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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cannes-d'Eau Episode 11: Relief of the Innocent {Varkel} (mF M+F Mm oral anal)
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Date: Mon,  8 Aug 2005 19:10:01 -0400
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Cannes d'Eau

Episode 11: Relief of the Innocent

A Series by Varkel
Summer, 2005



"Golly, Cal, this place is wild!" declared Arthur Maxmillian loudly to 
his bosom friend, Calhoun Gentry.  Both young men lounged side by side 
at one end of a long sofa filled with other revelers.  Their cravats 
were loosened and stiff collars opened.  The remainder of their 
clothing: jackets, trousers, underpants and high shoes, except for 
shirts, stockings and calf suspenders, had been surrendered to the maids
an hour ago.  In that time each had chosen a nearly naked -- in Cal's 
case, being a year older, fully naked -- courtesan of notable health, 
beauty and oral suction who had soon relieved each of momentary seminal
excess but continued to kneel on the carpet between their legs.  These 
well-painted young women, both several years older than the two lads, 
smiled sweetly whenever their lips released the masculine members, which
they tested gently but often as if hopeful of additional pearly drops.
Cal, already feeling the first returning tingle, thought of grabbing his
girl's head as he had during the earlier delirium and pumping himself to
completion again within her tight lips.  But he desisted, thinking that
the evening was young.  He had been here once before, though never on a
Saturday night.

"Told you so," he called complacently.  Artie's "wild" referred to the 
sexual excess that surrounded them: lolling men and mainly naked women 
on every hand.  He chuckled at the thought, because it seemed that 
almost every woman had been laid upon a hand -- and vice-versa.  
Boisterous fondling had reddened most breasts and upturned buttocks.  
Now the women squealed and giggled while men shouted recommendations 
and encouragement.  The noise was raucous.

Maids circulated, bearing wash basin and towels to any beckoning woman,
with chamber pots for one need and trays of canapes and champagne for 
its opposite.  Two massive housemen in formal clothing stood in the 
shadows, glowering balefully, their double-barreled shotguns near but 
out of sight, charged with "keeping the lid on" and most importantly, 
recording indulgences above the standard allowance so that proper 
charges could be rendered before the overenthusiastic customer might 
depart.

Though the day had been hot, the evening, now well advanced, was 
cooling.  The huge electric attic fans had already commenced their deep
and distant thrumming, ducting outside air that dispelled heavy tobacco 
smoke and cooled many fevered brows, breasts and genitals.  This was the
"game room" of the Cannes d'Eau, arguably the most famous established 
house of ill repute in the Mississippi Basin -- not excepting even New 
Orleans' fabled Storyville, on a Saturday "party" night in late July of
1906.

Cal was curious.  Because proximity offered the only chance of being 
heard at normal volume, he leaned forward over the head of his fellatrix
and said, "Looks like twice as many men as girls.  How do we rate 
keeping you two?"

She released his member, now fully re-erected, and grinned sunnily.  A 
small blob of semen lingered in the fine hair on her upper lip.  "You 
two's the youngest here."

He was sorry he asked, having already noted their beardless chins as a 
potential cause of challenge among so many beards, many of them gray.  
But he had to pursue it.  "Youth gets something special?"

"Everybody loves young juice."  She blinked as another reason for his 
question registered.  "Don't you like us?"

"Of course we like you.  I think my friend's in love with his girl."

She giggled but waved her finger in mock warning.  "Just for tonight."

"But with so many other men, how long can you stay with us?"

"Till Clancy says move."

"Clancy?"

She inclined her head.  "That bruiser in the shadows.  You shouldn't 
worry.  We all share the men.  You and your friend might like that.  
Ever try it?"

In fact this possibility, along with its disease-free reputation, was 
one of Cal's reasons for suggesting the Cannes d'Eau, though he had yet
to inform Artie fully.  He asked, "You'll take on two at once?"

"Sure."

"Both in the ... in the ..."

She giggled again.  The shrill soprano sound, distinctly feminine, 
seemed to resonate in his balls.  "Wherever you want to put them, 
honey."  A long pink tongue pushed through her grinning lips and licked
the tip of his organ, which promptly jumped, renewing her giggle.

"I love it when you do that!" he declared.

So she licked it again, but her face turned serious.  "You boys don't 
look like you need money, but you could earn some tonight, in case you 
didn't know."

"Doing what?"

"Fucking me together ... on that stage."

He followed her tilting head and realized that indeed the empty area 
comprising one corner of the room, its floor raised almost two feet 
above the rest, could be considered a stage.

"On the stage!" he repeated.  "You mean with everybody watching?"

"Sure.  Hey, you boys got nice dicks, big as most and bigger'n a lot, 
dicks to be proud of.  Why don't you show off a little?  I'd love to 
help you do it."

Cal chuckled to mask his embarrassment at the idea.  "Isn't that a 
little strange?"

"Not on Party Night!  See the gal yonder with the red garter?  She's 
sitting on one dick and sucking another."

He watched for a moment.  "D-does she like that?" he asked in evident 
fascination.

Gently the woman pinched his penis, nodded and laughed.  "She loves the
idea as much as this boy.  We all do."

"On the stage -- what's in it for you?"

"Oh, I get a little extra too.  But ...  I know you won't believe me, 
but what I really like is the fun."  She grinned hugely around strong 
teeth.  "I love two dicks in my pussy, showing off."

"In your p-pussy?" he breathed.

Artie joggled his arm.  "What's the discussion?"

Cal leaned close to his friend's shoulder.  "My girl wants us to put on
a show."

"A what?  A _show_?"

"Yeah.  Up on that stage, both of us on her at once.  Together in her 
pussy, no less!"

Artie's eyes were huge.  "Can a woman do that?"

"Hell, pussies pass babies!"

For a moment Artie stared.  His face twisted from disbelief to disgust.
"How degrading to the poor woman!"

"Oh, come on, Artie.  Even if she wants it?"

"Sharing her body!  I've read about white slavery."

"Shit, Artie!"  Cal leaned very close to his friend.  "She _says_ she 
loves to do it.  Nobody's forcing her.  I bet it'd be more fun than what
we did in your summerhouse."

Artie drew back.  "We said we'd never speak of that!"

"Who's speaking of it?  I only meant it as a compar--"

Whatever exactly Cal might have meant was interrupted by a female cry 
and the ignition thud of an arc lamp.  From a raised platform a blinding
light stabbed across the room to pin a gowned woman standing on the 
stage.  The pitiless glare revealed caked makeup, heavy paint, mascara 
and hennaed hair piled on her head, spotted with glitter.  Her gown 
dipped low in front, exposing a freckled bosom of pronounced cleavage.
She screamed again and clapped her hands, but it was the sudden light 
that actually brought silence.

"Gentlemen," she called, blinking into the brightness, "the Cannes d'Eau
welcomes you to Party Night in its Game Room and reminds you of its only
rule: 'No blame, no shame and no pain.'  Everything else goes!"

She paused for the obviously expected applause, which arrived with 
whistles and catcalls, and raised her hand to suppress it.  "Almost 
everything.  We'll do our best to see you don't go off with any jism 
left."

Amid a spattering of laughter someone called, "Or money!"

She grinned.  "Oh yes, which is even more important!"

The laughter increased.  When it died away, she continued, "I have the 
pleasure to be Ruth Bodkin, your hostess.  I've got an announcement to 
make then a new game to tell you about it.  I've heard many requests to
offer you good fellows more service.  Both items tonight are meant to 
do that."

Again they clapped and cheered.

"First the announcement.  I've taken advantage of the ... how shall I 
say this? ... of people's reluctance to live beside a bawdyhouse, 
however sweet its ill repute.  That is to say, some time ago I bought 
the old house next door on Beale Street from the Farrenburg heirs for a 
song.  It's got strong, doubled-bricked walls.  Major Farrenburg 
proposed to ride out the next Madrid quake in it.  Well, at least he got
to ride out a Yankee siege!"

The audience chuckled.

"The point about the brick is that I could lay long beams atop those 
strong walls to support the rafters then knock out all the interior 
walls and columns.  That part is being finished now, mostly as one big 
two-story room like our parlor, and a 16-foot fence has been run around
the backyard.  Gentlemen, beginning in August -- on Monday the 
thirteenth, if all goes well -- I propose to take advantage of a new 
development in art.  Being too modest to put my own name on it, I shall
create the Farrenburg Moving Picture Company and begin to make lewd 
movies on old Farrenburg's property."

The crowd stared at her in silent contemplation.

"And this is the best part," she continued.  "_You_ fine people are 
gonna be the movie stars!"

Groans and muttering succumbed to a burst of wild applause that soon 
died.

She grinned.  "And of course you can also be investors.  49 per-cent of
Farrenburg Pictures is for sale."

She chuckled fondly.  "Anthony, you remind me of a kid about to dive 
into the strawberry patch, licking your lips while looking over your 
shoulder.  Don't worry.  You can wear a mask when the cameras are 
rolling, just like you've done on this stage."

She raised her head to address them all.  "The movies we make will be 
shown here on Party Nights.  I'm sure you'll love to see yourselves 
doing the old in-and-out.  But they'll also be rented to other bawdy 
houses and even some regular theaters.  My inquiries in Chicago, 
New York, London, Berlin and New Orleans have drawn interested 
responses.  To avoid embarrassment, we'll agree to one restriction: 
we won't rent them to other houses here in town."

That produced laughter again.  Someone called out, "Then I want ten 
per-cent of Carter's dick!"

Over the laughter a woman's voice retorted, "But it's all up my ass!"

When order was restored, the madam said, "Note that we'll film in the 
backyard when the sun shines and indoors when it doesn't.  Tell Clancy 
or myself if you care to invest.  In the meantime, how many here tonight
would like to be lewd movie stars?  It pays $50 per movie plus 
residuals.  Raise your hands."

Most of the female hands rose along with a spattering of male.  The 
madam smiled slightly.  "Let Clancy know that too.  It'll be a while 
yet, of course.

"All right, gentlemen.  Now for our new game."

The arc light swung to the madam's left and lit another woman.  A great
deal more skin was visible on this one, all very white, with blue vein 
networks visible in breasts, belly and thighs.  Her body was voluptuous.
She wore blue silken gauntlets to above the elbow, blue silken slippers
on her feet, a blue silk opera mask and nothing else.  Bright red lips 
grinned at the audience, showing the tips of white incisors.  Long brown
hair curled gracefully behind smooth shoulders.  A heart-shape of 
trimmed pubes adorned her groin.  Her nipples protruded as if recently 
suckled -- which in fact they had been.

The madam held up a hand to stifle the spontaneous applause.  
"Gentlemen, I give you the countess Catchalot."

They clapped for the countess.  Someone called, "I'm a fish ready to 
bite."

"Isn't she fine bait?" asked the madam with a grin.  "Catchalot is not 
her real name, you understand, because I'm reliably informed we have 
Englishmen here tonight who might recognize it."

That generated a chuckle.

"The countess has been here once before.  The experience opened her eyes
wide -- among other things.  On that occasion she particularly enjoyed 
the taste of American jism because, she says, it is so much more 
vigorous that the European variety."

Applause ensued.

"So tonight we propose to give her what she has learned to crave.  
Cushions, please!"

Again the brilliant light swung, now to illuminate a three-step 
staircase that eased access from the floor.  A black maid appeared there
suddenly and deposited two blue silk cushions.  When she withdrew, the 
countess Cashalot reappeared and dropped gracefully to her knees upon 
the cushions.  Leaning back, she thrust her considerable chest toward 
the audience, grinning even wider and drawing further applause.  Finally
she hitched herself sideways, presenting her profile to the center of 
the room, and waited expectantly, heavy breasts lifting with her breath.

When the applause subsided, the madam continued, "Tonight each of you, 
as you again approach that sweet moment of crisis, is invited to hurry 
upon the stage and shoot your juice down the throat of the countess 
Catchalot.  Believe me, she's _thirsty_!"

Cheers rang out along with more applause.  Many women who had been 
lounging with only an occasional hand or tongue applied to resting 
partners soon found themselves bouncing upon groins or bent rhythmically
over the backs of couches.

The madam called above the lingering noise, "We even have a quick-shot 
volunteer to show you how it's done."

A slim young man, clean-shaven and naked except for a black mask of his
own, ran onto the stage, erection gripped in one hand.  The countess's 
mouth yawned expectantly.  He bent slightly and froze with the purplish
tip of his organ hardly an inch away.  Those in the proper line of 
sight, including Cal and Artie, clearly saw the white stream jet between
her lips.  He pumped himself, producing more but spoiling his aim.  The
next squirts painted her cheeks and chin, in response to which she 
reached up, caught the organ with the hand opposite the audience and 
slurped half of it into her mouth.  In the bright light her larynx 
bobbed visibly.

When the penis withdrew, she turned her wide open mouth to the audience,
tongue pushing a white gob out over her chin.  The audience went wild.
The grinning man bowed to the audience, receiving shouts and catcalls 
before turning away and departing the stage by means of a dimly 
perceived door in the rear wall.  A maid appeared promptly with a towel
and patted the countess's face carefully, leaving lipstick and composure
intact.

While this occurred, Cal, unable to contain his curiosity, leaned 
forward over his woman and demanded indignantly, "How could anybody be 
that quick?"

"Quick, hell!" was her retort.  "He's been fucking Mabel in the coat 
room for the last ten minutes, maybe longer."

"But still!  How ... how could he ..."

She grinned indulgently.  "He's learned to squeeze his dick and hold it
back."

Cal turned away impatiently from this fascinating information in 
response to Artie, who had clamped an upper arm through the shirt 
sleeve.  "What the hell is it?"

"That guy ... he came in her mouth!"

Cal had to chuckle.  "Like you did to somebody else just now."

"B-but she's a countess!"

"You think so?"

"A countess, Cal!  I can't think of anything more ... more ..."

"Delightful?"

"_Ghastly_!"

"Oh, yeah?  Then why are you licking your lips?"

"Good god, Cal!"

"If you want to whitewash her throat, get your girl --  Hey, where'd she
go?"

"My girl?  She's gone.  I don't know why.  I didn't do anything."

"I'll find out."

When asked, the remaining woman shrugged.  "I told you how Clancy might
send her off.  That's her bottom over there with the dick stuck in it."

Though she pointed, he could not distinguish which feminine posterior 
was meant.  Several met the condition.

The arc light swung back to the madam, who added loudly, "Meanwhile all
our regular party services will continue on until dawn.  For our 
first-time guests, please notice the four leather benches on the stage 
to my left."  The light swung farther and lingered briefly before 
returning to the woman.  "Any man or group who wishes may bring his girl
up to a bench and demonstrate his manly prowess for the world to 
witness.  Ask the maids for a mask if you're not too sure of yourself."

The arc light died redly amid laughter.  The background noise resumed.

Cal's woman jiggled his elbow curiously.  "You wanna jizz the countess?"

"Countess, my ass!"

She giggled and nodded.  "You're close!  But don't say it too loud.  
This ain't the place to quarrel with Madam Ruth."

"I think my friend wants to jizz her."

The woman's attention shifted to Artie and she smiled tentatively.  
"Well, then ..."

"Let me handle it."

He bent his mouth close to Artie's ear.  "My girl can work you up."

"Do what?"

"For the countess."

"God damn it, Cal --  Uh, she will?"

Cal caught the woman's shoulder and urged her over his leg to Artie.  
"Might need a little cranking."

She rose and leaned over the younger lad, hand descending with a grin.
"Wanta suck my boob a little?"

Artie made a strangling cry and promptly raised his mouth to the 
dangling nipple.  While one hand pumped him vigorously, she expelled a 
dollop of saliva into the other and applied it to her hovering vulva.  
After a moment, she settled gently over the lad's groin, guiding him 
securely home in the wet cavity.  He closed his eyes, slid his hips more
forward and arched his back, thrusting powerfully.  She worked her own 
hips circularly and returned the nipple to his mouth, which immediately
closed on it.

She smirked around at Cal, who raised his head to hear, "Young dicks 
practically crank themselves."

He smelled rosewater in her hair, along with the deeper scent of heated
woman, and blurted, "I'm going to fuck you too."

She grinned, rolling her hips more upward.  He got to his feet and 
turned, crouching behind her, hand gripping his erection, which throbbed
painfully.

She said over her shoulder, "You'll like it better up my bumhole."  Her
eyes studied him with a hint of suppressed amusement.

"What?  I don't want a shitty dick."

"I knew you'd say that!  Ain't no shit.  We all take enemas before Party
Night."

He stared at her.  She added, "Just wet it good first, you hear?"

"Don't you have something for that?"

"Yeah, if you want to wait.  Spit does just as good, if you use enough."

He worked up a quick mouthful, applied it sloppily and edged slowly 
forward.  Her hand caught him and urged him precisely.

"God!" he breathed.  "Feels like popping through a ring."

"Or a turned-around turd," she said, laughing.  "Ooo, that fills me up!"

He assayed a few thrusts but she had more to say.  "Too bad you wouldn't
go on the stage.  Did I tell you it pays $5 apiece?"

"Doesn't matter.  My friend would never agree."

"Huh!  Guess I don't care either.  So come on, we're off to a good 
start.  I _love_ two dicks when they fuck me hard!"

He bent over her long back and began to pump into her strenuously.  Just
beyond her shoulder Artie's eyes flew open.

"What the hell?" he demanded.  "What are you doing, Cal?"

"Fucking her too."

"What?  Not in her pussy!"

"Not this time.  Up her ass."

"My god!  That ... would explain it."

Cal laughed.  "She wants us to fuck hard."  He laughed again at Artie's
look of introspection, and felt a definite increase in compression.  The
woman moaned.

Both young men had already climaxed within the hour, so their recovery 
of the sexual thrill was delayed enough to please the woman.  After 
prolonged shuddering and squeaking through a clamped throat, she sagged
limply upon Artie, which he recognized as the ultimate stimulant.

"I'm about to come, Cal!  Let me up."

"Hold on to it," Cal advised, backing the woman away by her hips and 
releasing her to collapse on the sofa in his place.  He caught his 
friend's hands and pulled him sharply to his feet, turning to plot a 
path to the stage.

The lads were among the first in the room to reach orgasm a second time.
So far the countess had relieved only three others, the original "quick
shot," one old man slow to rise and a literal latecomer.  The old man, 
stub still dripping beneath a bulging belly, sat dazedly on the edge of
the raised floor beside the kneeling countess.  He and the woman watched
the approach of the two half-clothed youths.

"Here's two goodies for you," he said to her.

"Goodies indeed!" she breathed.  "They look like schoolboys."

Artie was almost bursting when he stumbled onto the stage.  His 
thrilling member popped directly into the woman's mouth.  He was 
conscious only of the need for relief, unaware of Cal's hands supporting
his hips.  She did not immediately appreciate the extent of his crisis 
and closed her mouth around the fat organ, applying tongue and suction 
in expectation that a last bit of stimulation might be needed.

Trembling with excitement, he filled the back of her throat with rich 
seminal fluid.  She almost strangled but managed one clearing cough 
nasally.  Then she relaxed the compression and simply held the still 
flowing organ between loose lips, swallowing as needed.  Artie was 
content for her to do so.  His knees were wobbly.  Never in his short 
life had he felt such ecstasy.

Cal misinterpreted his stillness.  "What's the matter?  Can't you come?"

The old man advised enviously, "Pump in and out, boy, pump in and out!"

The countess's lips were clearly smiling despite the considerable lump 
between them.  Her eyes sparkled with a fondness discernible despite the
mask.  Artie's heart, weak as his knees, was hers.  He whispered, "I 
love you, countess."

"What did you say?" asked Cal, hand now working his own foreskin.  
"Hell, let me in there.  You can try again in a moment."

This reasonable request invigorated the younger lad.  "No!" he declared
vehemently.

Astounded at such stubbornness, Cal drew back to stare at his friend, 
who stood slackly, continuing the study of his new love.  Cal snarled, 
"You ninny, after all this!  Damned if I'll spill it on the floor."  He
shoved Artie's hip roughly, sending him stumbling off the stage, and 
immediately thrust himself into the woman's face.

She smiled up at him with similar indulgence and accepted the straining
erection.  Merely mouthing it, she seemed reluctant to suck at first.  
Cal began the in-and-out with his own hips.  Finally she responded with
strong suction and tonguework on the knob.  One arm encircled his back 
while the other hand pumped his shaft.

Cal's thoughtless shove might have injured his friend.  Artie had 
sprawled atop the female half of another coupling.  Clancy, the massive
houseman, frowned and took a step closer.  With a quick apology to the 
glaring woman, Artie levitated back onto the stage and shoved Cal in 
return, breaking him free of the woman's embrace possibly one second 
before the crisis.

Cal spun to face his friend.  "God _damn_ it, Artie, what's wrong with 
you?"

White of face, the younger lad stared in return.  "I ... I ..."

Clancy stepped closer, paw-like hands rising, one toward each young 
shirt collar.

But the countess put up a hand toward Cal, looked wonderingly at Artie 
and said incredulously, "You really meant it?"

Clancy and Cal froze.

"I love you!" Artie declared, staring soulfully into her eyes.

The old man snickered.  Clancy began to chuckle.  Cal, but a year the
older, understood something of the reason.  "You absolute ninny!" he 
proclaimed, though not so loudly as he could have done.

"Clancy," said the woman, "I think we need to take a little break."

"Whatever you say, countess."

Her hand caught Artie's.  "Come with me, please."

"To the ends of the earth!"

She tugged him toward a door in the back of the stage, leaving stronger
laughter in their wake.

Cal was not amused.  "What'll she do to him?"

Clancy grinned.  "She won't hurt him."

"That's a sweet one," declared the seated old man.  "She's just gonna 
let him down easy."

"Yeah, she's sweet -- sweet and hot," said Clancy.  "Last time she was 
here, she turned 28 tricks right on this stage.  I counted 'em!"

"Ah, _tricks_?"

"One trick is one fuck."

"T-twenty-eight guys?"

"I didn't say that.  She's good.  Lots come back for seconds.  You might
like to know, kid, if you still want her, soon as she plays Ruth's game
a bit you can poke her in any hole."


* * *


She stopped him in the middle of the smaller room.  It contained what 
looked like stage props, painted cutouts stacked against the walls, 
additional padded benches, two large raised beer barrels and a table 
upon which sat a large wooden bucket of mostly melted ice and several 
remaining champagne bottles.

"I don't have much time," she said, looking at him earnestly, standing 
so close that her nipples touched his shirt.  His hand twitched to rip 
away her blue opera mask and reveal her face, until he realized that it
was taped to her skin.  "So I'll make this quick," she continued.  "Kiss
me with your tongue."

He leaned gamely forward but stopped, eyes widening, lips just short of
hers.

"You see?" she said.

"Uh, uh, why do you let them do it?  You're a countess!"

She sighed and shook her head.  "What's your name, my dear?"

"Artie.  Arthur Ponteface Maxmillian, Jr."

"Junior.  Is your father wealthy, Artie?"

"I guess so.  Will you marry me?"

"No, even if your father were rich as Rockefeller."

"But ... but why not?"

"Artie, you want to marry a woman whose lips have never touched a 
strange man -- much less passed a hundred strange cocks!"

The words chilled him.  He stared and groped for wisdom.  "But strange 
cocks ... don't hurt a girl."

She chuckled.  "That's true.  Mostly.  Who told you that?"

"Nobody.  I can see they haven't hurt you."

"You're sweet to think so, Artie.  And _I_ can see you're a pretty lad 
with lots of promise.  But listen to me.  You understand what I am, 
don't you?"

"Ah, uh ..."

"I'm the wife of any and every man."

"B-because you need the money."

"Not at all.  As you said, I'm a countess -- or as close to it as you 
can find in this town.  The reason, Artie, is _I like it that way_.  Do
you understand?"

"N-no."

"I like fucking every man who wants me -- if he's clean and halfway 
kind.  And after your reaction to the other young man -- your friend? --
I don't think you'd like that in a wife."

He took a deep breath, staring piteously.

She smiled fondly.  "Though I appreciate you loving me, however 
briefly."

"Forever!"

"No, Artie."  She squared her shoulders, unintentionally causing her 
breasts to surge pleasantly.  "I'm going back out there and suck off 
your friend, if he's still waiting.  This time you won't interfere."

"Uh, uh --"

"Ruth wants me to swallow a dozen or so cocks.  After that I'll get on a
bench and fuck in any manner the men choose.  You could have me again if
you still wanted me."

"But _why_?"

"Simply put, Artie: because I love fucking even more than you do."

"Oh!"

"And don't cause more trouble.  Clancy will throw you right out of here,
you know."

Another door flew open, admitting a black maid carrying a chamber pot.
The noise of the party followed her in, to be cut off when the door 
slammed.  The woman sat the sloshing pot on the table beside the 
champagne and grabbed up a towel.  Swabbing her wet face, she declared 
venomously, "Red-beard bastard piss in my face on purpose!"

"Did you tell Clancy or Jake?" asked the countess.

"I'm a nigger."

"You know Ruth doesn't care."  The countess peered.  "Or maybe you 
don't.  New, are you?"

"Yeah, last week."

"They call it 'tangging' and charge through the roof for it."  The 
countess chuckled grimly.  "Hurry out there and tell Clancy.  He'll at 
least expel the bastard or if you pretend you allowed it, get you a nice
bonus."

"What's that?"

"A lot more money than a maid gets.  Of course you may have to welcome 
the taste of it afterwards."

"Ugh!"

The countess giggled.  "Come on, Artie."


* * *


Cal was waiting on the stage, listening to the old man reminisce.  Two 
others, naked but for stockings and garters, argued with Clancy about 
the countess's return.  Their eyes lit when her knees fell upon the
cushions, but she pointed to Cal.  "I believe we have unfinished 
business, sir."

As Artie watched glumly, Cal scrambled to present himself.  She took the
flaccid organ directly into her mouth, vigorously sucking the knob while
pumping the shaft.  Her eyes rolled up to study Artie, who had sidled 
close.  He shook his head, sighed and turned away.

The closer bench was in use.  One female lay backward upon it, legs 
splayed to the floor while another crouched over her, head to foot.  
They were totally nude except for ribbons in the hair, one girl's red, 
the other's blue.  Their bodies were remarkably identical, even to hair
color and length.  He thought their feet were exquisitely shaped.  A man
half stooped at either end of their bench, one pistoning a vagina while
the other submitted to a bobbing head.  While Artie watched, that one, 
wearing a black mask, pulled away from the mouth and slipped into the 
vagina beneath it.

The room beyond had settled into obstinate copulation.  The two-backed 
beast was everywhere evident, along with several of the three-backed 
variety.  One set of the latter seemed to have renewed his own 
experiment with Cal and Cal's girl.  He grunted.  Seeing her face, 
turning side to side in apparent passion, he recognized the same female.

Something grasped his calf.  It was the old man, still sitting in hairy,
bulging grossness on the edge of the stage.  He called up to the lad, 
"She take care of you in the back room?"

Artie slumped to a similar seat beside the harmless fellow.  "Yeah.  
Guess you have to say she did."

"She's a humdinger!  Last time she was here you couldn't see her for the
bodies."  He snickered.  "Reminded me of Gettysburg."

"You were at Gettysburg?  That was over 40 years ago."

"So what?  Don't I look old enough?  Damn right I was up there.  
Damyankees shot me in the hip, took me prisoner.  Too bad for you, boy."

"Too bad?"

"You saw how Spain didn't amount to nothing.  All the good wars is 
over."

Artie chuckled.  "_Good_ wars!"

The old man smiled widely.  "Except here.  Fucking is even better than 
fighting."

"It sure is!" declared Artie, feeling he could definitely agree with 
that.  Then he twitched.  The old man's hand had slipped over his thigh
and clasped his flaccid penis.

"You take this sweet young dick," said the old man, pumping it slightly.
"Give it a couple days and it could fuck every woman in this room."

Having been drilled in politeness to his elders, Artie could only 
stammer, "Wh-what -- I mean, how many, how many women are in here, do 
you think?"

"I asked Clancy that.  He said 27, if you count the maids.  Cannes d'Eau
don't have so many girls that live in the house.  About half come from 
the city on weekends.  Like the countess."

"The countess doesn't live here?"

"Not in this house."  The old man chuckled while his hand caressed the 
stiffening organ.  "You do know, kid, she ain't really a countess."

Artie sighed.  "I asked her about that.  She said she was the closest 
thing in this town."

"That might even be true.  Just listen to her talk.  She's still a 
whore, you know."  He chuckled more wryly.  "Not that a countess 
couldn't be a whore."

"Yeah."  The lad's voice developed a bitter edge.  "She likes being 
one."

"Said that too, did she?"

"Two or three times."

"She's a kind lady, letting a kid down easy.  Still it could be true."

"It's true.  She likes to fuck better than a man does."

"Some women are like that.  Say, kid, this is a very nice dick you got 
swinging here."

Artie's voice lowered grudgingly.  "You ought not be playing with it."

"Who says?  See that gal over there, breathing hard?  I'm getting you 
ready for her."

"You think she wants more fucking?"

"Look at her hand.  That's how they like to jack off -- with the heel.
Hey, kid, slip around in front of me."

"What for?"

"Let me suck it up so you can really bang her."

"Let you -- _what_?"

"I white-washed your countess's throat.  That's it for me tonight 'less
you let me suck you."

"How could that help _you_?"

"Licking a pussy or sucking a cock, either one'll make it hard again.  
Come on.  Won't take a minute.  I can make it hard as a rock, the way 
she wants it."

"But --  Good god!  In front of everybody?"

"You're in the Cannes d'Eau, kid.  You heard Madam Ruth's rule.  'If it
don't hurt, anything goes.'  Hell, you speak to Clancy, he'll find you a
man if you want to suck one yourself."

Artie definitely found nothing of interest in that idea.  But the old 
man knew how to fondle a penis.  Drawn as if by a magnet, the young man
rose on one knee and turned his groin.  The old man's mouth dove upon 
the standing fruit.  Artie shuddered involuntarily at the strange 
tightness, explained by sight of the old man's false teeth clutched in a
back-thrown hand.  He felt a distinct thrill of novelty.

But other concerns registered.  He stared around, surprised to find that
no one else seemed interested in this curious junction of age and youth.
Cal was not in sight.  A maid was again patting the kneeling countess's
wet face while two men waited for access.  Beyond them three of the 
leather benches were in use.  Over his shoulder the masturbating girl, 
still abusing herself, suddenly met his eye.  Her lip curled in contempt
and she turned her face away.

Her contempt affected him unexpectedly.  Suddenly he responded 
unmistakably to the old man's gums and tonguework.  As the thrills 
mounted, the lad snarled mentally, temporarily disgusted with all women,
and squirted his diminished third offering of the night against the 
elder palate.

Nothing about this was novel to old man, who had expected his tight gums
to produce the climax despite the bait of the available girl, whose 
contemptuous glare he had noticed.  He relished the flavors and held the
organ loosely, capturing every drop, touching the urethral eye with a 
rhythmic tongue, surprising Artie with a skill superior even to the 
countess -- though understandable on later reflection.

But having taken his relief in the old man's throat, Artie suddenly 
found himself overcome with disgust.  He jerked roughly away and stared
with horror at the grinning ogre as the false teeth were reinserted, 
after which a white-mottled tongue waggled forth.

"Like bare gums, do you?" asked the old man in evident satisfaction.

"I didn't ... I didn't mean --"

"To give me your juice?  I know.  You think you'd rather give it to that
girl.  But you gotta admit she couldn't take it any sweeter."

"You old ... bastard!"

"Now, now.  Is that any way to talk to someone old enough to be your 
grandfather?"  The old man spoke through bubbling laughter.  Obviously 
he was well-pleased with himself.

Artie stood up and started to run away, but a heavy hand fell upon his 
shoulder.  He turned to stare into Clancy's mustachioed face.

"Hold on.  Who gets the bill for this?"

"B-bill?"

"Madam Ruth allows it but she don't like it.  It's not covered in your 
admission to the Cannes d'Eau party."  His gaze dropped to the old man,
who was staring incongruously off in the opposite direction.  "You know
that perfectly well, Carlton.  Did the boy come?"

"No," snapped the elder.

"Wh-what?" Artie protested.  "I did too!"

Clancy chuckled.  "Bare gums surprised you, eh?  All right, Carlton."  
The heavy man withdrew notebook and pencil and made a memorandum.  
"That's an extra two bucks on your tab."

"But, Clancy, damn it --"

"And another feather in your cap.  Huh, You look more like the cat that
ate the canary!  I should say, 'Another feather in your mouth,' you old
cocksucker."

"Yeah."  The old man grinned widely.  "Boy juice.  Good stuff!  Now 
where's that girl?"  He got laboriously to his feet and sauntered off 
among the copulators.

"Shouldn't I have let him?" asked Artie.

Clancy shrugged.  "I wouldn't have.  But that's now.  I didn't say no to
my first queer cocksucker either."

"Oh.  Th-thank you.  I'll pay you when I find my pants."

Clancy shook his head.  "Ruth's funny that way.  She says, 'Opposite for
the opposite.'  With queers it's he who gets the juice that pays."

"Oh."

"You might like to know the countess asked me to keep an eye on you.  
She'll be moving to the benches any time now."

Artie took a deep breath.  "I don't know.  I think I'm about fagged 
out."

For some strange reason Clancy found that most amusing.


END

Contacts:
   Varangian: ludmax11@hotmail.com
   Kellis: kellis@dhp.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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