George Baccus - The Confessions of Nemesis Hunt

Jean and I and a Miss Latouche, a new arrival and an obvious tart, all had rooms in the same house. Our bedrooms adjoined on the ground floor, Miss Latouche was upstairs; as far as I could see, the family all slept in the kitchen.

We arrived at Kingstown Monday morning and went straight to the rooms for breakfast. I was bewildered with delight at the thought of a long day with Jean, but to my disgust he went out directly after the meal and did not return till five minutes late for the 4:30 meal (dinner) much the worse for liquor. He had met a lot of friends, he said. Dinner over, he went to bed in a drunken sleep, out of which we had to shake him when theatre time came.

"You mustn't worry, Kid," said Miss Latouche, "you'll find actors are all very much the same, very selfish."

At the theatre Restall took me aside. "I gather from the actress's book that you are living at the same rooms as Jean Messel. I think you're a little fool, that's all!"

I was too much in love to worry and after the theatre that night Jean more than made up for the desertion. A pleasant little supper was followed by the speedy disappearance of Miss Latouche to bed, and half an hour's indelicate fondling in front of the fire was followed by bed for us two also. It is of little use for me to attempt to describe what followed.

First fucks are bound to be much the same, all the world over. It was simply animal and brutal. He had me twice without uncunting as the vulgar put it; it was a paroxysm of gluttonous lust. How I enjoyed the contact of his naked body with mine, I cannot describe. The warm flood of his sperm within me was maddeningly joyous! He was largely built and hurt me not a little at first, but even in the pain there was pleasure. After the second fuck was completed. Jean got up and found a real "fucksome drink" as he called it-a bottle of nicely wanned Burgundy.

It's Gladys again interrupting. "I'm sorry to stop you, dearest," she apologized, "but when you start talking of fucksome drinks, you're in the presence of one who knows. This is the best drink for two persons, take one quart bottle of champagne and four eggs. Divide bottle into four large glasses, break egg in each, and drink, then fuck!"

To continue: Jean and I bathed in the warmth of each other's loving flesh, while the fingers of the clock ran round. He swore to me that he would be true, sure indeed that he had been true since he knew me, qualifying that under cross-examination, with the admission that he had allowed girls to play with it in their mouths but he didn't consider that much. And I believe that many men are of his way of thinking. Bar the actual fuck, they think that no other sexual intimacy counts as an act of infidelity.

We were too tired or too careless to make any bones about respectability that night at any rate, so after another battle of love, we fell asleep where we were, naked and gripped together, with Jean's penis still sweltering in the grip of my cunt muscles.

I shall never forget the awakening. I was in the midst of a dream that I was the cook in an expedition to the Polar regions and that the sailors had insisted on taking my clothing from me and were fucking me one by one on the ice, till I complained of the cold, so the Captain slapped my naked body all over-when my eyes struggled to open and I realized that I had been the victim of a very real slap indeed.

Above us two naked culprits, towered the landlady, virtuous wrath flaming from her eyes- and oh, it was cold, cold ashes in the grate and a cold blast of air from the wide open window.

"Get up, ye low bitch, ye disgrace on yer sex, ye fornicating cow of an Englishwoman, get up and let me turn yez naked as ye are, in the Streets, aye, even as Adam and Eve."

I couldn't help laughing through all my shame and discomfort at the comparison, but at that moment, Jean awoke also and detached himself from me-I may mention that there was an audible pop as his penis left its snug sleeping place.

We both burbled our expostulations, but in vain. "Out yez go!" was the cry, and her brother, a great lumbering heft of an Irishman, burst through the door to lend force to the argument.

"Patrick, heft them forth," said the indignant one, and Patrick actually laid hands on my naked body. Jean made a spring as if to tear him from me but one thrust from the giant's arm was enough to propel him reeling back against the sideboard. He fell rather foolishly in his nakedness into the coal scuttle and I couldn't help but smile, terrible though the position was, when I noticed the effect of the coals upon his bare bottom…

But the situation was altering. It was not every day that Brother Pat had a beautiful naked young girl in his two hands, and the effect on him was magical. Glancing over his shoulder as if apprehensive of an attack in the rear from the semi-blackened Jean, he shouted for Shamus and Shamus rolled up, another uncouth lad, only about 19 I should say; but quite enough to keep Jean a prisoner.

I realized that I was helpless. "Turn the hussy out naked into the strate," shrieked the landlady once more-but Patrick's fingers were feeling the lower part of my body. Patrick had me gripped to his stomach and something swelling in Patrick's trousers made him hesitate.

"Ye hear what she's saying," the giant whispered.

I was mute.

"But ef ye'll jes be kind to me…"

I knew what was coming, knew too that resistance was useless. But Jean blustered:

"We are a married couple, and we'll have the law on you!" he threatened.

"And I'll put the law on you," was the ready retort of the landlady, "don't I know that ye are married to another woman, eh, Mister Messel, and it'll serve the hussy right if Patrick does jest as he loikes wid her."

Brother Shamus gave the clue. "Let's fuck the lass and let her go free," he grunted in anticipation of a coarse scene, "eh, Mary?"

"You boys can do what yer loike, I'll nay say ye nay," said the landlady.

"I'm dying with cold!" I protested.

"Well, come into the kitchen," was the answer to that.

And into the kitchen we were marched-or rather the giant Irishman carried me, while his brother, pinioning Jean's arms behind him, followed, the landlady bringing up the rear, carrying our rugs which she piled before the great fire.

It must have been a strange scene. I lay helpless on the pile of rugs; of course, resistance was useless but I am ashamed to say I felt a little pleasurable curiosity. I took the hot whiskey the landlady gave me and never moved as the great clown of a youth pawed my body and limbs all over under pretence of warming me. The landlady balanced herself on the edge of a table, her old eyes eager with lust.

The brother had tied Jean up with a couple of thongs and he sat helpless on a chair.

There was an awkward pause, for Patrick was a little shy. I surmise the idea of fucking me had been a sudden thought, the possibility of realization had scarcely occurred to him. I lay before him a flesh dish fit for a king, while the dotard fool fumbled with his trousers. What a thing was presented when Patrick's trousers at last slipped from their fastenings. It slapped up against his belly, a good ten inches of it, and thicker round than my wrist-and so healthy looking and clean. He dropped on his knees and placed his huge hands on my waist. The coarse touch of his clothes irritated me and I struggled away, but fighting was useless; he shifted his hands, pulled my legs apart and the next moment that mighty instrument was touching my clitoris. With one hand he held me down and with the other he guided the tip of his penis into me.

For a moment the pain was intense; it was so big, but once it was in, rapture overcame me. The affair was not long, a stroke or two and the prick was in to the hilt. I seemed almost split in two, but the pleasure was extraordinary. Then he "came", in fact the outpourings were simultaneous, and I chanced to look at Jean. To my amazement his prick was stiff. I didn't know so much then as I do now about the excitement that contemplation of another's acts of fornication could excite in a man.