put 
his hand on my blouse. 

"Open your blouse a little...." 

He was visibly glad to see that I wore no shirt and started to caress my 
breast very gently. His breath became audible. 

"Come ... let's do it...." he whispered and took his dick out of his fly. 

I lifted my skirt because I thought he wanted to do a standing-up number, 
but he said: 

"No, no ... not here ... it's not safe enough...." 

He continued to play with my breasts while I jacked him off. He pulled a 
silken handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me. I held it over the 
tip of his prick so the semen would spurt into it. He soon came and I 
noticed how his legs trembled a little. I had to dry my hand, too, which 
received a few drops of the white fluid. When I handed the handkerchief back 
to him, he gave me two guilders and left without a word and without looking 
back. He wanted to get out of the building as quickly as possible. 

I was happy to have earned two guilders, but Zenzi reminded me severely that 
I should not have let the man touch me without asking for the money first. 

"If you were not a beginner, you might have waited until it was over, 
because your experience would have told you that he was a gentleman and 
would pay anyhow. But you never can tell. Be careful!" 

When we were back at St. Stephen's Square an old man approached us and I was 
a little scared when he addressed me with a serious face: 

"You know a place we can go to...?" 

Zenzi poked her elbow in my ribs and I quickly said: 

"Sure ... we've got a room...." 

"All right, then ... you walk ahead and I'll follow you...!" 

Zenzi left me discreetly, but not without giving me a knowing wink. I 
started walking to the old building where Zenzi's room was. The old hag let 
us in and soon I was alone with the old man in that dark little room. 

"Get your clothes off...." he commanded. While I got undressed I watched 
him. He had a clean-shaven face and an almost toothless mouth. There were a 
few white hairs on his otherwise bald head. He was extremely thin and didn't 
seem to be in condition to do much good for a woman. 

I remembered that I should have asked him for the money, but somehow I was 
still too shy to be so open about it. He made the impression of a cultured, 
well-to-do man and I had to trust my luck. He was sitting down on the big 
leather sofa and told me to stand in front of him. I thought I had to take 
the initiative and wanted to unbutton his fly, but he slapped my hand away. 

"Just wait ... wait until I tell you what to do ... and don't fidget . . 

I was somewhat startled and didn't quite know how the situation was going to 
develop. He began to caress my breasts and my belly, then he grabbed his 
cane and poked it between my legs to force them apart. 

"Now, come ... he said, and lay back on the sofa. 

I was about to join him, but he again slapped at me and growled: 

"Stay where you are ... always wait until I tell you what to do...." 

He made me open his fly and take out what used to be a prick when he was 
younger, I suppose. Now it was a tiny something, all wrinkled and shrunken 
to the size of a pencil-point. I couldn't believe that all my finger-work 
would ever make it stiff again. 

"Minette...!" he ordered. 

I didn't know what he meant and looked at him. 

"What are you waiting for? Do some minette...!" 

He became angry when he noticed my helpless stare. 

"Damn it, girl ... I told you to do some minette on me ... now, how long 
will I have to wait...?" 

I wasn't familiar with the French term for a blow-job in those early days of 
my career and I stammered: 

"Excuse me, sir ... I really don't know what that is ... minette...?" 

He didn't see the humor of the situation and merely snarled: 

"Stupid broad ... it means you should take it in your mouth...!" 

I at once did as I was told and since I was afraid of him, my tongue and 
lips combined to do an extra good job. But to my amazement his wrinkled 
little thing came to life after my tongue had licked it only a few times. 

A veritable miracle happened before my eyes, or rather, in my mouth. That 
thing began to grow and grow until it became too large for my mouth and I 
had to let it go. It snapped back against his belly like a steel spring and 
he panted: 

"Now ... quick ... you do the fucking ... quick, I said ... you should have 
it in you by now...." 

He stayed on his back and, thanks to my preliminary "studies," I knew what 
he wanted. I quickly mounted him and, to tell the truth, it was not simple 
to lodge that revived miracle-prick in my hole. Once I was firmly 
established in my seat I bent forward to give him a chance to touch my 
breasts, but he pushed me back and growled: 

"Stay where you are...! Sit up straight...!" He began to raise and lower his 
hips and soon was fucking me like a man thirty years younger. He suddenly 
became talkative: 

"I can still fuck any girl as well as my grandson who's twenty ... I'm just 
as good if not better ... you thought an old man can't do anything, eh...? 
I'll show you what I can do ... see...?" 

His thrusts became more and more powerful until he, at last, came. But then 
he collapsed and could hardly move a limb. He told me to run downstairs and 
buy him some wine. When I came back he lay there like one dead and I was so 
scared that I called the old woman to ask her what I should do. She 
sprinkled some cold water on him and said: 

"I know him ... he's too old for all that nonsense, but he's too stubborn to 
let go ... just wait, he'll soon come to...." 

She was right. He opened his eyes and didn't quite realize where he was, but 
when he noticed the glass of wine I held, he grabbed it and emptied it with 
one long gulp. Immediately his strength came back and he got up, adjusted 
his clothes and looked at me with a grouchy face. Then he pulled out his 
wallet and gave me five guilders and left without a greeting. 

Five guilders! For only half an hour's "work." I danced around the small 
room and vowed to become a good professional who's well aware of what that 
thing between her legs can achieve if she uses it in combination with her 
brains. My decision was made: I'd never again do it for nothing! 

Thinking of the idiosyncrasies of that old man I realized that no two 
customers were alike and that I could not afford to be simple-minded about 
it any more. I'd also have to learn a lot of technical terms like "minette" 
for instance. It was perhaps on that day that I dimly understood that 
becoming a good prostitute required far more than merely spreading my legs. 
The two customers I'd had so far were better class people and they needed 
sex, as I saw, just as badly as men from my own class, the poor day laborers 
and trades people. And they were willing to pay good money for it, too. 

I sat down in that dismal dark room and began to think. I wondered whether 
Zenzi could remain my teacher for long and whether she herself had any 
ambition to be more than a streetwalker. Of course, it was clear to me that 
I had a prettier face and a better figure than she had, but I also knew by 
now that her experience and shrewdness gave her every advantage over me. 
Zenzi would be able to teach me many things I needed to learn to become even 
a simple streetwalker before I could try to aspire to higher things, like 
becoming the mistress of some rich man. 

It also became clear to me that I would have to watch my own need for sexual 
pleasure and learn to control it if I wanted to make a lot of money. I 
couldn't afford to be as greedy as men who were always willing to pay for 
it. It is just the opposite with a woman: she is the one who has to make men 
pay. It was thus that I learned quite early a prostitute's most important 
lesson. 

After spending an hour of deep reflection about my past, present and 
possible future, I decided to look for Zenzi in the street. I met her on the 
stairs with a tail young man and she whispered to me: 

"Wait a minute...." 

And turning to her companion she asked: 

"Would you like my friend to come with us . . 

"Oh ... please ... yes ... by all means!" he said in a curiously shy manner. 

Back in the room I was formally introduced. "This is my good friend, 
Josephine." 

I was surprised at Zenzi's formal tone and even more at the young man's 
reaction. He bowed very deeply before me and kissed my hand as if I were a 
real lady. I couldn't help laughing, but Zenzi nudged me and hissed: "No 
laughing now ... be serious...!" 

The young man had a bashful, pale face that was framed by a black beard. His 
dark eyes were infinitely sad. 

He looked at me and whispered: 

"The young lady is very strict, I bet...." 

"Shut up ... you!" Zenzi yelled at him. 

He looked frightened and stammered: 

"Oh ... I am sorry...!" 

"I said, shut up! You open your mouth only if I ask you something...!" 

That was a new Zenzi to me, stern and almost cruel. 

"And now get out of your clothes...!" 

"Not yet...." he interrupted her, but in a normal voice without that 
exaggerated shyness. 

Zenzi seemed embarrassed, like an actress who got her cues mixed up. 

"Oh ... what comes next...?" 

"First comes the questioning, remember...?" he whispered like a prompter. 

"You're right...!" Zenzi tapped her forehead and seemed to reflect. Suddenly 
her face assumed a forbidding expression again and she yelled at him: 

"You no good bastard! You stinking dog...! I bet you were thinking of me 
again ... what?" He stammered fearfully: 

"Pardon me, countess, but I couldn't help it...." 

"Tell me this instant what kind of thoughts you had about me...?" 

"Oh, countess, you can imagine...." 

"You despicable pig, you! I know ... you were thinking of my cunt ... of my 
teats ... you shameless fucker....confess now...." 

"Yes ... I admit it...." 

"And what's more...." she continued mercilessly, "you thought how you are 
going to lie on top of me, eh? How I'm going to spread my legs and how 
you'll put your prick into me ... you jerk, you ... and how you are going to 
fuck me ... and play with my teats ... you son of a bitch...." 

"Yes, my good countess ... I confess everything...!" 

"Have you no shame at all...? Admitting all this before the princess 
here...?" She pointed at me. I was so astonished by what was going on that I 
didn't marvel at my sudden promotion to princess. 

"Oh ... yes, I am ashamed...!" 

"Kneel, you dog!" thundered Zenzi. 

He fell at once on his knees and begged: "Forgive me, dear countess ... and 
you, too, beautiful princess...." 

"No...." hissed Zenzi, "no forgiving ... not yet ... there will be 
punishment, first!" 

He blushed and nodded: 

"Yes ... punishment first...." 

"Now, get out of your clothes...!" commanded Zenzi. 

He was undressed in a minute and stood there trembling like a dog waiting to 
be beaten. His body was almost white and soft like a woman's. He stepped in 
the narrow spot between the sofa and the clothes chest as if observing a 
ritual. 

Zenzi undressed herself and I followed her example when she winked at me 
meaningfully. 

"I'll show you ... you bastard ... you'll look at us and admire us ... but 
that's all ... you'll see me and the princess in all our nakedness ... and 
don't you dare to move...." 

Her eyes gleamed when she went to him and I could see that she began to be 
horny. She rubbed her enormous teats against his body and asked me to do the 
same. His skin was soft as velvet, but when I rubbed my pubic hair against 
his center, his dick didn't show any sign of life. 

I wondered what all this business meant and when we were going to get laid 
at last, because I, too, began to be horny and wanted some real action. 

But Zenzi pulled me away from his hot body and told him: 

"And now you'll be punished ... you jerk...!" 

He followed her with feverish eyes when she took two birch rods from the 
clothes chest. 

"You know what these are, you dog...?" she asked. 

"Yes ... dear countess...!" he swallowed hard. 

"And you know what is going to happen now, you son of a bitch...?" 

"Yes ... you'll punish me, dear countess ... yes, you must punish me ... I 
deserve it! And you must punish me, too, dear princess...." he had turned to 
me and lifted his hands like a beggar. 

Zenzi handed me one birch rod and said: "Hit him hard ... don't hold 
back...!" 

He approached her slowly and her birch rod smacked right across his chest so 
that a red stripe appeared there at once. He jumped and-o wonder-his prick 
was suddenly rigid. 

Zenzi began to work on him with her rod as if he were her enemy and 
accompanied every stroke with a new burst of abuse: 

"D'you feel that ... you no good pussy-eater ... you dirty thief ... you 
criminal ... d'you feel it...?" 

His chest and belly were already covered with red welts. He panted: 

"Yes ... countess ... dear countess ... thank you for the punishment ... 
beat me more ... but why doesn't the gracious princess beat me, too...?" 

"Go ahead and beat him...." Zenzi ordered me and threatened me with her rod 
so that I was frightened for a second. I beat him rather gently. He turned 
to me and remonstrated: "Please, gracious princess 

... do beat me harder ... or don't you want to punish me . 

.? 

I know I'm not worthy to be punished by you ... but have mercy on me and do 
beat me very hard ... please...." 

I hit him pretty hard this time and, to my great surprise, I felt I liked 
it. 

"Oh ... thank you ... thank you so much...." he stammered. 

"Shut up, you dog...." Zenzi yelled at him, "or I'll kill you...!" 

We had it nicely organized by now: Zenzi beat him on his chest, belly and 
thighs and I on his back and buttocks. The more he was beaten the more he 
seemed to enjoy it, but we, too, began to become quite excited. He lifted 
his hands in a plaintive gesture: 

"Oh ... pardon me ... countess ... I won't ever think of your beautiful 
teats any more ... pardon me, princess ... you are good to me ... oh, it 
hurts, it hurts very much ... I'm learning my lesson now ... I won't think 
of your cunt any more, countess ... you know ... I dreamed I was taking your 
virginity, countess ... but I know now one must riot do that ... and I also 
thought that I was fucking you, my dear princess ... that was not right ... 
I know ... you must pardon me for that...." 

Zenzi ordered him now to kneel down and to work on her clitoris for a while 
and then on mine. I became exceedingly horny and wondered when the actual 
fucking was going to start. 

At last the young man begged: 

"Stop now, countess ... I beg of you ... you, too, princess ... forgive me 
and let me finish...." 

I didn't know what he meant, or what was supposed to be done now, but Zenzi 
turned to me and demonstrated: 

"Here ... take him by the balls and squeeze them ... but be careful, not on 
the sides, but behind them where his cock begins ... and with your other 
hand you keep beating him on the thighs and wherever you can reach...." I 
did as she suggested and while I was doing my part, Zenzi beat his buttocks 
like mad so that he began to sob and groan like somebody in agony. But 
suddenly he ejaculated a flood of semen that hit me right in the face. 

"Ah ... countess ... princess...." he gasped. 

When he had finished, Zenzi threw the rod on the floor and dropped on the 
sofa quite exhausted. I squatted on the floor to wipe my face clean. I still 
hoped that strange man would fuck Zenzi or me, but nothing of the kind 
happened. He stared in front of him for a while and then he began to dress 
quickly without looking at either of us. Before he left, he stepped into the 
corner and put something on the broken-down armchair that stood there. There 
was no sound from him when he walked out of the door. 

As soon as the door was shut, Zenzi ran to that armchair and triumphantly 
showed me two bills of ten guilders each that the young man had put there 
for us. She held them high above her head and danced joyfully around the 
room. 

"How d'you like that...? That's good pay I'd say...!" 

She gave me one bill and tucked the other behind her elastic garter. I had 
to admit it was easy money, and yet, not quite so easy. I didn't quite know 
what to think of men who have to be beaten black and blue until they could 
ejaculate at last. Sex was not so simple as I had been led to believe, I 
thought. I knew I wouldn't like to be beaten myself and also that I had to 
overcome some initial revulsion to use the birch rod on that sad young man, 
but, at the same time, I remembered that I began to like it after a while 
and that it actually excited me. Did I know myself as well as I thought I 
did? 

I had no time to meditate on that because Zenzi reminded me that we should 
hunt up some more business. She suggested that we should separate and try 
our luck each by herself. 

"Just remember what I told you, Pepi! Watch out for the cops and always ask 
for the money first." 

We first had a snack at a small restaurant and then went our separate ways. 

"See you at home!" said Zenzi. "You've made more than enough money for the 
first day, but ... if you see somebody who looks promising ... try him 
anyway. And ... watch out!" 

 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 

I was so elated from my successful "premiere" that I decided not to hurry 
home yet, but to investigate the terrain on my own. 

About three in the afternoon, I was sauntering along on Kaerntner Street 
when I noticed a man was following me. He looked like an Italian, black eyes 
and hair and olive-colored complexion. Like many Italians and Frenchmen of 
that period, he was clad in a dark velvet suit. That, and a black goatee, 
gave him a bohemian-like appearance. I turned into the same small street 
where the old, uninhabited building was to which Zenzi and I had taken our 
first customer. I waited about two minutes in the house entrance when the 
"Italian" walked in and, without much further ado, touched my breasts, but 
not to play with them. He seemed to test them as a horse dealer feels an 
animal all over to see whether it was a good buy. We said almost 
simultaneously: 

"Well? Would you like to...." 

It's the standard question for buyer and seller alike. I added: 

"D'you want me to walk ahead? It's close by...." 

"Where?" 

"On Dorothea Street . . 

"But I don't want to come to your place...." 

"Okay," I consented, "if you prefer, we can stay right here...." 

"Here...?" He was astonished. 

"Sure ... on the staircase! There's nobody in this building ... we'll be 
quite undisturbed...." 

He didn't like that either. 

"I'll tell you what ... why don't you come to my place...?" 

I became cautious. "Is it far from here ...?" 

"No, but we'll take a cab anyhow...." 

"What's in if for me...?" 

"Don't worry your little head off...." he said with a grand gesture, "you'll 
be very well paid ... as a matter-of-fact ... I pay better prices than 
anybody else...!" 

I was impressed by his self-assurance, but I wanted to play it safe. 

"That's fine, but I've got to get the money first...!" 

He became urgent: 

"You'll get it soon...! As soon as we enter my place I'll pay you!" 

We walked back toward Kaerntner Street and he hailed a cab. When it began to 
move toward the address he'd given the driver, he said smilingly: 

"You think, of course, that I want to fuck you...." 

I smiled coquettishly: 

"Well, don't you...?" 

"No," he said, making a mysterious face, "I want something else . . 

"Aha! I know . . 

"Can you guess...?" 

"Minette...?" I was showing off my recently acquired knowledge of the term. 

"No...!" he laughed, "try again...!" 

"Perhaps ... from behind...?" 

He shook his head. 

"Ah, I know ... you want me to beat you...?" 

"Boy, you are familiar with all sorts of things. But no, not even that...!" 

"All right ... I give up...." 

"I want to take pictures of you ... photos ... you know...?" 

"Phot...?" That was a new word again. "Yes, photographs! Never heard of it? 
I want to photograph you in the nude ... in all kinds of positions...." 

I laughed. I'd never been photographed before and thought it was wonderful 
to get some nice pictures of myself. 

After a fifteen minute ride the cab stopped in front of a newly built 
bungalow that was enclosed by a large garden. It was a nice place consisting 
of several rooms and a large studio in back. We were received by a blowzy 
blonde in a red robe, her eyes heavily mascaraed. She nodded to me and 
exclaimed: 

"Yes, I believe she will do fine...." 

"Okay, but let's hurry," the photographer said, "we must take advantage of 
the light...." 

"Do you want me to get Albert...?" she asked. 

"What a question! You know we can't start without him...!" 

She was about to leave, when he stopped her: "I'd better get him myself ... 
you stay here. The two of you ought to be ready when I come back...!" 

He walked toward a tenement house next to the garden, and she turned to me: 

"He's too damned jealous to let me alone with Albert even for a minute...!" 

She led the way to the studio which had a glass ceiling and tall windows. 
After moving a chest, she opened a hidden door in the wall behind it. It 
opened into a very small room lighted only by a small window near the 
ceiling. "You'd better get undressed," she said. 

I was surprised to see her take off her robe, too. She looked at me: 

"Undress completely, take off everything except the shoes and stockings ... 
you know you'll be photographed in the nude...." 

She was standing in her light shirt and waited until I was undressed. She 
examined my body and asked: 

"How old are you...? Fourteen...?" 

"Not quite...!" 

"My husband must have told you what he needs you for...." 

"Yes, he did...." 

She slid off her shirt and smiled at me: "Fine! You'll see what it's all 
about and how it's done...." 

I was surprised to see her naked, too. 

"Oh ... is he going to make pictures of you, too...?" 

"Of course...." she laughed. "Up to now I was his only model. We couldn't 
find a suitable girl, and what's more we have to be very careful about our 
choice ... Then, most of the professional models ask for too much 
money...."How much am I going to get ...?" 

"You needn't worry ... you'll be satisfied...!" 

I liked the friendly way she said that. 

I smiled: "Okay, then I won't worry...!" 

"Since he has me, he wouldn't have looked for another model, but this time 
he needs a young girl like yourself ... he has a special order from a 
customer...." 

"But you are also young...." I wanted to pay her that compliment. 

"Thanks...." she laughed, "my teats are, thank God, still firm, see...?" 

She was weighing her large breasts in her hands. 

"They are beautiful...!" I said. 

"Want to feel them...?" 

I tested them and found them to be really hard and elastic. She touched her 
belly: 

"Only here I'm a little too fat...." 

"I wouldn't say that...." I flattered her. She slapped her mighty thighs. 

"And look at these two columns ... when Albert looks at them he's horny in a 
jiffy...." 

"Well, that's natural...!" 

"But it makes my husband mad ... on the other hand, how could he make any 
good pictures if Albert doesn't get a hard-on...?" 

I began to understand what this was all about. Her husband came back and 
called us: "Come out here to the studio...." 

Next to him stood a boy of about eighteen, nicely dressed and of an athletic 
build. He had a sun-tanned face, small, thick ears and a broad, red nose. I 
liked his slim and yet sturdy figure. He must have been a messenger boy, or 
apprentice of a sort. 

"All right, Albert," said Mr. Capuzzi (that was the photographer's name), 
"go to the room in the back and get your clothes off. And hurry...!" 

Then he turned to me and looked me over: "Not bad, eh ..?" he said to his 
wife. 

"Yes, just what you needed...." 

"These little teats are nice ... like a virgin's...." 

"Yes ... they're still growing! And so is the whole girl...." 

"Lean hips, like a boy...." he said. 

"And not much hair on her pussy...." 

Both seemed to be quite satisfied with me and Mr. Capuzzi said I was going 
to be satisfied, too. He moved his large camera into place and, covering his 
head with a black cloth, he looked at us. It was the first time I saw a 
photographer at work. 

Now Albert came back from the dressing room and gloried in his virile 
nakedness. His joy-stick stood at attention and I liked the big smile he 
gave me when he noticed my fascinated stare. 

Mrs. Capuzzi laughed: 

"Ha! Good boy! He's got a wonderful hard-on...!" 

Mr. Capuzzi muttered angrily: 

"Just mind your own business...!" 

Albert was a well-built youth, his arms, legs and thighs swelling with pure 
muscle, a concave belly and-what I appreciated most-the extremely well 
developed "muscle" standing up straight and hard from his pubic hair. 

Mr. Capuzzi called us to order. 

"What's your name...?" he asked me. 

"Pepi...." 

"All right Pepi ... pay attention now...!" 

He pushed a low bench, covered with a small rug, toward the center of the 
room. 

"Albert ... you sit down, right in the middle ... Melanie, you sit on his 
right ... and you, Pepi, on his left...." 

We did as we were told. 

"Now, girls ... each of you put your fingers around his cock ... yes, that's 
it ... and you, Albert, put your arms around the shoulders of each girl ... 
good! And now ... hold still...." He disappeared behind the black cloth. 
"That's good...." his voice sounded muffled, "don't move ... both of you 
girls look at Albert ... good ... and you, Albert, turn up your eyes like 
being overcome by pleasure ... that's it...." 

Albert's prick was so big that our combined hands couldn't cover it 
completely. The tip was still visible. 

Mr. Capuzzi counted: 

"One ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... okay!" 

We got up to stretch ourselves, but Capuzzi ordered: 

"Now another position...!" 

"Which one...?" asked Melanie. 

"Albert, you lie down...." said Capuzzi. Albert lay down the length of the 
narrow bench and let his legs dangle on the floor. 

"Now ... you, Melanie ... stand over him with a leg on each side ... wait 
... I'll put a cushion under your feet so that you're taller...." 

Without the cushions Melanie's short rump would have rested on Albert's 
thighs. 

"And now bend forward and support your arms on the sides of the bench, so 
that your teats almost touch Albert's face." 

"I remember ... we've done that before...." 

"No ... not the way I'm going to arrange it now...." Capuzzi said. 

"Albert, you take Melanie's teats in your hands...." 

The boy obeyed only too willingly and immediately began to play with the 
nipples. Melanie complained: 

"He's turning me on again...." 

"Hey, Albert...." shouted Capuzzi, "you keep your hands still, or else...!" 

Albert's hands didn't move, but now it was Melanie who tried to move her 
breasts in his palms. 

"See...?" Albert said. "She's doing it herself...." 

"Melanie ... behave yourself...!" 

"I can't help it ... I'm too excited...." 

He ignored her and turned to me: 

"Pepi, you take Albert's cock and put it into her hole, but don't take your 
hand off it ...!" Melanie didn't wait for my assistance and had the boy's 
stick in her cunt in no time at all. She sighed: 

"O God ... all this posing ... it's torture...." 

"Melanie...!" he yelled at her, "don't put it in all the way ... Pepi's hand 
can't be seen...." 

She lifted her fanny so that only Albert's glans was in her. She asked 
plaintively: 

"Now ... is it better this way...?" 

"That's fine, now...." he agreed. 

"No, no...!" Melanie protested, "it's going to slip out this way . . 

She promptly lowered her hips so that only my hand prevented her cunt from 
swallowing up that cock down to its root. 

"Hell's bells, Melanie!" Capuzzi cursed her, "you pull back the way you were 
... we're trying to get a good photo, d'you hear me...? Just control 
yourself...!" 

She made a face and raised her hips a little, but suddenly she pushed down 
on the cock again so that it disappeared from view. 

"Why don't you like it this way?" she commented. "It looks good, too...." 

Capuzzi came over and whacked her fat behind. 

"Who are you trying to fool ... you bitch? You want to fuck ... we've got to 
take a photo now ... keep still...!" 

"Once I got the cock in me it's fucking, anyway...." she argued. "You're 
splitting hairs...!" 

"The hell I am...!" he said angrily. "How often do I have to explain to you 
the difference between feigning and the real thing, eh...? We are merely 
simulating various positions so that it looks like the real thing, but we're 
not doing it! My wife is not going to be fucked by anybody but myself! And 
don't you forget it!" In those days I was gullible enough to believe in the 
subtle difference that Capuzzi tried to define for us. Today I can't help 
smiling at the strange code of honor of that jealous husband. 

The pulsating of Albert's prick excited me and I slid my hand a little 
upward so that I touched Melanie's labia. I felt how she contracted them 
every second so that Albert became more and more horny. Melanie sighed: "How 
much longer will it take...?" 

"It's over soon ... just smile and look at the camera ... that's it ... you, 
too, Pepi ... one ... two ... three ... four ... five ... click!" 

Melanie got off Albert's cock and whined: "One more minute and I'd go out of 
my mind! What a torture for a healthy woman...!" Albert lay on the bench 
without moving. Capuzzi ordered: 

"Now Pepi plays Melanie's part and you, Melanie, put Albert's cock into 
Pepi's hole ... quick...!" 

"D'you want me to hold Pepi's teats?" asked Albert. 

"Go ahead...." Capuzzi encouraged him. Albert smiled at me and played with 
my teats. When Melanie inserted his stick into me, he began to move it up 
and down so that Melanie had to pull her hand back. She complained to her 
husband: 

"You don't say anything this time...!" 

"Hold still, kids!" Capuzzi said and began to count while Melanie touched 
Albert's cock to give the impression she was assisting us. 

"One ... two ... three ... finished!" 

Now Albert and I started to fuck with enthusiasm. 

"Will you stop this minute...!" yelled Capuzzi. "First we've got to take all 
the pictures. You can fuck later, if you want to...!" 

During the next position Albert remained where he was and Melanie knelt 
before him and took his tool in her mouth. 

"Only the tip ... Melanie! It's mere make believe...!" 

I had to stand over Albert's head and offer my grotto to his mouth. He 
demonstrated his skill by letting his tongue beat a tattoo on my clitoris, 
but after a few seconds of this he stopped and merely feigned. Melanie 
squinted over to her husband who had disappeared behind the black cloth and 
from the working of her cheeks I could see she was sucking away like crazy. 

"One ... two ... three...." we heard Capuzzi intoning, "and ... done!" 

Albert quickly gave me a few licks before I straightened up. Capuzzi called: 

"Girls you change positions now...!" 

When I closed my lips around Albert's tool I showed him that I was no novice 
at the art. He was so excited by now that he didn't feign eating Melanie's 
pussy, but moved his tongue on her clitoris quite realistically. She began 
to pant and tried to hide her excitement and was grateful when her husband 
called from behind the black cloth: 

"Melanie ... try to caress your own teats ... kiss your nipples, or 
something...!" 

Now she could hide her emotions by burying her face in her breasts, which 
she could comfortably lift up to it. Suddenly she moved her hips so that 
Albert's tongue missed and gave a smacking sound. Capuzzi came running: 

"Albert ... you no good bastard ... you're actually licking her pussy...!" 

"No ... not really...." Albert's voice was muffled under the weight of 
Melanie's body. 

"I hope you're not lying...." Capuzzi stooped to examine the situation. 

"Don't be ridiculous...." shouted Melanie, "he doesn't do a damned 
thing...!" 

"Is that so? Your face is quite red ... and you're breathing to beat 
hell...." 

Melanie faced him angrily: 

"What d'you expect...? Naturally I get excited every time I have to do this 
... I'm a human being of flesh and blood ... not a piece of wood! Just let's 
get it over with!" 

While her husband crawled back under his black cloth, she quickly rubbed her 
slit against Albert's tongue which reacted accordingly, but Capuzzi was 
hurrying now: 

"One ... two ... three ... and ... finished!" We jumped up and looked at 
Capuzzi. Melanie was trembling all over and her nipples stood up stiff and 
hard. 

"What next...?" she queried. 

Capuzzi reflected for a moment, then: 

"Now Albert will lie on top of you and Pepi will offer you her pussy...." 

"No, I don't want to eat her pussy...." 

"But, jeez, you don't have to ... you just feign it . . 

"No, I don't want it ... period!" Melanie said energetically. 

"Okay...." Capuzzi agreed, "then Pepi will lie down and pretend to eat you 
pussy...." 

"I know something better...." she interrupted, not wanting to lose the 
opportunity of getting Albert's prick into her. "Why can't Pepi just play 
with my teats...? It looks much better that way ... not so perverse, you 
know...." 

He gave in because he wanted to take all the pictures before the sun got any 
lower. I knelt on the floor next to the bench and began to work on Melanie's 
teats while Albert tried to keep his prick in her hole without moving. But 
my tongue excited her too much and she moved her hips violently so that 
Albert's stick moved in and out of her cunt. Capuzzi noticed it, came over 
and slapped her face soundly. 

"I told you not to fuck, you bitch...." 

"I didn't do anything...." Melanie panted. "You did, too ... you always do 
... I know you!" 

"You rude bastard! Pepi was sucking my teats and that made me move ... I 
couldn't help it...." 

"Pepi, you stop sucking...." he ordered, then he yelled again at Melanie: 

"You're using all sorts of excuses every time ... don't you think I know you 
want Albert to fuck you? You ain't fooling anybody...." 

"Leave me alone ... I told you I'm not a stone ... getting such a big prick 
into me I should pretend I don't feel it, eh? What miracles d'you expect of 
a woman...?" 

Capuzzi became conciliatory: 

"You know I'm going to fuck you later on ... can't you wait another hour or 
so...?" 

He went to the camera, counted up to three and clicked. 

"Now I've got to go to the darkroom ... if you won't behave until I come 
back ... I'll break every limb of yours...!" 

He disappeared into another room. 

"Jeez, what I've got to go through every time...." Melanie sighed, and 
Albert remarked: 

"I wouldn't mind shooting my gun off soon either...." 

"Albert, dear, wouldn't you like to fuck me just once...?" Melanie drooled. 

"Sure," he said, "but it can't be done ... you know...." 

Melanie carried on like a bitch in heat. She turned to me: 

"You have no idea how I like that boy! I'd give anything to be fucked by him 
only once ... O God...!" 

"But why don't you do it...?" 

"Because...." she pointed to the door through which Capuzzi had disappeared. 

"Can't you do it right now ... a quickie...?" I asked. 

"No, he'd see it at once." 

"But how? He's in the other room...." 

She pointed to the yellow glass panes in the door: 

"Through that he can see everything that goes on here!" 

She turned to Albert and moaned : 

"We've been working together for two months, now, haven't we, Albert...?" 
Then to me: 

"For two months I've been feeling his huge prick all over my body, in my 
hand, between my teats, in my cunt, in my ass, in my mouth, in my armpit ... 
anyplace ... and all he's permitted to give me is the tip, never the whole 
thing ... it just drives me nuts...." 

Albert concurred: 

"She's right ... if he doesn't want me to do it to his wife, he shouldn't 
offer her to me in all those positions ... I'm not made of stone either...." 

"Yes, that's mean...." I said. 

"You said it...." pouted Albert, "I see her naked and he makes me grab her 
teats ... and I know her cunt like I fucked her sixty times ... but he never 
lets me do it ... that's not fair . . 

I sympathized with him: 

"Well, how do you shoot off your gun, after all?" 

He blushed. 

Melanie laughed: "The Italian way!" 

"How's that...?" 

Melanie laughed again: 

"Maybe you'll see it if my husband makes him do it for another picture ... 
he needs new photos like that pretty often...." 

Capuzzi came in, scowling: 

"The last position didn't come out right ... we've got to do it again ... 
and that's your fault...." he pointed an accusing finger at his wife. "You 
kept wiggling your ass all the time...." 

We went into the same position again. Albert dipped the tip of his prick 
into Melanie's cunt, I took her by the teats and Capuzzi clicked. Albert 
kept lying on Melanie and moved his prick in her cunt so forcefully that she 
exclaimed: 

"Ah , ... Jesus and Mary ... ah...." 

With one forceful jerk Capuzzi pulled the boy off her, who muttered under 
his breath: "Never mind ... some day I'll fuck her, but good...!" 

"Over my dead body!" yelled Capuzzi. Melanie was too aroused to stay quiet 
and shouted at her husband: 

"If you don't want him to do it then do it yourself now ... I can't stand it 
any longer...." 

Capuzzi was furious: 

"How am I to do this work if you can't wait ... no, I won't do it now ... 
just because you are such a bitch...!" 

Melanie worked on her slit with her finger. "You come to me this minute, or 
I'll call Albert...!" 

Capuzzi turned to the boy and myself: 

"Get the hell out of here ... I'll call you when I need you...." 

We didn't have to be told twice and ran to the small dressing room. I 
flopped down on the floor and Albert was immediately mounting me. It was 
good to feel his giant-sized cock in me. He whispered: 

"Ah ... I'm so glad you are here ... at last I get a decent fuck ... I'll 
hold back for a while ... because you have such a nice and tight little cunt 
... ah ... that's good ... yes, push against me ... that's good ... wait ... 
wait ... I'm going to suck your teats...." 

"Oh, Albert...." I said, "I've been waiting for this ... those damned 
positions have made me quite horny ... your cock feels so good ... what a 
splendid cock you have ... you don't have to hold back ... I've come twice 
already ... yes ... shoot your gun now ... shoot ... ah...." 

When we had finished we listened to Capuzzi and Melanie who were still busy 
with each other in the studio. 

"No, no ... don't come yet...." Melanie begged. "I need it badly ... don't 
come now ... I need to be fucked much longer ... give it to me ... push some 
more...." 

"Ha...!" we heard Capuzzi grumble. "You'd like to be fucked by Albert, I 
guess...." 

"Albert...? He can kiss my ass ... who needs him...? Just fuck me ... you're 
good ... give me your lips ... yes ... and your tongue ... ah...." 

The rest was a series of moans and sobs. Capuzzi asked: 

"Can I come now ... your teats make me too horny ... I've got to come . . 

"Yes ... you can come ... now ... ah ... I don't need Albert any more ... 
when you fuck me ... I don't need anybody else ... ah ... you're sweet...." 

They had finished, but Capuzzi wanted to know: 

"Tell me, why does Albert always turn you on...?" 

"But, you don't understand...." Melanie cooed, "when Albert's prick is in my 
mouth, or in my cunt ... or when he puts his lips to my cunt ... I always 
think of you only...!" Albert laughed and said: 

"Aw, nuts! She's lying ... you've seen how much she wants me ... she's even 
said so...." 

"Sure," I said, "but why have you never fucked her?" 

"It just can't be done...." 

"But ... why...?" 

"Because that guy is watching her like a hawk...." 

"But he isn't always at home...." 

"You never can tell with him ... he's shrewd and he has a way of turning up 
at the most unexpected moment...." 

"So what ...?" 

"It's not as easy as that...." Albert was serious. "You don't know the guy. 
He's an Italian and like most of them he's as jealous as hell and capable of 
doing anything. And he's stronger than me...." 

"He doesn't look it...." 

"Just wait until you see him naked...." 

"When would that be...?" 

"Oh, sometimes he lets Melanie take pictures of him...." 

"That's interesting!" I wished he'd let me take Melanie's place in that 
situation. 

"Do you know," Albert asked, "how often he fucks his wife every day...?" 

"Well...?" 

"Seven or eight times ... and that's the truth!" 

"But how come she's always so horny...?" 

"To be fucked by the same guy all the time doesn't satisfy her, I think ... 
at least, she told me it's getting monotonous...." 

Capuzzi called us back to the studio. 

"Come on in, we've got to do a new position...." 

He was in his shorts and undershirt and his face was just as flushed as 
Melanie's. She seemed to be satisfied and looked more relaxed. Pointing to 
Albert's limp tool, she said to her husband: 

"Look! These two have done it, too...!" She asked me in a low voice: 

"Is he good...?" 

"He's out of this-world...!" I said, to make her a little jealous. 

Capuzzi looked distressed: 

"What are we going to do if Albert has no hard-on?" 

Melanie laughed: 

"You can take his place ... I can do the photographing, you know...." 

Capuzzi undressed and I admired his broad chest full of black hair, and his 
very muscular arms, but especially that tremendous penis, coming out of his 
bushy-haired underbelly. He moved toward me, but Melanie protested: 

"No ... you can't do that! Do that queer act with Albert, but leave the girl 
alone...!" 

"We've got a lot of those queer acts ... so why waste a new plate...?" 

"I don't want you to pose with Pepi ... that's all!" 

"You're unfair...." said Capuzzi. "I let you simulate all kinds of positions 
with Albert, so why can't I simulate positions with Pepi...?" 

"Oh, no...!" Melanie was stubborn. "I know you too well ... you'll get horny 
at once...!" 

"That's nonsense ... and suppose I do get horny ... then I'll do it with you 
again!" Melanie was weakening. 

"All right ... but be quite sure you only simulate...!" 

I lay down on the little bench and spread my legs as far as possible. 

"Now, this is how we're going to do it," said Capuzzi and put my legs over 
his shoulders. 

"Now, go to the camera...!" he told Melanie and stuck his prick into me. 

"That's too far in...!" called Melanie. "Be careful...!" 

She needn't have worried, because as soon as Capucci's prick was in me about 
six inches, half of it was still outside, but my hole could not hold any 
more than that. 

"One ... two ... three ... finished!" reported Melanie. 

Now Capuzzi sat on a chair and planted me on his cock from behind and made 
me face the camera. He slid his hands under my armpits and got hold of my 
teats. I began to move a bit, but he whispered: 

"Careful ... not now...!" 

Melanie also took this picture in a hurry. Capuzzi would have liked to let 
us pose another group, but since Albert's tool could not be made to stand up 
any more, we had to postpone it. Capuzzi gave me five guilders and said: 

"You know where I live now. Be sure and come the day after tomorrow so we 
can continue our work." 

 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 

There was still time to go back to the inner city and look for Zenzi. I met 
her at St. Stephen's Square and went with her to her room to show her what 
I'd earned. She was quite pleased, but complained that she hadn't been able 
to find any customers. She was reclining on the sofa and I saw that my 
description of all the positions I had to assume at the photographer's place 
had excited her. 

"Damn it," she exclaimed, "now you've made me horny with that story ... boy, 
if only somebody would fuck me now!" 

I shared her feelings and joined her on the sofa, trying to do the lesbian 
act she had taught me at home. She seemed to have changed somehow. She 
wasn't that complaisant, almost passive girl who always yessed Rudolf at 
home. Her glittering eyes had a new, almost defiant expression. We played 
with each other's teats, but when I was about to mount her, she pushed me 
away and said: 

"Aw ... that's not the real thing...!" 

She got up and opened the door to the kitchen. 

"Say, Mrs. Bock ... she called to the old woman, "is Karl at home...?" 

The old hag came to the door: 

"Yes, he's here ... what d'you want with him...?" 

"That's none of your business .. Zenzi said in an abrupt manner I had never 
noticed in her before. "Don't ask questions, but call him!" To my surprise 
the old wench didn't say anything and disappeared. 

"Who on earth is that Karl...?" I asked her. "The grandson of that old bitch 
... that's who!" 

She took something from the pocket of her dress that was hanging by the door 
and lay down again. 

"And what d'you want from Karl...?" 

"A good lay...." she said, breathing heavily. I was about to ask her why she 
was in such a strange mood today, when the door opened and a handsome boy of 
sixteen or seventeen entered. He would have been even more attractive if his 
general appearance and his face had not betrayed a lack of regular meals, 
and the wise-guy mentality of prematurely corrupted children. He had a 
half-smoked cigarette sticking from one corner of his full mouth and his 
grin showed more contempt than friendliness. 

"Hi Karl," Zenzi said, "take this guilder ... and now do it to me!" 

He sauntered over to the sofa, grabbed the silver coin and examined it from 
all sides before pocketing it. Then he began to play with Zenzi's teats as 
if he were not much interested and kept looking curiously at me. 

"Don't take so long ... Zenzi said. "What are you waiting for...?" 

He unbuttoned his fly and Zenzi poked her elbow in my ribs: 

"Just take a good look at that...! Have you ever seen such a gigantic prick 
before...?" Karl grinned complacently and revealed a cock to beat all cocks. 
It was really unique, almost frightening. It stood up at an angle and 
reached his navel. The glans alone was as big as another guy's whole tool, 
and so thick that I couldn't imagine how it would penetrate a cunt without 
tearing it apart. 

"How d'you like it...?" Zenzi asked me. "You got to admit it's worth a 
guilder...!" Karl threw his cigarette into a broken ashtray and mounted 
Zenzi without doing anything. 

"Hurry up...!" she said. 

"Put it in yourself...!" he replied rudely. Zenzi obeyed quickly and 
immediately began to emit a series of weird sounds and endearments: "Ah ... 
Karl ... my dearest ... fuck me ... fuck me ... not so wild ... I'm coming 
... you are my darling ... I love you ... I want to fuck only with you...." 

"Who needs you...? You can kiss my ass...!" he replied while moving his 
mighty tool in her. 

Zenzi couldn't take that and yammered: "Why d'you fuck me if you don't like 
me...?" 

"Because you give me a guilder ... if grandmother gives me a guilder, I fuck 
her, too...! Who cares...?" 

I had judged his facial expression correctly when he entered the room; a 
blase cynic of sixteen. The result of growing up in the work men's slum of 
Vienna. 

Zenzi pushed against him in a wild frenzy, while his thrusts became vehement 
as if he wanted to punish her. His animal-like crudeness excited me and I 
wondered whether I shouldn't offer him a silver guilder, too. 

He settled my indecision by leaving the room quite abruptly when he had 
finished with Zenzi. She asked him to stay, but he refused. 

"But why don't you want to stay for a while...?" she asked unhappily. 

"Because you bore the hell out of me, that's why!" and he banged the door. 

Zenzi hurled a drinking glass after him. It broke into a shower of 
splinters. 

"You damned stud, you...!" she yelled and then broke into tears. I'd never 
seen her like that and asked her why she carried on that way. 

"He's the only ... only one...." she sobbed, "I really care for ... that 
bastard ... but that's the last time I let him fuck me ... his rudeness 
makes me feel so bad after it's over that I'd be better off not to see him 
at all...!" 

I was perplexed to hear her confession of unrequited love. 

"But what about Rudolf...?" I asked. 

Zenzi shrugged: "Well, what about him...?" 

"I thought you liked him ... you always do what he wants...." 

Zenzi shrugged her shoulders again: 

"Rudolf ... yes, he's a smart guy, but he's old enough to be my father ... I 
sort of like him, but I don't love him...." 

This was the first time that the idea of love occupied my mind again since 
my experience with that young, well-dressed son of our land lord, Alois. He 
had inspired in me something more than mere sexual desire. While I'm writing 
this down, I can see Zenzi and myself sitting on that old leather sofa, in 
that dark, dreary room, and can hear our conversation all over again. It 
went like this: 

Pepi: "But, Zenzi, you always say Rudolf is the best fucker of them all ... 
that he makes you come at once...." 

Zenzi: "Aw, you say all kinds of things when you feel a big prick in you and 
your juices start running ... you talk the same way to your father when he 
lies on top of you and makes you come...." 

Pepi: "That's true...." 

Zenzi: "And after all, what d'you expect ... Rudolf and I have been together 
now for eight years...." 

Pepi: "What? You are no more than fifteen...!" 

Zenzi: "So what? My mother used to be his mistress ... eight years ago she 
died of consumption, and I was left alone. Rudolf took me in...." 

Pepi: " ... as mistress?" 

Zenzi: "No ... he just let me sleep on the floor of his tiny furnished room. 
I preferred it to living in an orphanage...." 

Pepi: "Why were you afraid of an orphanage...?" 

Zenzi: "I don't know ... perhaps because mother cried a lot when she was 
taken to the hospital and kept mumbling: "O God, if I die the poor girl will 
be taken to an orphanage ...!'" Pepi: "And where were you when she was at 
the hospital...?" 

Zenzi: "In Rudolf's place, naturally. Mother and I lived with him . . 

Pepi: "And what about your father...?" Zenzi: "He died when I was only two 
... I can't remember him at all...." 

Pepi: "What happened next...?" 

Zenzi: "Well ... Rudolf promised my mother he'd let me stay with him and 
that she needn't worry about it. When she heard that, her last hours were 
more peaceful...." 

Pepi: "It was nice of Rudolf to do that...." Zenzi: "Yes, it sure was. The 
first three or four months I slept on an old blanket on the floor, and 
Rudolf as usual in his bed he used to share with mother." 

Pepi: "And ... when did it all start...?" Zenzi: "Well, as I said, after a 
few months the weather became cold and Rudolf invited me to share his bed." 

Pepi: "Did he touch you the first night...?" Zenzi: "Sure! But he took his 
time, because he didn't want to frighten me, I guess. He put his finger 
under my shirt and stroked my slit very gently and then caressed my whole 
body...." 

Pepi: "What were you thinking when he acted that way...?" 

Zenzi: "I wasn't thinking at all ... it just made me feel good to be 
caressed...." 

Pepi: "But you didn't understand what he was really up to...?" 

Zenzi: "I did, too! After all, I often heard at night what was going on when 
he did it with my mother...." 

Pepi: "That's interesting ... it reminds me of my own experience when I 
watched my parents at night. And what did Rudolf do then...?" 

Zenzi: "Nothing else ... at least, not during the first week...." 

Pepi: "But that way he didn't get any satisfaction...." 

Zenzi: "Well ... the second week ... when his hand stroked my whole body 
again, he put my hand on his stiff cock...." 

Pepi: "What did you do...?" 

Zenzi: "Nothing ... I just held it and Rudolf whispered: "Now you are my 
mistress, my sweetheart ... just don't tell anybody about us, and you'll 
have a good life with me ... ' " 

Pepi: "And ... you liked that...?" 

Zenzi: "Sure, I liked it. First I was quite proud to have a lover, at my 
age, and then I was looking forward to having a "good life,' because I had 
had a lousy childhood ... never enough to eat, you know...." 

Pepi: "That makes sense...." 

Zenzi: "Then, I was always afraid to lie alone on that blanket on the floor, 
knowing that my mother was not there any more. As soon as Rudolf let me 
sleep in the bed with him, I lost all fear and cuddled against his warmth. 
Besides ... I'd have done anything he might've asked me to do...." 

Pepi: "Even if it had been something unpleasant...?" 

Zenzi: "Even then! I was afraid he'd throw me out if I didn't obey him...." 

Pepi: "Did he threaten you with that...?" Zenzi: "Yes! For instance, he 
often said that if I'd tattle on him, he'd throw me out at once, and then 
the police would pick me up and stow me away in some orphanage where the 
kids were beaten and didn't get much to eat...." Pepi: "Yes, it's much 
better to be able to sleep in a warm bed and hold a warm prick in your hand 
. . 

Zenzi (laughing) : 

. or get it into your pussy...!" 

Pepi: "I don't believe you got it in your pussy, all at once . . 

Zenzi: "No, not all at once! First, Rudolf put it in my hand and explained 
to me that a man puts it into a woman's hole, and he touched my pussy very 
gently to show me the critical spot where a strong male can do so much for 
us .. Pepi: "You had a good teacher, it seems .. Zenzi: "O yes, Rudolf was a 
very good teacher. He let me touch his balls and told me that it was there 
that the human semen was being produced, and that when the man was squirting 
his fluid into a woman, she becomes pregnant and gives birth to babies . . 

Pepi: "You had a great advantage over me. I didn't know all these details at 
first ... I had to find out gradually...." 

Zenzi: "Yes, Rudolf was a stickler for details ... he almost drew blueprints 
for me...." Pepi: "And ... that was all you two talked about...? Didn't you 
do anything...?" 

Zenzi: "Sure ... we did everything . . 

Pepi: "What d'you mean ... everything...? " Zenzi: "Well ... after he'd 
explained to me what fucking was all about ... he straddled me and we did it 
. . 

Pepi: "I can't believe that ... your pussy was much too small...." 

Zenzi: "Of course he didn't stick it into my pussy ... he merely rubbed his 
prick on the outside until he came. He explained to me that my hole was too 
small and we'd have to wait a few years until he could put it into me ... 
but when he fucked me between my thighs I got the idea how good the real 
thing must be...." Pepi: "Did he never do it from behind...?" Zenzi: "Sure, 
he liked it much better ... as a matter-of-fact, he didn't always want to 
shoot off his gun when he stuck it in, in front, only when he could fuck me 
in the rear!" 

Pepi: "You mean in the ass, I know...!" Zenzi: "What d'you mean ... in the 
ass...?" Pepi: "I mean he stuck his prick into your ass, didn't he...?" 

Zenzi: "What are you talking about...? That's not possible...!" 

Pepi: "Oh yeah? Three years ago Mr. Horak fucked me in the ass and squirted 
his juice in there, because my pussy was too small for his big prick." 

Zenzi: "Jeez! I've never heard of that ... imagine you telling me something 
new about fucking! Is it good...?" 

Pepi: "I can talk only of my own experience. I find it quite nice ... I come 
at once when I feel a good prick in my fanny...." 

Zenzi: "But ... but doesn't it hurt awfully?" Pepi: "Yes, at first! But when 
the prick has been lubricated, and especially when it's done the second time 
and your asshole is still wet with all the semen from the first number ... 
it doesn't hurt at all...." 

Zenzi: "Strange ... I've got to try that. . Pepi: "But why? Now you can be 
fucked in your pussy ... you don't need any substitute...!" 

Zenzi: "Perhaps not! Well, Rudolf put his prick only between my thighs from 
the back...." Pepi: "I know that, too. It feels good to have a warm stick 
rubbing you there . . 

Zenzi: "And Rudolf liked to come that way!" 

Pepi: "Did he do it any other way, too...?" 

Zenzi: "Yes, in my mouth . . 

Pepi: "Did you swallow the stuff...?" 

Zenzi: "Sometimes ... first I used to throw up ... but then I got used to it 
... after all, it's not poison . . 

Pepi (laughing) : "No, it's not poison ... and did Rudolf eat your pussy, 
too...?" 

Zenzi: "O sure ... he spent a lot of time licking my clitoris so that I felt 
really good and moaned like hell. He said he wanted me to get something out 
of it, too...." 

Pepi: "And you always wanted more of it, eh?" 

Zenzi: "Sure thing! It drives you plain nuts if somebody has a clever 
tongue...." 

Pepi: "Don't I know it! I wish we had somebody here right now who'd do it to 
us...." 

I remember that all that talk had us turned on so much that we had to 
masturbate each other to calm down somewhat. Then I continued to interview 
Zenzi about her sex education: 

Pepi: "How come your teats have become so big...?" 

Zenzi: "Rudolf said it's because he fondled them so much and also because of 
having sex so early ... when I was nine, my teats had already grown a bit, 
and I had some hair on my cunt...." 

Pepi: "And it was only Rudolf who fucked you...?" 

Zenzi: "No ... there were others, but Rudolf had told me always to watch out 
if somebody tried to fondle me and to be sure that nobody started any rough 
stuff...." 

Pepi: "You mean to tell me, he permitted you in those days to have sex with 
others...?" Zenzi: "O sure! He said it couldn't do me any harm to get more 
experience with other guys, as long as I stayed away from young boys. He'd 
kill me, he said, if he ever caught me with a young boy...." 

Pepi: "Strange! Wasn't he ever jealous...?" Zenzi: "No, he said he and I 
were friends and that was the important thing between us, because we 
belonged to each other, sort of ... and it felt good to belong to somebody, 
especially since my mother died...." 

Pepi: "Yes, I understand that ... but, tell me, why was he against your 
doing it with young boys...?" 

Zenzi (laughing): "That's simple ... they don't pay!" 

Pepi: "You mean ... everybody else gave you money, every time...?" 

Zenzi: "I should say so ... Rudolf explained to me that a woman must get 
something out of giving in to a man. He said I must get paid even if a guy 
was only touching my pussy with his hand ... Nothing is for nothing, he 
said...." Pepi: "O boy...! If somebody had trained me that way, I'd have a 
lot of money by now ... I was really stupid ... I can see that now...!" 

Zenzi: "See? And that's why I stay with Rudolf all the time. He's sharp, and 
you can ask him about anything. That guy knows a lot of answers." 

Pepi: "But if he's such a good businessman, why did he let my father fuck 
you for nothing...?" 

Zenzi (laughing): "Don't be silly! What d'you mean for nothing...? When your 
father started fucking me, we stopped paying rent. Didn't you know...?" 

Pepi: "No, I didn't ... you know, this is really mean...!" 

Zenzi: "But why?" 

Pepi: "Because he fucks me for nothing, your smart Rudolf ... he never pays 
me!" 

Zenzi: "O yes, he does, though not with money...!" 

Pepi: "I don't understand...." 

Zenzi: "The fact that he didn't tell the police when he found out about you 
and your father is a sort of payment, isn't it ...?" 

Pepi: "That's a strange sort of bookkeeping...! I don't like that! I won't 
let Rudolf fuck me any more...!" 

Zenzi: "Okay, I really don't care one way or the other...." 

Pepi: "Let's forget it. Tell me how you started earning some money that 
way...." Zenzi: "Well ... my first customer was the grocer at the corner 
store. He always stroked my hair and gave me strange looks, and I told 
Rudolf about it." 

Pepi: "And what did Rudolf tell you...?" Zenzi: "He told me to do anything 
the man would ask me to do, but not without asking him for some money...!" 

Pepi: "And the grocer paid you...?" 

Zenzi: "Sure ... but very little, the first time. Just some small 
change...." 

Pepi: "But, God ... you were so young ... how did you do it ...?" 

Zenzi: "It was easy! He often stood in front of the store when I passed by, 
and I just smiled at him...." 

Pepi: "Okay ... and what then...?" Zenzi: "And he invited me to come in...." 
Pepi: "Go on ... go on...!" 

Zenzi (laughing) : "Well, he showed me the dried prunes that were displayed 
in baskets ... also the figs ... and he said he would give me some prunes or 
figs...." 

Pepi: "If you did what...?" 

Zenzi: "If I showed him the fig I had between my legs...." 

Pepi: "That's a new name for cunt ... what next ...?" 

Zenzi: "I was silent, at first, and let him repeat his offer ... I like to 
eat figs, but I remembered what Rudolf had taught me and then told the man I 
didn't want any figs, or prunes ... He was astonished and asked me what I 
wanted instead ... I looked at him with a big smile and said: "Money!' " 

Pepi: "And what did he do...?" 

Zenzi: "He looked quite surprised, but then he raised my skirt and played 
around between my legs ... then he pulled out his prick and stuck it between 
my thighs and after a while he came...." 

Pepi: "And then...?" 

Zenzi: "He gave me a handful of small coins and told me not to tell a 
soul...." 

Pepi: "And you didn't ...?" 

Zenzi: "I told Rudolf and gave him the money...." 

Pepi: "And did you go back to that store...?" Zenzi: "Sure! I bought 
everything that Rudolf wanted me to buy. And I didn't have to pay for 
anything...." 

Pepi: "Strange...! And who was next...?" Zenzi: "My schoolteacher . . 

Pepi: "Your teacher...?" 

Zenzi: "Yes, when I was in the fourth grade . . 

Pepi: "But he couldn't have paid you for it ...?" 

Zenzi: "That's what you think...! But let me tell you the whole story. There 
was a girl in our class who was more developed than the rest of us. She 
already had big teats and every time the teacher showed us some exercises in 
the gym, he pretended to help that girl when we had to climb up ladders, or 
were swinging at the rings...." 

Pepi: "How did he help her...?" 

Zenzi: "What d'you think? He grabbed her by the teats, or by her fanny...." 

Pepi: "And how did you get his attention...?" Zenzi: "I let him see that I 
was watching him and he blushed when he saw me smile at him in a certain 
way...." 

Pepi: "And did he try to "help' you, too...?" Zenzi: "Yes, but he put his 
hand under my armpits and I told him I was ticklish there. So he switched 
over to my teats that were still small, but quite distinct. And I kept 
smiling right in his face, and he blushed each time. One day he'd told that 
big-bosomed girl she must stay behind because she did something wrong when 
we exercised at the gym and he would show her how to do it ... I waited 
outside the school and when that girl appeared after half an hour, her face 
was quite red and I knew that something had been going on...." 

Pepi: "Did she tell you...?" 

Zenzi: "Boy, was she stupid! She asked me not to breathe a word to a 
soul...." 

Pepi: "About what...?" 

Zenzi: "She said that the teacher had a funny little club between his legs, 
and he said he would give her good grades if she'd let him stick it between 
her teats and also between her legs...."Just imagine,' that silly thing 
said, "he rubbed that stick between my thighs and suddenly some water 
squirted out of it ... ' " Pepi (laughing) : "She sure was silly...!" Zenzi: 
"I decided to do a good deed and told her the facts of life and from then on 
she knew what was going on whenever the teacher told her she had to stay 
awhile after lessons." 

Pepi: "And how did you get him, at last...?" Zenzi: "I always smiled at him 
so impertinently that he got sort of mad, I guess, and one day he told me to 
stay after gym, because he had to show me what I had been doing wrong when 
we were climbing ropes...." 

Pepi: "Aha! I can see what comes next...." Zenzi: "When he helped me 
climbing the rope his hand got under my skirt and the next moment he was 
tickling my cunt. We looked at each other and when he saw my steady smile, 
he took my hand and put it inside his fly. His prick stood at attention and 
I squeezed it a little and waited for him to say something...." Pepi: "Well 
... did he...?" 

Zenzi: "You bet! He said he'd give me good grades if Pd let him put his 
prick between my thighs ... I smiled right in his face and said I didn't 
need any good grades, but he could give me something else. When he asked 
what it was, I said: "Money!' He asked why he should give me any money. I 
told him that was not difficult to guess. I wanted to be paid for being 
fucked and also for not telling anybody that my teacher had fucked me . . 

Pepi: "Did he see it your way...?" 

Zenzi: "He seemed to hesitate at first, but I lifted my skirt and let him 
see everything. He grabbed me at once, but he couldn't find a comfortable 
position for us on that old, broken-down bench in the gym, so I took his 
prick in my mouth. He was so excited that he came in a few seconds." 

Pepi: "And he paid you...?" 

Zenzi: "He did, right away. He gave me a half-guilder!" 

Pepi: "Boy, he must have been afraid and wanted to be sure you wouldn't 
talk...." 

Zenzi: "I guess so, but on the other hand he often kept me there after 
class, from then on, and he always gave me half a guilder...." 

Pepi: "And how did you make the transition from Ottakring to the inner 
city...?" 

Zenzi: "Rudolf said that the real money was here in the center of town, and 
he brought me down here and showed me around so that I came to know the 
right streets. He also rented the room at old Mrs. Bock's for me ... she 
used to walk the streets, too, when she was young, so she doesn't give me 
any trouble. All she wants is the rent, and one guilder for every man I 
bring up here." 

Pepi: "Rudolf has been quite useful for you...." 

Zenzi: "Yes, and he says that you, too, could make a lot of money if you 
only knew the ropes ... How much did you earn today...?" 

Pepi: "Let me see ... two guilders from the young man on the staircase ... 
five guilders from the old guy ... ten guilders from your whip boy ... five 
guilders from the photographer ... that's twenty-two all together, minus two 
guilders I've got to pay Mrs. Bock here ... that leaves me twenty guilders! 
Boy, father will be surprised when I bring all that money home . . 

Zenzi: "You're not so silly as to give him all that money...?" 

Pepi: "Shouldn't I...?" 

Zenzi: "God forbid! Suppose you don't earn anything tomorrow, what then...?" 

Pepi: "Then I'll say I didn't earn anything . . 

Zenzi: "Jeez, are you naive! Look, I'll show you the way I'm doing it. I 
give Rudolf sometimes five guilders, sometimes only three, the next day 
maybe six, and another day only two. That way he is content and doesn't bawl 
me out. I learned the hard way. He used to slap me around when I, sometimes, 
came home without anything ... And, what's more, if you give them all the 
money, they'll buy more wine than usual and drink it all up ... don't you 
see...?" Pepi: "Yes, I guess you're right...." 

Zenzi: "Besides ... you are going to need some money for yourself ... Rudolf 
or your father won't give you any when you need it most ... perhaps to buy a 
dress...." 

Pepi: "But if I wear a new dress, father will see it and know that I kept 
something for myself . . 

Zenzi: "Don't be stupid! You always say that a gentleman gave you a present 
... you always get presents ... that's a rule ... And don't forget to be 
nice to your father. As long as you are nice to him, he'll be quite 
tame...." Pepi: "Now I know why you flatter Rudolf so much . . 

Zenzi: "Sure! Why antagonize him if a little friendliness makes everything 
simpler!" 

We got dressed and took a horse-drawn streetcar home. I gave father five 
guilders and he seemed a little embarrassed at first, but then he went out 
and bought some wine. When Rudolf learned of my successful day, he praised 
me and said I was going to be a first-class money-maker if I continued to be 
smart and sharp. Afterwards the men got drunk and I spent the night lying 
under my father. 

Next day, and all the following days, I went to the inner city, either with 
Zenzi, or alone. 

I caught on very quickly and learned how to treat the various types of my 
male customers. I made quite a bit of money and gave a certain amount of it 
to my father every evening. Since he could live on my earnings now, he 
didn't think of looking for work any more. He accepted my money and invested 
it promptly in bottles of wine. I didn't like to see him drinking night 
after night, but since nothing could be done about it, I let him be. 

Franz was working in some workshop in the eleventh district, at the other 
end of town. He was still an apprentice and slept with the master's 
maidservant. Lorenz, who had found out what was going on in our place, 
didn't show up any more and all the less so as he couldn't stand Rudolf. 

I followed Zenzi's advice and kept quite a bit of the money I earned. It 
came in quite handy, because my profession forced me to have nice, clean 
underwear and also good and pretty clothes. Unfortunately, Rudolf never 
permitted us to put on our most elegant clothes when we were in town 
"working." He said that, first, we would attract the attention of the cops, 
and, second, the men would think we were licensed prostitutes, which we 
weren't. We were so-called clandestine. 

In Vienna, licensed prostitution was a legitimate profession. The women had 
to undergo a weekly examination by the police physician to get a clean bill 
of health. If one acquired some venereal disease, she was immediately 
transferred to the police hospital and not discharged until she was 
pronounced cured. 

Therefore, being a clandestine prostitute was the most difficult job in 
those days. Rudolf introduced me to a doctor who told me what to look for in 
every customer, to recognize the symptoms of syphilis and gonorrhea as best 
as I could. It was impossible, of course, to play it safe all of the time. 
But I was very fortunate never to catch anything. A kind of sixth sense 
protected me every time when I wasn't quite sure whether a prospective 
customer was infected or not. In contrast to most of my "colleagues" I made 
the men talk. I asked them a lot of questions and, once in a while, a man 
betrayed himself through a verbal slip. Once I asked a very elegant 
gentleman to have a glass of wine with me but he said his doctor had 
forbidden him, temporarily, all kinds of alcohol. That "temporarily" put me 
wise: he had gonorrhea. 

Rudolf turned out to be a mine of knowledge and information. He told me 
never to visit a military barracks unless my customer was an officer. Also 
never to follow a man to his place if he acted funny in some way. It was 
always safer, Rudolf said, to ask men to come up to the little room in 
Dorothea Street. Frau Bock was always at home and at the slightest scream 
she'd come in, or send Karl who was a strong lad and could take care of any 
violent visitor. 

I don't remember many more details of those first years of my beginnings as 
a streetwalker, except what I've already written down. I only knew that, 
thanks to Rudolf, I could get away with remaining a "clandestine" who got 
the better customers simply because many men are too proud to let themselves 
be picked up by the "licensed" girls. Men like to believe they went to bed 
with a "loose girl," who is whoring around privately, which is not supposed 
to be the same as a licensed prostitute, although, to be honest, the latter 
is less likely to give him some disease, on account of her undergoing that 
weekly physical examination. 

As I mentioned in the middle part of these memoirs, I would not have 
followed the career of a prostitute if my father had not found out what my 
teacher, Father Mayer, had done to me. But being informed of my premature 
sex experience on the one hand, and suffering from an involuntary continence 
as a widower, and not having enough money to go to a prostitute, the 
temptation became too great for him. And it was thus that my fate was 
sealed. Rudolf's influence was only a natural consequence of that incestuous 
relationship with my father. It is sad that I can't think of my father with 
the respect children are supposed to feel for a parent, but I do feel great 
pity for him. When he was younger, he never had a chance to become more than 
a saddler journeyman and he made just about enough money to enable my mother 
and two brothers, (and myself, of course) to lead the miserable existence of 
a poor workman's family. Perhaps, if my mother hadn't died so soon, 
everything would have been different. 

Although my later career took me away from the street and into the milieu of 
better class people, my childhood and adolescence are best preserved in my 
memory. As far as those early days I spent as a clandestine streetwalker are 
concerned, they were a tough school and I was glad to exchange it for 
becoming the mistress of rich men. To earn money by satisfying lots of men, 
day after day, night after night, amounts to hard work, and it would be 
monotonous to talk or write about it. 

I slept with at least three different men each day, which-multiplied by 
365-amounts to 1095 men a year, which, in turn, comes to 32,850 men in three 
decades. It is difficult to remember to what degree I enjoyed these 32,850 
pricks and what their owners looked like, or how they behaved. Apart from 
that, it is not necessary to mention anything but characteristic episodes 
that give the reader a general idea of why a very young girl of the Austrian 
working classes became a whore, and how she went about doing it. 

If I should feel the need to write something down again, I may speak of the 
days when I had already acquired some refinement and what is commonly called 
culture. In other words, when I had become a high-class whore who looked 
quite harmless and respectable to the unsuspecting onlooker. For the moment, 
I feel satisfied to have spoken about the early days of my life which are 
more easily remembered than the later periods. 

The uninformed reader will become acquainted with how "the other half" 
lives, or used to live. Women are called the weaker sex, but when I consider 
what I had to go through, and how I came out victoriously, I don't believe 
in ever having been weak. Although I never had any "morals," my moral fiber 
has been stronger than many a man's. 

Women have served men as objects of pleasure since the days of antiquity. 
Men, poets and heroes, have spoken and written of Love and of beautiful 
women in the most idealistic terms. And what does it all amount to? When all 
that talk and declaiming about love and romance ends in a physical embrace, 
the motions and gestures are always the same. Sometimes the man lies on top, 
sometimes the woman. Both want to reach as many orgasms as possible. Some 
call it love, some call it sexual intercourse: that's all the difference 
there is. 

END OF PART TWO 


THE END
