Eroticon 3 Page 3

  Alas, how wrong I was! The mistake was entirely mine. I underestimated the dirty bastard - and the harlot who had picked him up, frankly preferring him to me, as casually as I might choose a whore in a brothel. She could not have guessed beforehand that he possessed such a small, stumpy tool which would scarcely fill the bill; but then neither could I foresee, at this initial stage of events, what stalwart use he would make of it, what fantastic feats of endurance the monster was capable of performing, how complete his victory would be, or what a shattering effect his persistence would have on so doughty an opponent as Casilda. She, I knew, was a tough nut to crack. I had marvelled at her reserves of energy and enthusiasm when she lasted through round after gruelling round with Helen. Keen as she was for the fray, Helen had not stood the pace to the finish with half so much in hand as the younger woman, who seemed wholly inexhaustible, ever ready to renew the engagement, gallantly impervious to fatigue. Casilda met more than her match in Carlos. His staying powers were incredible. Again and again he outlasted her, checking his own orgasm but making the randy bitch spend with increasing ecstasy each time, with longer, more profound, more exquisite spasms, by a delaying technique of extraordinary resilience which I never would have credited from hearsay.

  Unfortunately for my peace of mind, it was not from hearsay that I learned the grim, incontrovertible truth of that young orang-utan's sexual proficiency. To my chagrin and disgust I was obliged to witness the revolting demonstration of his prowess untiringly exercised on Casilda's wracked but willing frame, as it appeared to me, for hours on end... I was in agony throughout, yet powerless to prevent it. The experiment was conducted under my nauseated gaze - but there was nothing that I could do to stop the unspeakable cad from screwing my girl to distraction... and at her own request.

  He started by his sliding both hands under her thighs and tearing them apart still further; then, when he had wrenched her open like an oyster, he pushed her knees back, bending them outwards as supplely as a frog's, so that he mounted her as if to probe her guts upon the operating table. She protested feebly, but her long legs were crossed high around his loins while he gradually ploughed his way deeper into her and farther up onto the bed. Eventually he had her flat on it, and she got a chance to retaliate in kind, battling against him hammer and tongs, as he crushed her under his weight and pounded her with his stiff, stout, chugging piston. For a time, as though moved by clockwork, he stuck to the same steady, regular, relentless rhythm, which was neither fast nor slow but evenly stressed, a succession of short, sharp stabs for many minutes at a time - until, not heeding Casilda's cries but of his own volition, to please himself, he would alter the tempo and shift the angle and the manner of his strokes. These tactical changes, occurring at odd intervals, swept all before him and soon reduced Casilda to an abject state of unassuaged, amazed submission. All trace of restraint, dignity or pride was gone. She had what she wanted - a surfeit of it, lashings of cock, almost more of the sweet physic than she could stomach. Well and truly was she getting laid; he poked her, decidedly, as she had never been poked before. The devil's pitiless prong sparked the molten red volcanic fires that consumed her burning crater and licked her entrails like subterranean tongues of flame. Tied to the stake, she wilted in the searing heat while he kept her there dangling upon the brink of an eruption, yielding to the protracted torture which she craved, yet yearning for the coup de grace to snap the unbearable tension of her nerves.

  What the occupying force lacked in size, its seasoned spearhead, diligently employed, irrevocably entrenched, made up by aggressiveness. He humbled her twice, without succumbing himself, without the slightest sign of exhaustion. Indeed he seemed annoyed by the readiness of her response, for on each occasion, as she neared the inevitable climax, he growled, 'No, no, wait - not now, not yet!' when plainly she was incapable of obeying his command. Otherwise he seldom spoke, but uttered only a continuous series of guttural grunts while she, fainting in his arms, loose-limbed, tossing and floundering like a spiked fish, raved and moaned incessantly, repeatedly, through gritted teeth:

  'Yes, oh yes, that's it, that's it, go on, yes, like that, go on, don't stop - ah yes, my God, dear God, don't stop, don't stop - you mustn't, oh Christ; now - ah - go on - more, more, oh please, no, don't stop, that's it - come on, you brute - oh God, yes, like that, damn you - ah, Jesus - you're killing me - go on, more - now, now, my God - I'm coming - I can't bear it - aah - now!'

  They lay quiet, scarcely stirring for a while, but he did not withdraw. Hatred of them both sickened me; my knees were weak, escape or interference would be equally impossible, pointless; stricken with misery, anger and resentment, I retreated to my corner and slumped there, dosing my distress with brandy. The minutes slipped by. This disgusting farce had gone on long enough. Even Casilda must have had her fill by now, and more, by the sound of it. I must tell her southern stallion that time was up, that he would have to leave, he need not think I had invited him to spend the night.

  I was somewhat fuddled, but I had come to this drastic decision and was just getting ready to throw the blighter out - when they began again. He started rodgering her once more, for all he was worth, and she of course responded straightaway, putting her back into it, grinding and groaning as gladly as before. She was in luck. I doubt if anyone, in all her rich and varied experience, had ever screwed her so thoroughly. She was beside herself. For a girl who disapproved of blasphemy in bed - as I remember she had told me - some of the obscenities which she uttered now were, to say the least, appalling. I was shocked and revolted. Filthy endearments mingled in her mouth with invocations of the Almighty, animal noises, and muttered insults. Her scarlet nails, like talons, clawed at the ruffian's hairy back, scratching the humped, muscular neck, digging with bestial passion into his neat, bobbing buttocks. He growled, but manfully bore the sharp pain for a time, then - suddenly infuriated - he grabbed her by the throat, as if to throttle her, and raising himself, struck her savagely across the face, a stinging blow, with the flat of his hand.

  Her mad, agonised grimace did not alter. But to me it was an outrage that was intolerable, a typical example of caddish violence that called for instant, chivalrous, condign retribution. I must avenge this maltreatment of a woman, if not the honour she herself had trampled or the respect which Casilda no longer merited. In attempting to do so, however, I tripped - or the young brute hit me, I'm not sure which - and I fell heavily against the fender, knocking my head. Before I could pick myself up - perhaps I was too slow, being somewhat dazed - that scoundrel of a Spaniard pounced upon me, as I lay there defenceless among the fire irons, unable to move. Quicker than lightning, he had ripped off my tie and fastened my hands with it securely beneath me. I aimed a kick at his midriff, but a dressing-gown cord was knotted tightly about my ankles. I was trussed like a goose! He had no difficulty in hauling me onto my knees and toppling me backwards into the chair.

  Limp and dishevelled, Casilda sat watching us from the bed. Her chin cupped in both palms, she looked listless and remote, a picture of dejection. I noticed that she did not raise a finger to help me, nor did she say a word, she was too haggard and cowed. When he turned to her again, she dropped meekly back to receive him in the same supine posture as before, with broad smooth thighs lifted above her navel... I remember nothing else from that moment on, except an aching glare behind the eyes...

  When I came to, a long time later, the pain was still there but the Spaniard had gone. Casilda was bending over me, her naked bosom in my face, as she untied my wrists, having already freed my feet. Somewhat belatedly she showed intense concern for my condition, and fussed over me like a devoted nurse who arrives on the scene of a childish accident after the harm has been done. I eyed her with derision and distaste. True to the innate, uncaring harlotry of all her sex, she gave not the slightest indication of remorse, regret or even consciousness of the enormity of her offence. She had been having a damned good time; it was over now, and that was that. Surely (her manner implied) I could n
ot be so unreasonable and churlish as to begrudge her a little fun once in a while? After all, I had not stepped in and prevented it. Quite to the contrary, I had allowed her a free hand, for which she was prepared to be duly grateful, so long as I did not go and spoil everything by electing to grumble about a mere peccadillo that was best forgotten. How could I be so tiresome as not to realise that our relationship was far more important, whereas this business with the lecherous Spaniard was just a passing fling?

  I believe in the sincerity of her innocent attitude towards what had taken place. She did not give it a further thought. Such honesty, even in a flaming whore, should be accounted a virtue. But I could not look on it in that light. My love and loyalty, my every emotion, my own manhood had been spurned, insulted, trodden in the dust. Jealousy flooded my brain like a raging torrent. Casilda was calmly putting on her clothes. She drank a sip of brandy out of my glass, and offered me the dregs.

  'I'm so sorry, darling,' she said - but I could not tell exactly what she meant by the remark: she might have been apologising for the mere dribble she had left me.

  'How many times?' I asked, through my fatigue, in a voice that may have sounded either casual or surly. She cast a glance at me and understood the question.

  'Five in all, I think,' she answered. 'But I lost count.'

  Half dressed, she came and sat cross-legged on the rug at my feet before the dying fire, which she dutifully replenished with a shovelful of coal. She braced herself for a post-mortem - the errant schoolgirl or the housemaid expecting to be rebuked for breaking some valued knicknack.

  'Do you know,' she said sadly, 'he only came twice? I always thought it was less easy for a man who is not circumcised to last out so long. One lives and learns.'

  She had got into her stride. 'I must say he amazed me,' she added. 'But there it is. Phew! Give me an uncircumcised cock every time.'

  I slapped her hard across the mouth, as he had done. The suddenness rather than the force of the blow sent her sprawling to the floor. She sprang up and faced me, spitting fury.

  'You swine!' she snarled. 'You shit! How dare you? You filthy, drooling, dirty, impotent, goddam son of a bitch!'

  There have been a few occasions in my life when I have lost my temper with some stupid woman - but never can I recall having been so shamelessly provoked, so wholly justified in the use of violence, as I then was by this crowing trollop. I will not deny that I enjoy a bout of playful flagellation now and again. I have spanked or whipped most of my mistresses at one time or another, for the fun of it. But this was different. I saw red. Her screeching abuse was more than I had bargained for. Strangling would have been too lenient, too quick a punishment for her, I felt. I snatched hold of her by the wrist and by the hair, I dragged her over to the bed, I clouted her again across the face and boxed her ears. She went on cursing me, pouring out a stream of shrill, inept invective against my righteous wrath when I left her there and rummaged through a chest of drawers downstairs for what was needed.

  When I returned with a bamboo cane, she had not moved, but she fought like a wildcat to break away from my clutches, until I succeeded in turning her over by wrenching her arm round behind her back, while I knelt on her neck and other wrist, so that she was pinned face down upon the bed, the furious tirade muffled by the pillows, and able only to retaliate with kicking heels because I rolled the elastic knickers into a sort of rope or hobble binding the thighs tightly together, some little way below the bouncing buttocks. They leaped and shuddered and swung from side to side as I thrashed her with all my might, until the sound of her screams, muted as it was, could be heard above the whistling of the cane and the loud thud which signalled each stroke as if to count the crimson weals that marked the wonderful wide expanse of her arse in next to no time. I flogged her blindly at first, as I might have beaten a carpet - but the pattern of punishment, as it deepened and darkened in crisscross streaks, began to fascinate me, and soon I was drawing hieroglyphics in a methodical manner, with more art than sadism, on the taut, quivery canvas that bloomed like a peony. I decorated both cheeks equally with a design in purple, black and blue. When they opened with a supplicating, subconscious jerk, wincing again as though split by a cruel swipe of my wand. I aimed a lengthwise cut along the smooth ravine itself, which shrank and shut again at once like the big, bulbous jaws of some strange, flustered sea monster. From her nape to her knees Casilda's back heaved, flinched, rippled and shook. It was a windswept yellow cornfield, poppy bright: bowed, tossed, flurried by the gale. It was an ice rink scarred by a thousand skaters' trails, a seething, swollen river lashed to livid turmoil at the storm's mercy...

  Mercy? She howled for mercy, but I gave her none. She could not escape; she must only endure. She should smart and bleed and faint, cringing and grovelling, while my wrath lasted. I flogged her till my arm grew tired. I relished her struggles, I joyed in her suffering, I got acute pleasure from inflicting extreme humiliation - where she would feel it most - on the incontinent flesh which she had yielded so readily, so wickedly, to another man in my presence.

  I wish to emphasise again, however, that this pleasure for my part was physical perhaps, but not sexual. Her tail excited me: I trounced it for precisely that reason, in reverse - to cure myself of its attraction, not because I was jealous of the promiscuous slut, but simply to break her hold over me, to settle our account, to call it quits, and to teach her a lesson. I would do no permanent damage to her naughty, burning backside; but if it ever forgot itself in the future, it must never forget me - the one lover who had missed his share of the lady's favours, yet had enjoyed her charms to his heart's content, by caressing them in his own special way...

  I let her go as soon as I was through - when I had lost interest in her wriggling, and felt she had been chastised enough. For me it was a sweet relief. I discovered that I no longer bore her any great grudge. It had simply had to be, and now it was done; I could rest easy, with the whole load of Casilda Vandersluys, a worthless burden, off my mind. It would be some time before she would care to flaunt her sorely bruised bum under Helen's nose or waggle it at any casual bedfellow, I reckoned - unless dignity mattered as little to her as decency. If she chose to make herself cheap, at least for a week or so, I'd turned her into a laughing-stock, highly coloured and comic; she could only indulge in intimacy at the risk of causing hilarity or actual ribaldry - and of providing me with a private joke in compensation. I flung the cane away across the room and fell asleep.

  I do not know whether I awoke after a few minutes or an hour later, but the discomfort of wearing clothes prevented peaceful slumber. Casilda was still lying next to me, huddled on her side. I allowed her to doze on without interruption. She opened her eyes when I pulled the blankets over her and tucked her up for the night, but she did not speak or move, and her absent expression told me nothing of her feelings towards me. I undressed, tumbled into bed, and dropped off to sleep again instantly.

  Daylight and the louder sound of traffic, or maybe the clatter of Mrs Howarth, the charwoman, barging about downstairs, gradually impinged on my consciousness and dragged me back to the realities of life which mankind coops for preference within four walls. But there was something else as well that I must have brought with me from the dreamless purlieus of a different, remote, forgetful world - a sense of serenity. I was awake, tranquil, refreshed - still drowsy, but peculiarly cheerful. Casilda lay curled in my arms, her head, a soft, fragrant nosegay of tousled chestnut tresses, on my shoulder. Assuming that she slept, I refrained with the utmost care from the slightest movement that might disturb her, even attuning every breath I drew to the tempo of her deep breathing. I conquered my intense desire to stroke and fondle the warm, firm, delicate flesh of the girl, lest my touch, however light, should rob her of the restful remedy that nature alone provides for rash extravagance.

  'So we remained, quietly locked in a tender embrace, for some time. But she, too, was feigning sleep, I realised, for when she stirred after a while, her hands glided wi
th gentle stealth about my belly, caressing, fingering and finally clasping the emblems of power, the orb and sceptre of manhood, which she wielded silently but insistently until she was sure of me and satisfied with the result of her research, like the witch who knows that the love philtre she has brewed is infallible in its effects. Then she spoke. In a murmuring voice that was low but distinct I heard her say:

  'You're a fool, Tony, you know. You were wrong. But - never mind. I don't care. I love you. I really do. Not only now. Before. Only, it'll be still better now... you'll see. I'll show you. I had to make you wait... this is going to be the real time...'

  From nowhere her mouth burst out at me, engulfing mine, pressed to my lips like a hot, ripe fruit that is cool, thirst-quenching, sweet to the taste. In the next instant her body, an uncoiled spring, slid under me, beneath me, length for length, limb against limb. Her arms and legs were entwined about my body like ivy around a tree...