Chapter 1
One of the biggest businesses of its kind in the United States is the recruitment of servant girls, particularly from Europe and especially from Germany. There exist agencies in Manhattan and on the West Coast that do nothing but specialize in that task. They provide a network for women who would come to the U.S. and from abroad and for those who are already in the U.S. and are of foreign birth; and they link the women to prospective employers. They do this through ads in foreign language newspapers at home and abroad and they circulate brochures in the neighborhoods of those who can afford such servants, bringing the customer together with his product and vice versa.
Most of the entrepreneurs in such businesses are legitimate. They believe in what they are doing. They maintain sincerely that they are filling a need. Essentially, the majority of such business people do not feel they are supplying anything other than the kind of service supposedly sought, a servant for a person who wants a servant. But at least one, Philip K., a young entrepreneur on the West Coast who makes contact through an agency in Manhattan, speaks otherwise of his function.
In a frank interview about the problem, he stated matter-of-factly, "I'm not a procurer and I don't believe I'm engaged in prostitution, but I would be liar if I said I didn't know that many of the clients I work for only want to bring the girls out here for fucking purposes. It's purely and simply a case of fucking and nothing more."
When asked what then happens to the girls, Philip K. shrugged. "Who knows?" he said. "Sometimes they get lucky and hook a guy. Sometimes they go home. Sometimes they actually stay as servants in the same place where they were brought originally to fuck or else in another household where they may be expected to fuck or finally to do what supposedly they were brought here in the first place to do, work at the business of being a servant."
According to Philip K., the largest number of employers of foreign servant labor on the West Coast are in the Los Angeles area and specifically in the environs of Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Bel-Air, and the small communities westward to Santa Monica and the ocean. Persons related in some way or other to the motion picture industry are prime employers also, Philip K. stated, and these facts have been corroborated by various Manhattan and other West Coast foreign servant employment agencies.
The girls, Philip K. stated, come with "stardust in their eyes." They are informed before they accept the employment that they will be working for someone connected with the motion picture industry, and they infer from that their own possible future stardom. "But that's important to understand," Philip said. "They are not told in any direct way that they ever will be given a crack at the movies. They are simply told they will be working for somebody connected with the industry. They take it from there, themselves."
In discussion with others about that particular aspect of the problem, it was indicated though not substantiated that certain persons are a main source of employment for such girls, that those individuals have only a tentative relationship to the motion picture industry, and that those persons seldom maintain the girls they hire for more than a minimum period of time. Philip K. confirmed this fact and noted an interesting corollary; that certain individuals who are engaged in such occupation operate, themselves, or have friends who operate marriage agencies. "In other words," it was stated, "the girls, after a brief employment, are released. The men who have hired them and provided bond for them and brought them to California then suggest that they want the girl to find a husband. Since that is one reason too why the girls come in the first place, the suggestion naturally is accepted. And the next step is to put the girl in circulation with prospective marriage partners."
This is done through another ad in the newspapers, one that advertises the availability of young women for men seeking marriage partners. A phone number is provided, and the interested male calls the number. He is then given an address to visit, and upon his arrival at that address is told that for a fee he will be given the name and address of a girl interested to date somebody. If the customer asks what will happen if he is not satisfied with the date, he is told that three or six or nine or twelve, some set number, of names and addresses will be provided him for the established fee which is a minimum of fifty dollars and often a hundred and two hundred dollars, each name and address to be given him upon his expression of dissatisfaction with the previous girl he has dated.
Nothing in this smacks of procuring, and there is no prostitution involved. The "date agent" even usually makes clear to the prospective "dator" that the girls are interested primarily in marriage, and if the party seeking the dates expresses a promiscuous interest in the girls, the date agent frowns upon that expression. He seems most concerned with the girls' welfare.
But in reality, though he certainly is not engaged in prostitution, he definitely is engaged in sex, and in a sense he is trafficking that sex. As one young German girl stated the matter when interviewed about the problem, "They don't sell us as whores, and none of us think of ourselves as whores, but the nature of the situation makes us fuck whether we want to call it by that word or any other one. In the end, that's what it amounts to."
The girl, Hildegard R., might be considered a typical product of the system. Twenty-one at the time of her interview, she had been in the U.S. three years, had been brought to California through the agency of Philip K., had worked for a middle-aged couple tenuously related to the motion picture industry, and was dismissed after a minimum period of time. Her employers, however, made arrangements with a friend of theirs who "just happened" to operate a date bureau, and she proceeded to file her name and address on his long list of available girls. Soon she was in business.
"Oh, it was not a whore business," she said in a special interview about the matter. "I want to repeat that. It was not a whore business. But it very much was a business otherwise. I was the Nordic on the list, I suppose you would say, the true blonde with pretty blue eyes and the ample curves of a girl who was raised on many potatoes and much cabbage. Oh, I was not the only blonde on the list, of course; for so many of us are from Germany where so many blondes exist. But I still fit into the Nordic type, you see, and I was called on for festivities involving Nordics.
"So, soon I was getting phone calls and I was going on dates. I was meeting prospective husbands, or so I thought. But of course they weren't prospective husbands at all. They were men who simply were looking for a piece of ass. And I happened to be one of the pieces of ass they were looking for."
It was important to realize, she said, that there were two ways of handling the situation. Or three.
She could accept the money which sometimes her dates offered her; she could ask them for money if they didn't offer her any and/or she could continue working as a domestic in someone's household.
"But you see," she said, "if I was a domestic somewhere, then I would be obliged to live in, and I wouldn't always be available for dates and I would hurt my chances for marriage, wouldn't I? But if I were not a domestic, what else could I do in a place where all employment otherwise is so specialized? I could sit home and wait for dates, couldn't I? And meanwhile, what about the bills?"
The dilemma was circular, and she ended up looking for some way out. Her mind immediately focused on Albert M., the middle-aged man who had sponsored her career in the United States, and she went to him for an interview about her problem. This, in her own words, is the story of that encounter:
He lives in Beverly Hills. It is not a fashionable home. It is just a run-of-the-mill place not far from Doheny Drive in the older section of Beverly Hills not far from the Sunset Strip. His wife is really not his wife at all, except in name. He has a penchant for girls like myself, and he thinks he is doing us a favor, I suppose, by bringing us to California. He even speaks of his activities as being "socially valuable," and it is true that he does always encourage us to "keep in touch" with him.
But of course he wants us to keep in touch for a very good reason. I found that out in the minute I went to see him. He greeted me at the door in a maroon satin lounge robe which I remembered he always wore when he came to visit me in my room when I first arrived in the States and was living in that house. Each morning he would come so very kind-heartedly to ask if I had slept well the night before. It always ended up the same way, with me beneath him and he in my cunt. So I had full expectation of what was in store for me when I went into his house that afternoon for his help.
But when you have fucked as much as I have fucked, another fuck doesn't mean so much. I am not promiscuous, or at least I do not think of myself as promiscuous, but I have seen enough dicks not to be afraid of them. In fact, I have even come to enjoy the feeling of a good dick. I find it highly pleasurable if it does its work well up my cunt.
But Albert wasn't just a cunt-fucker. He liked headers even better, and it was something he said he liked most about me. In fact, I find it funny to remember how he almost cried on the morning he told me he had to dismiss me as his maid because, as he said, he felt I just wasn't doing my job. He said, "If it was just a matter of your terrific lips and tongue on my cock, Hildie, I'd never fire you. But I have to think of other things." It was hilarious. But of course I still was fired.
So when we faced each other in the wide parlor that was to a poor German girl so very beautiful in all its white and gold elegance, I was wondering if I should blow him in order to get him to help me. And when he sat in his favorite chair, a deep white fluff thing with its back to panel glass doors off a wide palm-filled veranda, and he kicked his bare feet high to a gold plush ottoman, and he let his maroon satin robe fall away from his thick hairy legs and almost reveal his family jewels, I became rather convinced of what my duty would be.
He ran a thick hand through his thinning gray hair and looked at me with pouched eyes and a puffy face. "Well, Hildie," he said, "I'm glad you came back. I'm always glad to see all my girls. I think of you as my family, you know, and I'm always glad to do anything I can for you. What do you need, Hildie?" And he scratched his crotch, indicating what I could do for him.
I told him my problem. "You're not seeing enough guys?" he asked.
"I may be seeing too many," I said.
"Nonsense," he said, "You can never see too many. Contracts are important. It's the way of life."
"They want to lay me," I said. "They all want to lay me."
He frowned. "You're a beautiful girl, Hildie," he said. "That's your damned trouble."
"This is a man's town," I said. "Every man can have all the women he ever needs. A woman is just a plaything for a man in this town."
"I know," he said. "I know what you mean." And he scratched his crotch again, then sucked his thick lips and looked at me.
Already I was realizing the futility of that visit. Already I was realizing there are things over which we have no control. I was in Hollywood because I had wanted to come to Hollywood. I had come with big dreams, and the dreams were false. I had been used sexually, and I could go on being used sexually. I was a servant girl, and I could go on being a servant girl. I could very much continue doing what I had been doing all along.
Yet I said to him, "Isn't there a way out? Isn't there some way out?"
"Look," he said, "you're a sweet girl. You're pretty and you're nice in bed, and you've got your life ahead of you. Nobody's exploiting you. I hope you realize that. You've made your own choices. You don't have to go on any of these dates that are lined up for you. It's up to you to handle your life the way you want." He scratched his crotch again, then sighed and looked away. I knew he had a hard-on. I saw it move beneath his robe.
"Albert," I said, "suppose I blew you. What would you do?"
He looked at me. "Hildie," he said, "I wouldn't do anything. I would let you blow me, and that's it. Don't look for villains, Hildie. There aren't any."
He was right. We're all our own villains. I was my own villain that afternoon when I stood from the sofa where I had been seated in Albert's parlor, and I unbuttoned the frilly white blouse I had purposely worn because I knew it was one he liked. I discarded the blouse to the sofa behind me and let him peer at my great tits in the see-through lavender bra I wore. I unzipped the short and tight black skirt I wore and let it fall around my ankles and showed myself without hose, wearing only see-through bikini-style panties that matched my bra. Then I stepped away from the skirt, and kicked off my white heels and went to him and stood between his legs, caressed his cheeks, ran my hands through his thinning gray hair, and said to him, "Albert, undress me all the way." And I pressed between his legs so that my own legs touched his dick and balls.
He straightened in his chair and reached behind me while he nestled his face between my tits and he unsnapped my bra. I hunched my shoulders and let him pull the straps away. He tugged at the brassiere between my tits and dropped it off me. And then he clutched me close to him and nuzzled my tits with his nose and lips, then tongued them and made them very erect.
With a fever then he gripped my hips and shoved my panties away, rushed them down my flanks and past my knees and let them fall to the carpet where I could step away from them and be naked before him. And then he buried his face to my big blonde bush, and he licked its crisp wiry curls. "What a muff," he said. "Hildie, your muff is supreme."
"Will you eat me?" I said. "Albert, will you eat me?" And I tugged at his head to go between my legs as I spread them so that he could consume my cunt.
But as if he knew that it was a last desperate effort on my part to control a situation that I already had let run away from me, he looked up and whispered hoarsely in his own heat, "I think you want to do something else, Hildie. Don't you want to do something else?"
In that moment, his great cock came unfurled as his robe fell away when he tugged the satin cord that held it bound, and his hairy body was bare before me even while he still wore his robe, and his great cock with its red ripe head beckoned me like a giant in a dark forest, rising above the crisp foliage, calling me to love it.
I was overwhelmed. It is possible that I am a born cocksucker. Albert sometimes told me that in the first times when he would visit me in my servant's room in that house, let me fondle his dick and always permit me to love its loveliness. "My dear, there are those who are born to the purple," he would say in such moments, patting my head gently and stroking my hair. "You are one of the gifted ones. Many are called, but few are chosen. This is particularly true with the female of the species. They are often so inept, so clumsy, so lacking in the grace that makes a good cocksucker."
He said women as a rule failed in the role of a cocksucker because, being women, they had no understanding of the male nature, of the feeling a man got through his penis. They behaved grotesquely, he said, because they worked without what he called "specific knowledge of the terrain."
"But you," he repeated, "are one of the gifted ones. You have that extraordinary perception and talent bequeathed only to the great artists of all time. You possess a sensitivity given only to the blessed ones. Ah, Hildie, your tonguework is exquisite." And he would feverishly then clutch my cheeks and hold me fast upon his great dick.
Perhaps what he said was so. Certainly I've always loved cock. And it has seldom disturbed me that men want me to lick their dicks. I have heard other girls complain and have heard them say that their men want nothing more of them than to be blown. The girls find this distasteful and they are often very unhappy at their tasks.
But this has never been true with me. Though of course I have always wanted to marry and certainly do not enjoy being passed from one to another, yet I never have developed a distaste for cock. For me there is something sublime in the nature of the male force, and I relish studying and observing the minutest details of the magnificence all cocks possess. To me a cock is like a great instrument, a weapon, a tool, something precious and wonderful, something to write poems about, the thing which builds nations and makes history.
Oh, I know I sound overly romantic, and I admit that I often am swept away on the wild passion of the moment. Yet I feel strongly about cock, love it greatly, and cannot withstand the temptation to suck it whenever I get the chance. And such was my chance that morning. Perhaps, even, I had anticipated that very opportunity. Perhaps it was for that reason that I went to Albert. Perhaps I wanted simply to lick his dick.
In any case, I fell between his legs, my mouth was watering as I looked upon that masterful instrument, and I gripped it gently with both my hands to its wide and glorious hilt. I held it before me and virtually drooled to see its beauty so close to my hungry lips. I trembled with anticipation at the delight which awaited me in its splendid presence, and I was transported on a river of joy as I merely moved it slightly back and forth, gripping its hilt gently and exercised it with my thumbs, pressing it forward, gently forward.
Then I touched its tip with my lips, ever so gently, felt its great heat upon my own torrid flesh, looked up to Albert momentarily and saw his still countenance as he feverishly watched me with bated breath while I returned to my delight-filled task. And I protruded my tongue past taut and tense lips and then manipulated its tip with my tongue's crest. Back and forth I went with loving tongue upon his noble force, to and fro I glided over that wondrous weapon of delightful war. Oh beautiful, for spacious dick. Sometimes I have wanted to sing songs to it, and Albert has laughed at my exuberance. But I care, don't you see? I care so very much.
His cock throbbed. He ran his hands through my hair. "Oh, Hildie, sweet," he whispered hoarsely, heatedly, "you're the best little artist in this world." He breathed deeply. "You're sublime. Hildie, you're sublime."
T answered him with a curl of my tongue to his cock's crest. I wrapped my hot tongue around the head of his dick in response to his ardor. And my ardor mounted even in such reply to his own. I wanted to consume his magnetic force. I wanted to possess his great beauty. I wanted to eat it and chew it and make me it mine, swallow it whole and place it in my belly. I wanted to make Albert's dick my own.
He spread his legs wider and tried to relax in that deep chair. But he could only recline. He could not relax. Tension flowed through him. It was natural. I was upon his dick, and it was natural that he should be so tense, so bound, so gripped in the beautiful emotion that held both of us, that chained and held both of us with his dick as the link in our mutual chain of slavery.
I lapped his dick's head. I extended my tongue and lapped his head. I went back and forth, left and right, upon his wondrous great red knob, upon that red cap of splendor which I loved so much. I tongued him lovingly and spread all the juices of lubrication everywhere upon his force. I went next up and down his beautiful long and wide shaft, this way and that. I went with gay abandon at my task, gaily enjoying every minute of the wonderful experience. I loved him ardently; oh so ardently.
"Hildie, you're driving me crazy," he whispered, barely able to utter any words evenly. "Hildie, sweet, you're driving me mad." And he gripped my cheeks, pressed his hands flatly to them, and moved me farther upon his great prick. "Take me as far as you can take me, sweetheart," he whispered chokingly. "Take me as far as you can take me into that pretty mouth of yours." And he began to force his prime weapon into my accepting orifice.
Yes, orifice. My mouth was his orifice and receptacle. I gave him my mouth as one might give up a bowl for its private use, as one might surrender anything to be used wholly by another. I gave him my mouth lovingly and with surrender. I yielded it up to him for his purposes.
Down, down, down I went on that lean and yet full, mighty and so powerful long rod. Down, down, down I went ever slowly, infinitely slowly, until everything that could fit to my mouth fitted to it, and I held so much of him in me. But of course I held so small a part too, for Albert is so huge, so majestic in size. And though I had him against my very throat, I did not have his force within me fully at all. So much still was beyond my lips; so much still was outside.
And I gripped that which was outside, and felt its greatness, knew its size and loved the wide long shaft and hilt that still was beyond my willing, my wanting, my taking lips. I was proud of all that could enter me. I looked down my nose at it, let myself become cross-eyed from delight in the process, and saw the magnificence of that lovely and powerful hilt and rod not yet taken into my mouth. It was so wonderful, so truly wonderful.
Then I released from my mouth that which so deeply was into it. Slowly I released it, let it slip away, worked it from me along the flat of my tongue until again his tip was to my lips. I licked his cock's head then gently, lovingly, tasting its precious force, and slowly, ever slowly, took it into my mouth again, brought it between closed lips upon it until it was into my mouth at that point where, with my tongue now in action, I could go back and forth upon it quickly and teasingly.
I worked my tongue's tip upon his cock's head while his dick rested so in my mouth, and my cheeks were hollow from the expanse to which my mouth was extended, and Albert pressed his palms flatly against my cheeks and would seem to crush me from his mounting glory. "Sweetheart Hildie," he gasped. "Oh baby. Baby. Suck it baby, now.
Suck it." And he began that first loving small jab of his wonderful great cock into my accepting mouth.
So I provided my mouth then as his cunt. I went back and forth on his dick then with closed lips to its flanks and I offered my mouth as his cunt. He began to enter me. He began to move into and away from my mouth. He began to fuck my mouth, and I worked my cunt-mouth exquisitely back and forth along his jewel while he fucked me so. Back and forth I went and knew that he was going with me too. And I felt his dick's head growing in size, larger, ever larger, and knew he soon would blast away with such splendor and glory. And I hungered to taste his seed.
Yes, that next was in my mind. My imagination was occupied with it. I sensed his imminent release, and I wanted that wonderful warm seed into me. I looked forward to it, and the very thought of its coming excited me more even than his cock had until then done; and his cock had done so much already.
I should mention my own condition here. I was a great running river. My cunt was full with juices. Everything about me was hot, torridly so. I was steaming, and my cunt was boiling the juices I kept releasing in my joy at the feel of his dick in my mouth. And I wanted so badly to be free of the great stress upon me. I wanted to come so very badly.
So it was that I began to move my body back and forth involuntarily in the strange motion I always developed when I sucked Albert's cock, the strange action which came to me so often when I have gone down on cock. Something in me snaps loose and I cannot control my body movements; and soon I am fucking nothing and yet fucking everything, moving back and forth in the motions of a fuck even while no dick is in my cunt. I do not even need to play with myself. I simply fuck with no more stimulation than the wonderful feeling of a cock in my mouth.
And as that beautiful cock begins to grow fiercely in the final swelling minute before its release, I become more driven in my animal urgency, begin to fuck harder and harder in my need to bring myself loose from everything that holds me tight inside myself. "As "my" cock moves down to its orgasm, so also do I move to my own orgasm. And we are rushing together towards our splendid disaster.
He began fucking me strongly then. He began pushing and shoving, pulling and jerking his dick in and out of my mouth, running it deep inside me and yanking it slightly away before plunging again for still another wild drive. He forced himself farther and farther along that strange path that all passion seems to take en route to its fulfillment. And he gripped my head angrily and thrust himself again and again at my throat as he rushed towards his conclusion.
It was then that I concentrated more than ever upon his nuts. Previously I had played lightly now and again upon those splendid spheres. But now, as he moved towards the final moment in his lovely madness, I went upon his balls with swiftness, knowing Albert always loved me more when I fondled them and went behind them and played along the line between his balls and his ass-hole. And I also went into his butt with a little finger suddenly, whirling it around inside his anus.
That was the means that brought his climax. Yes. It was when I startled him pleasantly with a wild little finger up his behind, that I felt, playing with my other hand along the muscle behind his balls and to his ass-hole, the snapping within him that broke everything free and caused his balls to deliver up through his cock the wonderful fluid I so anxiously awaited. Up, up, up came that precious liquid fire, that white joy I always have loved. Up, up, up, came his delightful come. Up, up, up it surged and rushed at my waiting, my quivering, my anticipating, heatedly anticipating, mouth.
And he splashed my throat and tongue with his great globs of wonderful seed. He splattered my mouth and throat and gave me a wonderful spray of hot good semen. I swallowed it immediately. Albert always liked me to swallow his come. He said that was the most wonderful thing about me; my avidity, he called it, to take his seed into my belly. So I swallowed everything he offered to me. Hastily and hungrily I swallowed it and made him part of me. I swallowed repeatedly what he passed into my mouth and throat.
He was pleased. I knew he was pleased. He pressed ever tightly my cheeks with his hands and shoved his great fountain as far into my mouth as he could place it. And he sprayed me more and more with that beautiful hot sperm. He sprayed me repeatedly with his beautiful seed.
I swallowed it all. And I drained him of everything. When he gradually decreased his flow, gradually dropped everything into me which he perhaps thought possible to give me, I sucked tightly upon his cock's head and drained him of the last full measure of his precious come. I took from him all that was in him, and gripped it deeply to myself, draining him and swallowing everything, taking it into me, taking it all.
"Oh, you doll," he whispered joyously and yet tiredly and with that small turn of pain which always signalled the end of his time. "Oh you loving doll." And then he cautioned me that I was hurting him with my draining work upon him. He cautioned me that I was taking everything from him that was possible for him to give. "You've drained me completely, sweetheart," he whispered. "You've taken everything I can give you." And he signalled me, with a small movement away from me, that I should not pursue him farther, that I should let him rest.
So I did. I stopped sucking upon him and drew away from his force until it rested pleasantly at my lips and tongue's tip. And, in that position, I looked up to him and smiled all around his depleted and yet still large and wonderful great cock. And he smiled down to me. He patted my head and stroked my hair, and smiled down to me. "Sweetheart," he whispered, and rested his head against the back of that deep chair and closed his eyes from the joy that was upon him.
And then, brought to that peak, having paused only to insure his final joy, I began wildly, maddeningly to plunge and rock my body forward and backward even while I held his dick limply at my lips and tongue's tip, rocked myself wildly and maddeningly to the climax I demanded for myself, closing my eyes so tightly, and seeking breath against the storm of passion that swept over me. And finally I released myself of my own tension, finally released everything in me, and was done, finished and relaxed, pleasantly quiet and peaceful.
So it ended. The time was done, and I knew I had not accomplished anything in the problem which took me back to Albert, the problem which now I am sure was but an excuse to be with him, to taste his precious cock again, to do that which really had been such a strange and delightful compensation; to blow him.
If I am as I am, I have myself to blame, if blame is to be given at all. I could leave; I know I could. I could go elsewhere. I am nobody's slave or trollop. I am the mistress of my own fate. Sometimes I mourn that fate, and then I wish to tell others of it. But when I do, as I here have done, I soon realize that my fate is not that fate which at the outset I often relate, but rather the fate which, when I perceive it clearly as I have in conclusion here done, I actually have chosen for myself. Rather than being the poor bereft foreign girl who seems insidiously exploited and trapped in a world she would not now have, I see myself clearly as one who stays here because I enjoy what I am doing, especially what I am doing now.
For, you see, I must tell you this: I am again living with Albert, my Albert of the great cock. Oh, he still takes others; he still brings little new girls to California for his purposes, though he still maintains most sincerely that he is providing a social good. But he has now place for me, as well. His wife rarely is with him these days, and though I am not mistress of his home, yet I have more time upon that which I love, and am at ease in familiar surroundings.
My fate then is one I have chosen. I should not complain.