Chapter 9
EUNUCHS GALORE
I left my "very intimate" friends a few days later. Why?
Oh, it was very simple: neither with the husband in front of his wife, nor in the various practices of perversion, had I obtained any result.
Under the virile and yet skilful fornicating of Webster, I had reacted the same way as before. Yet that man had fucked me in front of his wife, and with consummate art, and, for all that, it was only she, Jessica, that had her orgasm. My vagina had not reacted like a normal woman's while being fucked by an expert. It was really hopeless.
Of course, my friends did not know anything about my frigidity and they were convinced that I was satisfied with the perverted set-up.
Well, if they were glad, I certainly wasn't. I was even despairing.
What was the use of throwing myself freely on the lustful pecker of every man? My husband loved me and it was mutual. Wouldn't it be better to return to him and tell him everything?
I am and always have been the calculating and resolute kind.
I mapped out a plan, ready to follow it at all costs. I would make yet one final fuck experiment, but only one. If I didn't succeed then, I would return to my husband.
My nice friends had insisted that, before my departure, I should be invited to the great garden-party given in the gardens of the British Embassy.
That garden-party constituted the best social affair in Alexandria.
The whole diplomatic corps was invited, as well as the highest persons in the Egyptian government.
As an English subject by marriage, I was presented to the British Ambassador, and, as a Swiss by birth, I was presented to the Swiss.
The party was in full swing, when suddenly the music stopped in the middle of a frantic mambo and started playing a slow piece which sounded like a national anthem. Everybody stood to attention. The doors were flung open by powdered lackeys, who announced solemnly:
"His Royal Highness Prince Ali Ben Ergezan."
A young man strode in. He was young, lean, swarthy, and, apart from his headdress which consisted of a turban, he was dressed in the European style, in black with a white tie, and on his chest there was a black and green decoration with a set of diamonds in the middle.
The ladies did a curtsy and the British Ambassador went towards the prince, bowing low before him. The prince shook hands with him and smiled genially to everybody.
I whispered to my neighbor:
"Who is this prince?"
"He is the young brother of King Selimlll."
"Selim III?"
"Yes, he rules over a little kingdom of about two million inhabitants."
"I apologize for being so ignorant, but can you tell me where that kingdom is?"
"In South Arabia, near the Strait of Bal-el-Mandeb," my neighbor explained.
"Ah, I see, now, but I must confess I had never heard of it before."
"There's nothing surprising in that, as that little kingdom was nearly unknown two or three years ago."
"And now?"
"Now, everybody is getting interested in it, oil has been discovered there in great quantities."
"Oh, I see."
"Yes, black gold is very powerful in these modern times. That explains all the kow-towing towards the prince Ali, the king's brother.
Indeed, the prince was at once surrounded with many suitors. But my neighbor was right. One felt all around an unmistakable fawning attitude to gain the prince's favors, in view of subsequently getting his oil.
For oil makes petrol and isn't only used to warm up a cup of tea or light a lamp, but it makes tanks go, as well as bombers and submarines and the weapon factories. And, from time to time, a nice little war is so pleasant (so say the politicians, who don't fight in wars).
Anyway, there was a crowd of suitors around His Royal Highness Prince Ali Ben Ergezan.
"Would you like me to introduce you to His Royal Highness?"
"I'd be delighted."
"Come with me."
He took me by the arm and together we went towards the group surrounding the prince.
He wriggled through the group with difficulty and eventually we stood before Mahamud Ali ben Ergenzan.
Mr. Thorrys (my neighbour) bowed. The Prince knew him, for he spontaneously offered his hand to be shaken.
"Your Highness, may I take the liberty of asking a favor that of presenting to you this charming lady who is desirous to know you?"
The prince looked at me for a long time. His intense look enveloped me like a caress.
In a warm and well modulated voice, he said:
"Mr. Thorrys, a beautiful woman like this young lady should not be desirous to know me it is I who is desirous to know her."
Mr. Thorrys took me by the hand.
I sketched a curtsy while he announced:
"His Royal Highness Ali ben Ergezan, brother of His Majesty Selim II;
"Mrs. Rochelle Peters, wife of the famous English Doctor."
"I know the remarkable works of your husband, madam," the prince said. "He's a remarkable man, and also for the choice he made of such a charming and pretty spouse."
"Your Highness is too kind."
"Not at all, madam. One must recognize knowledge, intelligence and beauty where one finds them."
So saying, he took my hand and kissed it for a long time.
He expressed himself in an impeccable English and nearly without an accent.
At that moment, very softly, in the dancing room, the violins had started playing the nostalgic "Blue Tango."
He took my arm lightly and said:
"Would you like to dance this tango with me, ma'am?"
"I'd be much honored, Your Highness."
He walked with me to the dancing floor and we started our tango.
He was a good dancer, and he had that suppleness of the Orientals.
While dancing he talked:
"I haven't been in your country for a long time. I studied at Oxford. It may seem strange to you, but I often have quite a nostalgia for your native country."
"I'm English only by marriage, Your Highness. By birth I'm Swiss, I was born in Lausanne."
"Ah, I know Switzerland too. It's nearly the same as England.
You may find it strange that we Orientals could find some charm in your gray skies, your rain and your mists, but, you see, it's a nice contrast to our ever-shining sky, our perpetual stretches of sand and the lasting heat of our country."
"For me, I feel the same as Your Highness, only the other way round," I said smiling.
He laughed, uncovering superb white teeth.
"Naturally, according to the inexorable law of contrasts, it's quite understandable," he said.
The dance came to an end and I detected a half hard-on in the Royal prick.
He accompanied me and then suddenly asked:
"Would you do me the honor of sitting at my table and accepting a glass of champagne?"
"Your Highness, I really don't know if "
"Come," he said gently.
He took hold of my arm and accompanied me to his table, where already the ambassadors and their wives were sitting.
I'm not conceited but this moment really made me feel proud.
To be invited at the table of a Royal prince, a real one, brother of a reigning sovereign, and to sit at the side of the representatives of the greatest countries on earth, that was something not happening to everybody.
And I could realize from the spiteful envious looks of the other ladies present that they thought exactly like me concerning the importance of this unexpected invitation.
Later, the prince invited other ladies to dance all the wives of the ambassadors but it was obvious he was preferring me to them. And the Royal prick did have a hard-on as he held my body in his arms.
About two o'clock in the morning, he told me a low voice:
"Ma'am, the protocol obliges me to leave now, for I'm here on an official visit.
I spent with you a delightful evening. May I be so bold as to ask you to come to tea tomorrow at 4 aboard my yacht "Crescent" which is moored in the Alexandria harbor? There will be only a few friends present."
"Your Highness is really too kind to me."
"It's you who's being kind to me," he said.
He gave a long kiss on my hand.
Then he saluted everyone with one bow.
Men stood to attention and women curtsied so low one could see the opening of their busts, with the decolletes they were wearing.
The orchestra struck up the national anthem of Ergezan, and His Royal Highness left the British Embassy.
When I came back to Webster and Jessica, they congratulated me on my social success.
"Darling, you really bewitched the prince."
"Rochelle you're the queen of this ball."
I told them I had been invited aboard the royal yacht.
Jessica lifted an admonishing finger and jokingly told me:
"I believe your nice little English pussy is going to know the royal prick of a prince."
"Oh, we haven't come to that yet," I said laughing.
"Who knows? If he should want it so. Remember, dear Rochelle (and she quoted two classical French verses which meant that when a king orders one must obey without question). "
I burst out laughing and said cynically:
"Why not?"
The following day about noon, Jessica came into my room.
"Darling," she said, "there's a native kid asking for you."
"A native kid?"
"Yes, you'll see. He looks a delightful little boy."
"Oh, calm down and don't rape that boy."
"Do come quickly for I do feel like attacking his lovely little dick."
I slipped on a deshabille and went downstairs.
Indeed, there stood a little native boy such as one imagines in theThous and and One Nights tales: white turban, wide green trousers and red blouse. He bowed gravely and put his little hand successively to his forehead, his lip and his chest.
In a faltering, funny English, he told me:
"My master, Prince Ali, sends his respect to Mrs. Peters and begs her to accept this."
He handed me a superb bouquet of orchids and a little box tied with a golden thread.
I thanked him and he ran off.
I opened the box.
On a black velvet bottom there lay a superb diamond clip designed in the shape of a crescent.
There was a card accompanying this gift a card without any crown or other regal designs. The prince had written these few words in which one felt his inborn oriental lyricism: "The oriental crescent will shine on the bosom of the western golden lady like a silver beam. I hope to present my respects to her today at four on board my yacht." Ali.
Well, that was a surprise.
I showed my present to Jessica.
She examined the sumptuous gem and gave it back to me laughing.
"Darling," she said, "this little crescent of diamonds may be the prelude to a summit prick and pussy meeting between the East and the West."
I guessed what she had in mind. We smiled at each other. "Maybe," I said, "he seems every inch a man."
At four I was on the wharf.
I saw the yacht "Crescent" at its moorings, and marveled at its beauty. It was white and supremely elegant.
In the bows there was the royal flag of Ergezan, black and green with, in the middle, the crescent and the crown.
An Egyptian policeman, wearing white gloves and toupee, was standing guard at the gangway.
I went forward. He saluted, but barred my way.
"The access to this yacht is forbidden, madam," he said, politely.
"I've been invited by Prince Ali," I retorted.
"One moment, please."
He blew his whistle and two crew-men ran up from the yacht.
They bowed politely and one of them said in excellent English:
"Prince Ali, our master, is waiting for Mrs. Peters in his suite."
The guard stood aside and let me pass.
The Prince was waiting for me at the door of his suite.
After the classical hand-kissing and a few polite and friendly words, he asked me to come in and presented me to two couples sitting inside, one European and the other from his country. They welcomed me warmly.
I noticed that after a little banal talk and drinking a few glasses, they left, and I gathered that the prince must have told them beforehand that he wished to remain alone with me.
He offered his arm to me and proposed that we should visit the yacht. I accepted with pleasure.
It was a marvel of comfort and luxury.
At the end of the visit, we arrived in the prince's stateroom.
He was very polite to the end and never ventured a wrong gesture, but, fixing me with his large black eyes, he told me:
"I'm going to tell you something and I would like you to believe me, although it will sound like a bad scenario. When I saw you last night I had the impression that a ray of sun was lighting the horizon of my life. Your radiant blond beauty made me forget the serious problems that weigh on my mind and which I proposed mentioning later.
I won't use with you the long poetical sentences generally used by people of my race, for I had a western education, so I'll go straight to the point: you told me you had the intention of visiting the Orient. Well, my yacht will leave to-morrow evening for my country. It will sail through the Suez Canal and the Red Sea, and I can assure you the sight is magnificent. If you have no other project, will you accept to be my guest aboard my yacht for the trip? The friends you were introduced to just now will also sail with us.
If you will accept my offer, you'll make me a very happy man."
H had spoken in a low, calm voice, but the gleam in his eyes showed that, inside he was excited.
I remained silent a while.
I like the idea of the project but there was an objection.
That was that no doubt, during the voyage, the prince would wish to experience the effect of his princely pecker in my cunt.
As for me, I hadn't given a thought about making love with him.
So I answered diplomatically:
"Your Highness, I'm highly flattered by your generous offer, but it's difficult for me to answer at once. I'll have to think about it."
"You're quite right you need a few hours at least to think it over. But can you give me your answer by to-morrow morning?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
A happy smile lit his face. He accompanied me to the gangway, where he bowed low and kissed my hand.
His final words were:
"Allah is great, madam, perhaps He will make your pretty mouth pronounce the "yes"
I so much desire."
Ah, those Orientals, what lyricism about fucking they employ.
What was I going to decide ?
I was tempted by the ideal of that voyage, but an odd feminine intuition told me that this pleasure yacht seemed uneasy. Not because I thought of it being full of men, hard-cocked and sweating with desire, beginning with the prince.
No, it wasn't that. After all, I was going to make another sexual experiment, so the prince was a winner all right.
I would get laid by him there was no doubt about that.
But I was afraid of something else. What? I couldn't put a finger on it, and yet I felt it in my bones.
Prudence counseled me to refuse that invitation.
But, for a woman, even though she knows it's unreasonable, she's so tempted to say yes.
That is why, the following morning I was foolish enough to arrive at the 'Crescent' with all my luggage.
We weighed anchor in the evening at eleven, and about one a.m., while the Egyptian shore was still in sight, Prince Ali shoved his noble hard-on up my cunt for the first time.
He had been very correct about it and had obtained my tacit assent.
It took place in his sumptuous cabin, decorated with heavy drapery and carpets.
First, he undressed me with great art. When I was naked, I read in his shining eyes all the real admiration he had for what he saw.
Then his very soft hands cupped my naked titties lovingly down to where the skin is tender, and caressed me very pleasantly on my bush and pussy lips.
This Oriental knew the art of caresses backwards. As his thumb played with my clitoris, it became harder than I ever remembered it.
Finally, he took off his dressing-gown with a brisk gesture and appeared in his sculptural swarthy nudity. His cock was a truly a powerful specimen, smooth thick fully nine inches with a hard, rocket-like head. The skin around his balls was soft and silky, and then rippled as he moved.
He shoved the royal rammer up my cunt slowly at first then with passion. He tried to hold his ejaculation till the last possible moment, but soon he was moaning with pleasure and he came violently with a grunt, that hard cock-head spewing a load of super heated semen up my willing cunt. He remained awhile on top of me, breathing heavily and whispering love terms in his native tongue. Since it was the first time I had ever been fucked by a prince, I elegantly used my twat muscles to "milk" his dick of its last drop of creamy sperm. He groaned happily as my cunt worked on his cock-head. Me?
Same as ever, even the Royal load hadn't made me come.
As my new lover would probably say:
"It is written. Allah is great."
That was the end. I would not renew the experiment. I was frigid. For good. Too bad.
I would return to my husband. I would, for love and out of consideration for his feelings, pretend I had experienced orgasm, and that was that.
I have no ridiculous moral prejudices but it looked that no matter what cock I let traverse my cunt, I would never know the true joy of fucking.
I would never consider that making love with another man than my husband were very important, so long as it was a passing imagine. But unfortunately my case was quite different.
Under the pretext of seeking a sensation that kept eluding me, I wasn't, after all, going to sleep with an entire regiment.
I thought to myself:
"Prince Ali, you will be my last lover, the last link of a chain of guinea-pigs." My thoughts were interrupted as Prince Ali's quickly revived dong thrust into my cunt once again. As that huge cock-head parted my vaginal walls, I raised my hips and caressed every centimeter of his noble shaft. His palpitating prick was in me to the Royal balls, which softly slapped my outer pussy lips every time Ali drove his dong in as far as it could possibly go. He groaned with satisfaction as I skewered his asshole with my index finger and shoved it in up to the knuckle, as his ass rose and fell in hump rhythm. I twitched my cunny muscles around the head of his cock, and his torso began to jerk violently as his noble balls gushed another series of royal semen into my very womb. Again I milked him through his orgasm.