Chapter 12
The callers were boys, four of them, all younger than Ellen, and keenly appreciative when the girls walked into the large reception room. All well-dressed, slick-looking, Ellen guessed they came from wealthy families, with one the others called Roberto as their leader. Most of the questions were put to him, and he answered in a quiet, machine-gun-rapid flow of Spanish as he looked from one girl to the other, but always back to Ellen. Then, liquid brown eyes begged her to let the robe fall apart, and she did. He said something to the waiting Henri and pointed to Ellen. Then, the other three selected Celine, Becky, and Marianne. Connie and Alicia went back to Connie's room to resume a gin-rummy game. As she passed by the kitchen entrance. Ellen saw Melissa's brows raise inquisitively, but she shook her head slightly, as if to say. "Not this one. I can handle him."
In her room, he had only the knowledge of having rented her body to overcome a natural shyness to claim what he'd paid for. Undressed as she was, he was uncertain and nervous when he took her in his arms and began loving her breasts. She let him have his way, remaining as impassive as she could while his hungry mouth pulled at her nipples, and the restless, eager hand probed her cunt. When she touched his sex, it was only tumescent. Gently, expertly, she manipulated with her hand until it grew harshly rigid, then guided if for him into her vagina. As she suspected would be the case, it was over virtually in seconds with his half-regretful, shivering cry.
He didn't want to go just then, but by expression and gesture, Ellen let him know he was through for the evening, unless he paid Henri again, and at the going prices this wasn't likely. He smiled weakly at the door, went out, and Ellen went to the bath to clean up.
Her next call came about twenty minutes later. Two men. Both obviously mature, and evidently partying some, although they remained stiffly polite under Henri's critical eye. Because she was new, Ellen supposed, the bigger one picker her, and the other wanted Becky. As she passed the kitchen, she nodded significantly to Melissa, who smiled her immediate understanding and nodded in return.
"What's your name?" she asked her newest customer as they undressed, a thing Ellen found very easily done in her robe costume.
"Victor," he replied in a heavy accent.
"Victo what?"
"Victor Castillejo," he replied in lisping Castilian.
"Your work?"
"Yo no comprendo."
"Your job. What do you do?"
He grinned, showing big, white teeth. She understood none of his rapid-fire, rolling reply, and guessed that he was telling her to mind her own business, that he came there to do something besides talk. Ellen had noticed he was well-dressed, and she supposed he was married as she stretched out on the bed, waiting for him to take her.
He was vastly different from the boy, however. Alcohol had inspired rather than weakened him. He came to her with a full erection, and she noticed with some curiosity his prick had a slight bend to it. Ellen wondered if she'd be able to feel the curve as she parted her legs obediently when he knelt between them. Because it was appropriate, she gasped in a pretended thrill at his hunching penetration, and decided Spaniards weren't any hotter than other people. This one was pretty calm about it.
And he wasn't in any hurry, apparently, taking his coital movements in long, pleasurable strokes as if he intended riding her all night. Ellen had been watching the door, and was grateful when it opened a crack, then wider as Melissa walked in, smiling wickedly. Castillejo heard her and looked over his shoulder and growled something. Melissa knew enough Spanish she understood him, and growled something back in her thick, Southern accent, but she went in the bathroom and shut the door.
She was out in less than a minute, naked and smiling, pert breasted and with protruding hips typical of her race. She stood close enough to the bed that when the Venezuela turned to see where she was, his face was at her pubic area. He leaned forward and kissed it lightly, his white teeth showing as vividly as hers. As he saw it, if one could be so good, then two would be that much better. When Melissa vaulted over their copulating bodies to the opposite side of the bed, Castillejo got off Ellen and crawled between the colored-girl's eager legs. Melissa groaned with excited pleasure when the Spaniard's shaft sank in her cunt, and Ellen wondered more than ever what the sexual-nature of a person could be who could enjoy women and men alike. She decided Melissa liked anything, just so it had to do with sex.
The black skin must have excited him most, however, because he alternately kissed Ellen's lips and nipples while he hunched furiously at Melissa's straining loins. She was trying to come, was close enough she needed only the slightest encouragement, so, Ellen slipped her hand over and rolled one of the firm, dark nipples back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. The added stimulation was all the Negress needed, and she moaned through a contorted, threshing orgasm while the Spaniard found the excitement too great for his reserve, and he came too. Ellen left them as they were, and slipped into the bath where she sat on the stool and tried to think of something real and meaningful.
From a mid-western farm to a whorehouse in South America, and sharing the mattress with a displaced girl from Louisiana or Mississippi or Alabama, together with a Spanish gentleman who paid well to have intercourse with a white girl, but decided he liked the black best, and Melissa was only the cook and handy-girl, who liked a penis, a cunt, or a heavy French-born man who must have abducted her the same as the others. Ellen decided she'd have to get out as quickly as she could, before she too got lulled into Duboisson's protective benevolence. Quickly, she douched and went back in her bedroom for her robe. The Spaniard and Melissa were soul-kissing, and her hand was pumping at his prick. While Ellen watched, his erection came up, and Melissa groaned louder this time as she rolled over on her back, legs raised high, anticipating the feeling in her cunt. Ellen sat quietly in a chair, knees up under her chin, and decided that even if men and women did look pretty silly doing it, it was still a lot of fun. Melissa's steamy pleasure from the act excited her, and she found herself wishing she was under the Spaniard's driving prick instead. To relieve the tickling, Ellen ran her finger up and down her genital slit and hoped Melissa could come first so the fellow could finish in her.
But he came suddenly, in a series of wheezing gasps, as if each breath would be his last. Melissa, evidently afraid of losing her own moment of pleasure, sent her hips up and down in a frenzy and wouldn't let the protesting Spaniard go until she had gurgled through her climax, then they were both exhausted.
Ellen made them both get up, found Melissa's clothes for her and helped the swaying Negro girl get dressed. And the smile she gave Ellen at the door was one of extreme gratitude. The Spaniard, finished with his wash up in the bath, dressed quickly and quietly, and without looking at Ellen except during an occasional quick glance, as if he might have injured his reputation in the whorehouse by paying for the white and taking on the colored. She waited until he had time to get out of the house, then sauntered out to the waiting room.
Melissa and Henri were arguing, quietly and heatedly, and the colored-girl turned to Ellen for support. "Wasn't I in yoah room cleaning up, Miss Ellen?"
Ellen nodded to Duboisson. "She was there. Why does it matter?"
"She was gone at least twenty minutes!" he grated unpleasantly. "I know her for what she is! She hangs around the rooms, hoping for some runoff. If I don't watch her, the word'll be out all over Caracas that Henri Duboisson specializes in free rugger cunt, when I'm trying to run the most exclusive house in town!"
Ellen put her arm around Melissa and winked so Henri couldn't see. "Well, not this time, because she was with me at least half the time. That playboy just went out got sick and puked on the carpet. Don't let any more guys in on me that have been drinking heavy," she admonished the manager.
Henri frowned, remembering. "He didn't strike me as being very far gone. The guy in the dark suit? Your last trick?"
Ellen nodded, added professionally, "I gave him a hell of a ride. He might have gotten sea-sick, you know. Come on, Melissa. Fix me a hot cup of coffee. Could you do that?" Together, they walked to the kitchen, leaving Duboisson alone and wondering if Ellen were as docile as she represented herself to be. Melissa definitely had the smug, satisfied smile on her face. He'd seen it too many times, put it there himself. He was debating about taking her up to his room, see how anxious she'd be for a piece, when he had to answer the door.
It was an American, a man in his thirties, quiet and very much to the point. "I heard a man could lay an American broad here. Is this the case?"
Henri said, "I have American girls, yes."
"The send one out. I want a taste of home tonight."
Henri called, "Ellen! Company!"
She came out, carrying her coffee in one hand, holding the robe with the other. The American was medium-sized, tanned, with unruly sandy hair, and he obviously liked Ellen. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "If I could buy a hot dog I'd have everything!"
While he paid Henri, Ellen let the robe fall open and the customer reverently filled his eyes. He swallowed hard and nodded. "I know I'll like it here, and I won't need a receipt, kind sir." He took Ellen's arm, held it close. "Let's go," he said softly, and they set out in the direction of her room.
Melissa was just coming out with the sheet rolled up in her arm, bowing apologetically at the white man in a fine display of Uncle Tomming. Ellen wanted to laugh, it was that amusing.
"My name's Ernie Wadsmith," the man volunteered almost immediately, when they were alone. "When I'm home, I live in Sandusky, Ohio, but I'm selling milling machines on the South American circuit another three months before I go back."
"Milling machines?"
"You tool things out of metal with them. They're big, cost a lot of money. But the commission is big too, and this is a good market." He was undressing, talking, and admiring Ellen's flawless nudity all at once.
Something occurred to Ellen. "How did you get here?"
"I flew in. Why?"
"Where did you land, I mean?"
"At the airport at Maiquetia, down on the fait. It's about an hour's drive from Caracas." He was naked. Very muscular and well built. But he wasn't hard yet. His sex was limp and hanging. He fingered it, watching her eyes, explaining, "I didn't come here to fuck like the others. I've got to make love, be in love, and be loved in return. Not much animal in Ernie Waldsmith, I'm afraid. I got a lot of Don Juan, though. May I kiss you?"
Ellen nodded. "I was hoping you would," she said softly, sensing his mood and sharing it with him.
The salesman looked long and deeply into her eyes as he took Ellen in his arms. "Hey, what have we got here? A romance, by golly? You're awfully lovely, Beautiful Girl, and you don't belong here regardless of what you think about it. Old Ernie can tell. But you like it too well to quit, I suppose, but I'm damned if I'd support that pompous-looking pimp that took my money."
Just before his lips closed softly on hers, Ellen murmured, "I don't intend to," then thrilled to the loving tenderness of a man who had already looked into her soul, and because he could look into souls, had to find spiritual love before knowing physical pleasure. Sentimental because she was at heart alone and scared, Ellen cried softly and clung desperately to him, and they stayed this way until she felt better.
He was very much wanting her by then, wanting the fulfillment her lips promised, wanting to merge his loneliness with hers at the common meeting grounds of man and woman in their closest union. Deftly, Ellen slid a leg under him, positioned her hips just so, and tucked the hard, desirable penis into her cunt. Ernie pushed slowly in as their lips ground together in the abandoned way of two people in love, however temporary it is to be. Ellen told him she loved him, and Ernie told her he loved her, and both believed the other because it was true. In this bedroom in Venezuela that neither had seen before and would never see again, this was true. The salesman and the whore loved each other because both knew that in their loves was the deepest kind of physical pleasure they both wanted, and that it wasn't obtainable any other way. They were determined to have it, and therefore were in love.
It was a thrill-filled half hour for the girl from the farm, and for the salesman from Sandusky, a moment he would remember for as long as he lived, and one he would never confide to another living soul because not many man have within them the soul of a romanticist, and only a romanticist could understand.
He kissed Ellen hard at the door. "I've got a wife and three kids at home, hoping Pop will do well on his big chance. And so far, I have. And tonight's the first time ever I've given thought to wondering if I really do have a wife and kids back home, or is this something I dreamed out of life before life got to be real."
Ellen understand, and ran her fingers lovingly over his cheeks. "You're a swell guy, Ernie. You're the first one I've met in my whole life that I'd go with anywhere, so kiss me and go before I pack my bag."
The salesman kissed her again and left hurriedly. When he was cut of sight down the corridor, Ellen went back in her room, scooped her robe off the floor with a dexterous foot, slung it over her shoulder and went to the bathroom.
She felt was and defeated when she came out.
And it was only ten-thirty.
Between then and closing time, she took on three more men. Two were young and didn't take long. The third, older and experienced, proved harder to dispose of, but she finally got on her knees like the dogs, a thing he evidently wasn't accustomed to, and she was rid of him.
A few more came in afterwards, but they were steadies and wanted the other girls.
She went to bed at two in the morning, after scrambled eggs and toast with the others.