Archive-name: Slaves/harem2.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: Harem





You probably can come to no valid conclusion about the events that occurred

later, the episodes with Ted and with Doris without considering the episode

with Tyrone.  He is obviously a major element in the foundation.  The incident

described here, is factual, though it may seen to have been romanticized

somewhat, and perhaps it was.  Details may vary slightly from fact.  If so, the

reason is obvious- memory is irregular and faulty, and none of the details,

unfortunately, were recorded as they happened. No diary was kept.  Still, the

events were shared almost on a daily basis with my friend Sara, and upon

reading this file, she says that her recollection is essentially identical with

the record.  Whether she agrees with my conclusion is another matter. but then,

you don't know my conclusion, do you?



To tie down the event, consider the background.  June, 1984. Herbert is in

Europe, attending a major conference and staying on for other business.  He

will be there for six weeks, perhaps eight.  Helen has not been able to go.

She plans to join him in the South of France later after his conference is

over, in two weeks or so.  For now, she is still at home, busy but not

overwhelmed with her work.  Helen fancies herself a queen. She is intelligent,

attractive, with a marvelous voluptuous body.  But she has a haughty,

imperious, I-am-superior-to-you attitude that annoys many people and absolutely

infuriates others.  She is married to an older man who obviously adores her,

pampers her, caters to her every whim, but who cannot at all control her and

has never satisfied her.  Her husband travels extensively.



The evening that this event began, a Friday, Helen had gone to the symphony,

alone, and there met a man, Tyrone, whom she had known well once and disliked-a

tall, spare man of curious temperament, a hedonist, a true male chauvinist,

stubborn, opinionated, willful-a type that Helen usually detested.  That

evening, after the concert, he offered her a drink, and thinking of avoiding a

long cab ride home alone, she accepted.  The thought of physical involvement

with this man, though perhaps not repulsive, was certainly far from her mind.

After stopping for a drink and a late, light supper, he did drive her to her

house, made the expected pass, and she responded by giving him a stinging slap

in the face.  He replied as no man had before.  He twisted her arm, turned her

away from him, and using a hard, bare hand, slapped her fiercely across the

rump.  She reacted immediately, and when he slapped her bottom hard again, she

gasped aloud as if all thought of resistance was gone. Recognizing her reaction

exactly for what it was, as complete submission, he led her to her bedroom,

stripped her bare, spanked her further and harder, and soon joined her nude in

her bed.  He was rigidly erect and she was obviously totally acquiescent,

totally passionate, totally responsive.  He took her in strange positions and

in strange ways, vanquishing her completely and perhaps satisfying her better

than she had ever been satisfied.



Now it was hours later.  He had gone, almost without a word andshe had to deal

mentally with the evening's almost incredible events.  Well, one thing of which

she was certain- she would not be seeing him again.  He had brutalized her-

well, not exactly brutalized, but he certainly had spanked her.  Not that it

had hurt especially, but it had cost her her dignity.  And he had done strange

things, disgusting things.  Like putting his finger into her anus, and then, of

all things, kissing her there, a wet, thrusting kiss, inserting his tongue as

far as he could.  That was absolutely bestial.  Animals behaved like that, not

intelligent people.  And worst of all, he had taken her, made her whimper in

pleasure, brought her to orgasm several times, and before leaving, firmly

pinched her nipples, made her call him Master, and made her suck his then

semi-soft cock, brought him back erect and was quickly impaled again on it.

Now she lay resting in bed, thinking about all this, about the moment when he

first took her into her bedroom, stripped her bare, and spanked her-- right

here, she thought, in this very bed.  And she found herself getting overheated

once more, her nipples again erect, and her juices flowing.  Crazy as it

sounds, she was going to cum again.



The thought about the spanking- actually several spankings thathe had given

her, all with his bare hand against her naked bottom, with her trying to twist

away from the strokes, but at the same time, raising up slightly, perhaps

unconsciously, to be accessible, to offer a more tempting target.  No man had

ever spanked her before.  In fact, in her entire life the only spanking she

received was as a schoolgirl of 16, when one evening coming home late and

slightly tipsy from a high-school dance, she had found her mother waiting up,

furious.  Her jeans were taken down, then and there, and her bottom basted by a

very angry parent.  That one, she reflected, hurt a great deal more than the

one did tonight.



Her strange thought was that she really wanted to share this experience.  She

would call Sara.  Now that they were really close she would tell her

everything.  Sara would just love to hear about this adventure.  She loved

kinky things and kinky clothes and kinky adventures, and especially, intimate,

kinky talk.  Sara would flip!!!  Yes, she thought, Sara WILL flip if I call her

at 3:30 AM even to tell her THIS story.  Helen lay back in bed, nude,

voluptuously excited, sleepless, thinking strange thoughts.  This WAS a strange

adventure, a marvelous kinky adventure, one to be regretted, perhaps, but one

to be savored, to be reflected on, to be shared with a really close, loved and

understanding friend, one to be discussed with her in a particularly private

moment (perhaps while lying with her face between Sara's elegant breasts, while

kissing and gently sucking a delicious, responsive nipple).  But this was an

experience to be digested and analyzed and understood, but not one to be

repeated.  She chanced to look at her telephone, on the nightstand next to her

bed.  She willed it to ring.  Let some one call me, she thought, anybody.

Nobody  did.  She thought, what if it rings right now, and it is him- Tyrone,

that bastard- and he orders me to get into my car and drive to his house, stark

naked, right now!!!  Would I? she thought.



Helen had before tonight, very limited extramarital experience. On each of the

three or four times that she had been bedded down, the man was of the same

type- a mature, intellectual, professorial type, a man for whom she had

profound respect, a man who respected her own intellectual strength and her

polish, who treated her like a great lady is treated, a man who in each case

was almost a clone for her husband.  In each case so far the appeal had been

mental.  Heaven knows that Tyrone was none of these things that had interested

her in the past.  He was a totally different specimen- mature, yes, but not a

great mind, not a scholar at all, not particularly physically attractive, not

muscular, not strong, not especially talented in anything that she could

identify.  All he did was take charge, ignore what she wanted (or thought she

wanted) take control of her, discipline her, and--- well, what else, she

thought.



The next morning she could think of nothing else.  Now she had better personal

insight in to what had really happened.  He had somehow peeled off the veneer

layer from her, and had gotten down to the core, to what she felt was the

fundamental person inside.  He made her feel like a true love slave, ready,

anxious to please his every whim. And the funny thing, the absolutely wierd

point about this whole episode was that she did not love this man- she did not

even especially like him and did not respect him.  He did not have the deep

bass voice that she sometimes found sensuously attractive.  He was not

especially handsome nor tall.  He had no great brain.  What he did have was a

certain presence, a command of the situation that she found just incredibly

overpowering.  And he wanted her, obviously wanted her, physically wanted her,

carnally wanted her, and could and would all but own her, body and soul, but

mostly body.



She immediately began to share her experience with Sara, and found that Sara

was, as expected, almost as delighted hearing the details as she was in telling

them.  Helen found this part of the adventure just delectably delectable- lying

nude with Sara, her lips nuzzling Sara's shell pink ear, perhaps her tongue

probing, her hands running across that ravishing rump, a hand searching between

Sara's widespread thighs, a finger finding delicious moisture.  As the

adventure proceeded, Sara demanded to know, needed to know every detail- whom

she had met, what they looked like, what they had done, for how long, how,

when, where.  Sara seemed to want to participate, but vicariously, afraid

really to cross the line and join directly in the adventure.  And this Helen

wanted to protect her from, not really knowing where it was going.  So Sara

knew everything that happened between Helen and Tyrone and his friends, but

Tyrone never knew about Sara.



Helen thought through her situation--her husband will be gone for a month or

more and for that month she has a master, one who owns her, will train her in

the image that he finds desirable.   He will spank her when he pleases, perhaps

in the privacy of her bedroom and perhaps elsewhere, with others watching.

That much he has already told her.  She knows that she should flee him, refuse

to see him again or ever speak to him.  And she is entirely certain that she

will not do that- that tomorrow she may be terrified of what can happen, but

she knows that she WILL see him again.  And she will be spanked by him- and she

is, of course. Now these subsequent spankings that she gets later are not at

all severe beatings- only fairly gentle spankings applied with a bare hand or

mildly with a leather strop to her naked bottom.  They do not even especially

hurt.  They perhaps more than anything else are symbolic, both to him and to

her, of his sexual domination. They paint her rear end a bright pink, leaving

her heaving and gasping, and incredibly lascivious, looking only for ways to

please him even more.  And he promises her nothing more than regular, almost

constant excitement, wild new adventures, exciting new friends, and orgasm,

orgasm, orgasm!!!!



And so she does not go to Europe that summer.  She decides thatthe pressures at

work are too great, that she cannot get away, that Herbert will travel alone

and enjoy himself, that his freedom will be good for him, invigorating.  She

tells all this to Sara, and she thinks it is hysterically funny.  Sara believes

that all women occasionally have their brains in their vaginas but that Helen's

brains now are totally confined to the clitoris, (and on stating that

conclusion, Sara leans forward, finds that delicious appendage, and emphasizes

her point by giving it a lovely kiss).  Sara thinks that Helen is currently

involved in very private, intimate treatment, perhaps best called Mind Fuck, in

Sara's judgment an effective and acceptable form of therapy. She approves of

this adventure, totally.  She has not met Tyrone, but she certainly now knows

all about him, and she thinks that Helen has never looked so good or been so

interesting.  Her only complaint is that Helen does not have as much private

time for Sra, but the time they do have together is absolutely marvelous- mre

intimate and exciting than it had ever been before.



So Helen has a master, a strong man on whom all her almost juvenile feminine

wiles of the past are useless, a man who has raptured her, has used her

thoroughly and often and made her love him for it, conquered her totally

employed her sexually in every conceivable way, introduced her to threesomes

and foursomes and orgies, photographed her nude body in unbelievable poses,

kept her constantly aroused and is now putting her through her paces, a series

of varied sexual adventures, all embarrassing to her but marvelously,

deliciously dangerous and exciting at the same time. The queen has become a

willing sex slave to a highly imaginative master, and never has she felt

herself so much a woman as now.



For the two year period prior to Tyrone she and Sara had been taking belly

dancing lessons- at first with a group of woman at the local YWCA- and at the

end of that series, from an older, very experienced belly dancer, an elegant,

exotic lady of Turkish extraction who had learned this dance in the old country

as a girl.  This older woman, now about 60, is an incredible specimen. She is

slim, lithe, with a marvelous body and more energetic than women half her age.

She has continued the lessons with Sara and Helen and two other ladies as an

advanced class in private lessons.  She has taught them things that the YWCA

classes did not- much more cosmopolitan things, and especially she has taught

them about the sexuality of the dance.  She believes that belly dancing is

inherently erotic, that it is meant to excite both the dancer and the watchers,

and that it is senseless and practically impossible- for the dancer not to have

sex after she is through dancing.  If she has no partner available, then

masturbation is expected and encouraged.  She believes that belly dancing

without orgasm following is absolute nonsense.  Sara, of course, has a young,

strong, very vigorous husband.  When she comes home from a lesson, he helps

relieve her of her excess energy and strong erotic feelings in the time honored

way.  Helen's husband is not always there and is not as sexually involved.  For

her, masturbation after a dance lesson has become almost a ritual.



Helen has been delighted with the lessons- they are real fun, marvelous

exercise, and they give her the most erotic feelings imaginable.  When she

began her lessons, she thought that they might put some thrills in her

otherwise hum-drum workaday existence.  Well, she thought, they certainly have

done that. Consider the basic movement in the belly dance- the thrusting

forward and backwards of the pelvis, an almost perfect parody of the female

movements in sexual intercourse.  Consider the source, too.  Belly dancing was

first done in the Harems of the Sultans on the Ottoman Empire, and the dancers

were always harem slaves, selected for having the perfect, voluptuous figure

that the dance demands- full breasts, firm, shapely legs and thighs, and a

delicious, magnificent bottom.  Helen's figure matches this description exactly.



And further, the slave is a Houri, a nubile female whose whole purpose is

pleasing her master, however he might wish to be pleased.  It is her

responsibility to arouse him, almost beyond control, so that he will then take

her, manfully, forcefully.



During the early lessons at the YWCA, the students dress in sweatpants and

shirts and tennis shoes, a ragpack looking group, not in the least pleasing in

appearance.  After the YWCA phase, the teacher suggested that Helen and Sara

and the ladies buy the appropriate costumes, the diaphanous, filmy materials,

designed to show more than they hide, so that beautiful breasts are apparent,

nipples are protuberant and obvious, and thighs and bottoms carnally displayed

as much as they are hid.  One Saturday afternoon, the girls made an excursion

to Greek Town to an obscure shop, and bought the costumes.  Later in the week

they met, each to see how the other looked dressed.  Helen looked very

attractive- but Sara was absolutely gorgeous.  Her pitch black hair, intense

brown eyes, full shapely mouth, and dark coloring gave her an Italian look,

almost like Sophia Loren.  She was sex personified in this costume, her

gorgeous body almost completely revealed and still hidden slightly.  She looked

the perfect Houri, the beautiful, nubile, voluptuous maiden that Moslems think

await them in Paradise, trained first to tease and then to satisfy, to give

perfect, exotic, never-ending sex in ways almost beyond the comprehension of

mortal man.



Helen put on a tape, and they danced- first together, and then,one for the

other, obviously both very stimulated.  Sara approached the end of her dance,

and in Harem manner, began to remove the few articles of clothing she wore.

First the pantaloons came off so she was dancing in her vest and underpants.

Helen removed her own pantaloons.  Sara unbuttoned the vest, showing Helen her

gorgeous breasts for the first time, utterly delicious looking love apples,

high and full and firm, with chocolate brown aureoles and nipples, fully erect,

almost demanding to be kissed.  Helen stared, transfixed.  Sara danced closer,

took down her underpants, wiggled free of them and danced, her legs spread, her

podex wiggling, her black pubic triangle in front of Helen's eyes.  She turned,

her gorgeous bare bottom weaving, the cute rosette now and then visible as the

cheeks parted, almost beckoning to Helen to come forward and kiss it.  Helen

stared, absolutely entranced, unable to take her glance away from the heavenly

sight of Sara, now turned again towards her, her legs slightly spread, her

unbelievable femininity clearly visible, juicy, lovable, as it moved forward

and back, offering itself for her kisses. Helen pulled off her few items of

clothes and knelt before this dancing nymph and moved forward, her face now

between the dancers legs.  And for the first time, she kissed that glorious

canny.  Her tongue found the erect clit.  She massaged it wetly.  Now the two

nude girls stand, the dancing stopped though the music goes on.  They kiss

deeply and wildly.  In an instant they are on the couch, in a position of 69,

each feasting on the sopping, squishy. delicious cunt of the other.  Both have

found the only logical, the only possible end of a true Harem belly dance when

no man is present.



And now, much later, after Helen was captured, her new master has decided that

Helen will do a public performance of the belly dance, before a small audience,

in his own home.  The guests have finished dinner and are relaxed, and Helen

has gone to don her costume.  She will be wearing a semi-transparent vest,

deeply cut to show her cleavage, and through which her nipples are easily

visible.  She is wearing the dancers pantaloons, again of a diaphanous material

through which her panties can be seen, again almost transparent, and through

which can be seen the shadow of her pubic triangle and the delightful cleavage

of her behind. She is wearing a boxfull of junk jewelry, assorted baubles and

bangles of glass, in bright colors, in vivid reds and greens and yellows and

blues.  She has on dazzling makeup, and a spray of perfume in strategic places.

The perfume itself is a special type, with a very sweet, aromatic scent.  It is

potent when she is still, but later when her wild movements have caused her

body to heat up, the perfume vaporizes further and the air takes on an

exciting, erotic aroma, almost like incense.  This arouses her, and she knows

that it excites the audience.  There will not be a flaccid cock in the room,

later on.



She hears the music begin- a tape of Turkish music, exotic and slow and

rhythmic and intense, music one can almost taste as well as hear.  She dances

in, her body throbbing in time with the music, her sexuality obvious, her

exhilaration clearly showing. Those present applaud, enjoying the private show.

Very soon, the tempo changes, the beat picks up and the pace of her movements

change.  Quickly her master signals her.  Her pantaloons are removed.  She

dances now, bare legged, her scrumptious bottom in constant motion, more

excited now and more exciting now than before.  The master signals again.  Her

vest flutters down.  She now stands bare breasted before the audience, her

nipples rigidly erect, her almost orgasmic feeling growing.  Will her panties

come off, next?  Of course they do.  Now she is nude, continuing the motions,

the parody.  She knows what to expect next.  She is wild with shameless

carnality, with arousal.  The sensual music is itself seductively hypnotic. The

aphrodisiac aromas, the mixture of her perfumes plus the wondrous scent of her

permeate the room.  In her mind she knows that never has she looked so exciting

as at this instant, never has she felt so much like a true wanton, never so

much like a woman.



When the dance is done before a private audience in the Harem, it concludes

with the nude dancer being given for the night to one or more of the guests.

Sometimes the person selected will take her, then and there, with the others

watching, cheering him on. She will already be fully ready.  No foreplay is

necessary. The male selected may or may not need further stimulation.  If so,

the dancer is fully trained, and will use her body in any way to excite him, to

prepare him to take her.  And when he takes her, he will take her however he

pleases, in any orifice in any way.  Will he want to spank her naked bottom

with a strop or a cane?  Then he will do so, without opposition from the Sultan

or any other person there.  He is the chosen guest and has been given the use

of the dancer, and use her he will, as he pleases.



There is another historical custom from the days of the Sultan.In those days, a

eunuch was present, usually carrying a bamboo cane.  If the Sultan decided that

the dancer's pace was too slow, or if there was a certain movement that he

wanted emphasized, a sign to the eunuch would tell him to slash the dancer

across her behind, a stroke guaranteed to bring results.  This might be

repeated a few times, or many if the Sultan was cruel.  Tonight, of course,

there is no eunuch and none would be needed.



This night, the audience is composed of the master, three othermen and a woman,

her master's friends.  She has not seen any of them before this evening.  Helen

dances on, now turning her back to the audience, bending far forward, and

slightly spreading her legs.  Her marvelous buttocks are only a foot away from

those watching, her squishy femininity fully in sight, her podex wiggling and

wobbling, the rosebud of her anus almost winking at those watching.  As she is

bent forward, her body so intimately exposed to those who watch, her own

feelings are of gigantic stimulation.  She knows that soon her master will give

her for the night to one or another of the guests- perhaps one of the men, or

perhaps to the woman, and she knows that she will do her part to please this

person.  She is playing out the part mentally of the harem slave, and it is as

much as her life would be worth to displease the Sultan if she really was a

slave.  And in a sense she is.  Since she has come under the control of this

master, she has been getting regular punishment- which she loves and hates at

the same time.  There is no question about it being truly painful to be turned

over, rump-up and stropped thoroughly with that leather or her master's hand-

it is not.  The spankings are not at all that hard.  But at the same time, she

adores the wild sexuality that she feels when spanked, knowing that her master

will then use her in strange, exotic ways or give her body for use by his

friends.  Yes, in a sense he has converted her from lady to whore, but never

has she felt as attached to or as involved with any man.  Yes, he totally is

boss and she would not willingly have him any other way. And she absolutely

revels in the joy she feels as her master shows off her beautiful body to

strangers and willingly shares her most intimate charms with others.



She dances on, her nude body writhing and turning.  At times her back is turned

to the audience, and they then are treated to the sight of the muscles working

in her beautiful thighs and ass, a particular delight in the eyes of her master

and provocative absolutely to any man.  Perhaps whomever gets her tonight will

want her that way, she thinks, and gives a special wiggle and spread-legged

bend forward that emphasizes that particular delight to the audience,

signifying perhaps that there is orgasmic joy to be had right here for a strong

man.  And who will the winner be, the one selected to conquer her, perhaps

right there in full view of all, on that pile of cushions?  Maybe it will be

the woman this time.  She is attractive enough, about 40, shapely, quite well

dressed, with a good, slim figure.  Helen dances a little bit, just for her,

and this is immediately obvious to all.  Yes, that one might just spread her

thighs and Helen would kneel between them cheerfully, gladly looking into and

then kissing and worshiping her delicious femininity. Perhaps it will be one of

the men.  One, seated in the center, attracts her especially.  He is tall and

sturdy, perhaps 50, salt and pepper grey in his hair, and a strong, powerful

look-- and obviously very aroused.  Now, she dances especially for him, facing

him, her thighs parted, her curly dark blonde triangle in full view, and as she

moves back and forth, her vulva opens and closes slightly, her pink clit now

erect and peeping out at him. The perfume is now at its fullest effect and the

sight of her nude body, obviously totally passionate, fully ready to be

conquered, has all of the audience incredibly excited.  They now want the dance

to end and to see Helen take up another challenge- the total satisfaction of

another person.



The master designates an individual who wins tonight's prize.  As she had

hoped, it is the stocky man with grey in his hair.  He seizes her immediately,

his hands rubbing across her back and down over her bottom, and as he grasps

each cheek of her rump in his huge hand and squeezes, he kisses her, a long,

wet kiss, his tongue plunging deep in her mouth.  And of course she responds to

his kiss, offering her hot tongue in a kind of duel, her nipples rubbing

against his shirt.  They are in full view of the others, but she does not care

at all who watches- in her mind she is a fully stimulated slave girl who will

do her utmost, her absolute utmost to satisfy this man, the man designated as

her lover for tonight by her master.  He bends slightly forward, taking a

nipple between his lips and gives it a hard, sucking kiss- almost too hard for

her comfort, but still tremendously stimulating.  He stands and his trousers

immediately drop to expose a monstrous erection, standing straight out, all but

pointing at her.  Helen drops to her knees as her master has taught her to do.

She greets this appendage with a large, wet kiss, massaging the head with her

slippery tongue.  The dance has done what it always does for her-left her

feeling almost orgasmic.  Now she wants to pay homage to this lovely huge cock,

to make it even more ready so that it will invade her body, give her

spectacular pleasure and then squirt its full tribute into her.  And she will

willingly do as she has been taught- she will relax totally, no matter where

this monstrous cock is put, and then participate in the pleasure

whole-heartedly, giving as much as she can, and cummmming with her new lover,

cummmming for him  again and again until he has had enough.



He takes her to the pile of cushions, and removes the rest of his clothing so

that he, like she, is nude.  She wonders if this new lover will want to spank

her first- there is master's leather strop, hanging on a hook on the wall.

Will he want to use this on her, to demonstrate his total control?  He does

not.  She drops back on the cushions, thighs spread, ready to be pleasured by

him.  He kneels before her, first giving her delicious, wet pussy a deep

tonguing kiss.  She responds wildly, raising her bottom up to meet him,

throwing her legs up and back so they rest on his shoulders.  He raises his

head, thrusts a finger into her wily, juicy nest, withdraws that finger and

searches for and finds another orifice for it, thrusting it deep into her

bottom. She gasps.  She knows that he will very quickly make her cum for the

first time this evening- that she had practically but not quite been there a

number of times during the dance, and this oral stimulation and anal

stimulation she cannot resist.  But not yet.  He moves his body forward so that

his rigid cock is at her outer portals.  She will get, will need, no further

foreplay. Slowly, deeply, thickly, forcefully his rigid rod enters until it's

entire depth is planted in her.  It feels simply marvelous- stretching her,

filling her with true masochistic joy to be impaled on this huge log of a cock

in the presence of this very, very interested audience.   He strokes back and

then forward again- totally in control, setting the pace that pleases him best.

And suddenly, after only a few strokes she throws her arms around his neck and

says for all to hear, ooooooh,oooooo 'mcummmmmmmmmmmmmmminnnng!!!!".  Her new

lover smiles, his macho feelings satisfied.  He has conquered this delicious

bitch.  He has caught her, fucked her, made her respond ecstatically and made

her surrender her orgasm to him.  He feels as if he is ten feet tall, a giant,

a hero.  And he is by no means through with her- a man of his experience and

stature and strength can do this for another hour, perhaps.  He continues the

slow pace.  Though she has just cum, her arousal has really not diminished at

all. Her new lover is fucking her masterfully, slow, deep powerful strokes, his

finger still imbedded in her anus, keeping time with the strokes of his cock.

Never has she enjoyed intercourse so much as this instant, but at the moment

she thinks how terrible it is to do this with people watching, how

embarrassing, how awful, how dangerous, how absolutely delicious.  And her

thought goes to her master, who has orchestrated this whole event,

choreographed it, and she loves him for understanding her so well, for

analyzing her needs for sensation and humiliation and having them satisfied.

Her head turns, she sees the audience watching, transfixed.  The woman is

obviously aroused, her legs now spread, her crotch pointed towards Helen,

though she has her panty-hose on.  They make eye contact.  The woman's lips

purse, making the sign of a kiss to Helen, and Helen makes the response, her

tongue emerging and making a licking motion.  Helen knows, just absolutely

knows, that when the others leave, that lady will remain, those panty hose will

come off, and Helen will be treated to a closer sight of those female delights

and that Helen's master will give her to a second lover tonight, and at the

thought, her body shakes and quivers as she goes through the throes of a second

orgasm.



Just for the record, where was Herbert all this time?  Well, heregarded it as a

marvelous opportunity for a bachelor trip through Europe with an aged colleague

of his- a widower of 67. The gentlemen spent four delightful weeks carefully

examining all the gothic cathedrals in France, dined at elegant and expensive

restaurants, sampled various interesting and exotic vintages, stayed at small

inns and castles other times, looked at the Chateaux on the Loire, went to

Chartres and studied the historical architecture plus a square mile or so of

fabled stained glass windows, excursioned to Brittany and saw Le Mont St

Michael, went to Notre Dame (and perhaps found the hunchback?) met two

delightful elderly English school teachers and took them to dinner, and for all

I know, even got lucky- I did not ask. When he returned, much refreshed and

rested and bubbling with a thousand stories, Herbert said that of course he

missed me while he was gone, but that there is much to be said for an

occasional separate vacation.  He thinks that it gives one a chance to study,

to think.  It cleans the mind and gives one a clearer perspective of what

things are all about.  Tyrone, hearing this somewhat later, laughingly agreed

absolutely.  Sara says that the separate vacation idea is fine for the wife,

but her husband is damn well never going to go without her.  I believe her.  It

seems that she thinks that she had better keep an eye on him.  So far as I am

concerned, midnight came and the carriage turned back into a pumpkin, as it

always seems to do.  King Tyrone was delegated to the history books.  He had

been commanding.  He had been interesting and fascinating in his way.  He had

shown a new path to explore that at the time seemed dangerous but fascinating.

Still, it was time to move on to new challenges.



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