The Memoirs of Josephine Mutzenbacher (vintage erotica) (10 page)

BOOK: The Memoirs of Josephine Mutzenbacher (vintage erotica)
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I
was afraid of this teacher. I felt that he meant me harm. As he would walk up and down the aisle, talking to the class, he always stopped at my seat, patting my hair and rubbing his hand on my back. I was choked and shocked every time that he did this, but I felt quite flattered at these friendly overtures and smiled at him when he walked away. At times he would ask me questions and I had to write them on the blackboard, which was in back. of his desk. Then he would turn around and, as I wrote, he would have me stand between his knees. Since his desk was between us and the other children, they could not see what was going on behind it. He now would take my hand, and, quite accidentally so I thought-place it at the opening of his pants saying: “I am sure that you have studied your lessons well.” At the same time, looking at me, he pressed my hand against him so hard that I could feel the stiff shaft standing erect in his pants. One day, he released my hand, as usual; but, when I did not withdraw it, he again looked at me. I now was getting excited and felt quite proud that he had chosen me. As my passions arose, I courageously closed my hand, firmly clasping his appendage. He began a long speech to the class, to keep their attention from us. Then he unbuttoned the flap of his pants and his naked device popped out. It was bent and very thick and burning hot. As we looked at each other, I slowly began to rub him up and down. My movements were slow and gentle, so as not to draw the attention of the other children. He became pale, and with one quick move, which nobody noticed, he put his hand under my dress. I now spread my feet apart and stepped nearer to him, pushing out my hips so as to give him better access. He easily found my twig, which he began to tickle, making chills and fever run up and down my spine. Gazing into each other's eyes, we stood as he continued his dictation to the class; at last he stopped and sent me to my seat. Then he called Miss Ferndinger. She stepped on the platform. I watched from my seat as she stood between his knees. I saw that she immediately began to play with him, as I had done; I also saw him slip his hand under her dress.

She got very red in the face as he fingered her slit. But, evidently, she failed to satisfy him. Soon after he again called me, saying; “Bring your writing material with you. You can write up here.”

Standing at his desk, I leaned forward, and, as I began to write, I knew that something else was going to happen, so I stood quiet. As I expected, he slowly raised my dress, and carefully tried to sheathe his sword. I turned as much as I could in trying to help him.

When he got the head in, he gently pulled me back and gave me to understand that he wanted me to sit down on it. He could do no pushing without being detected, so I slowly worked up and down the best I could, in this way doing the work for him. He now leaned over, as though looking at my writing closer. He placed his open hand upon the surface of the desk. I realized what he meant, and, bending closer, I placed my tittie in his hand. He began to press and fondle it and play with the nipple, which now stood out quite hard. I could barely believe the situation-being poked in the presence of all the children by the teacher whom I had always greatly feared, hardly daring to move for fear of being detected. This all added greatly to my excitement. So, I slowly kept on until I was ready to “go off.” It hurt because his shaft was so thick. He had forced more than half of it inside me.

I finally “went off,” which must have caused him to “come” too. I felt him squirting the hot juice into me. All this time, he quietly kept on with his slow dictation, which I neither heard nor wrote on my paper. When he had finished, his engine slipped out of its own accord. The little lesson was over. As we left the school, Miss Ferndinger and Miss Melani ran up to me. The latter said; “Today the teacher poked you, didn't he?” I said: “No.” “That means that he did,” Miss Ferndinger laughed. Melani said: “We know all about it.” “He never pokes me,” Miss Ferndinger said: “And he only jerks me off.” She was a skinny, homely girl with two small breasts which stood out straight and a broad bottom. “He had been poking me since last year,” Melani went on. “Undoubtedly now it is my turn.” One time later, he kept me after school. As soon as the girls had left the room he called me to the platform and, without any remarks, put his tool into my hand. I immediately proceeded to satisfy him. Being alone, we had nothing to fear. After I had played with him for awhile and after he had put his fingers into my opening several times, he sat me on his lap, astride him as though I were riding a horse. He then hugged me close to him, playing with my titties while tenderly kissing me on the mouth. I was quite touched with this show of tenderness, and since we were quite alone, I worked so hard that I nearly broke my back. But, in five minutes it was all over and I went home. I remember with regret what happened to this charming teacher. (I felt very sorry for him, as I was quite fond of him.) In one of the lower grades was a beautiful girl, the daughter of a carpenter. She was about eight years old, small for her age, but thick-set and broad, with an angel face, rosy cheeks and log, blonde curls. She was unusually stout and her little titties were quite noticeable. This teacher taught her how to jerk him off, and even went so far as to squirt into her bare little grotto. The child undoubtedly told her mother of the fiendish acts. The mother was naturally terribly enraged and immediately told her husband, who, having no use for teachers in general, reported the matter to the police. After an investigation the teacher was arrested. The police investigation led to the discovery of other victims of his nefarious deeds and the children began telling on each other. Finally my father received a summons to appear in court with me. When we arrived we found a large gathering of children with their mother and fathers. We were not blamed as they discussed their troubles. My father was ignorant of the whole affair until now. He just asked me if it all were true. I did not answer for I was ashamed. A great many of our teacher's “goings-on” were now discovered. A number of small children, some from the first grade and hardly able to talk plain, told how the teacher had put his “peter” into their little mouths and then Tee-Peed!” The astonishment and rage was enormous. Melani was there with her father. Every time she started to talk he shouted: “shut up!” People looking at her remarked: “It is no wonder that he 'used' her. She is no longer a girl; she is a grown woman.” Finally we were called before the judge. There was one other man present, whom we later learned was a doctor. The judge was a nice looking man and young too, and he could hardly keep from laughing. He asked me: “Did the teacher do anything to you?” “No,” I said. “I mean, did he touch you-you know what I mean?” “Yes.” “Where did he touch you?”

“There!” I bashfully answered, pointing to my grotto. “And what else did he do?” “Nothing.” “Didn't he put something in your hand?” “Yes.” “Well, then, what was it?” I was silent. “Well-I know,” said the judge. “And then did he put that 'thing' in 'there'?” He pointed to the 'spot.' “No, not all in.”

“Oh, just a little ways?” “Yes, about half.” The judge and the doctor both laughed outright. My father looked at me in silence. “Where else did he touch you?” “Here,” pointing to my breasts. “Well,” remarked the judge to the doctor chuckling. “I doubt if there was any temptation for him there.” The doctor came over to me and in a businesslike way felt and examined my titties, saying: “Oh, plenty-plenty of temptation.” “Well, now, tell me,” the judge went on, “didn't you try to resist him?”

“What was that, please?” “I mean, didn't you push his hand away?” “No.” “And why did you touch his 'thing'?”

“Because the teacher wanted me to.” “So, so; but he did not force you to?” Hesitating, I ventured a “no,” but I noticed that this was a dangerous and important question. “And why did you allow him to do all this?” “Because the teacher wanted it.”

“Yes; but why didn't you say: 'Teacher, please, I don't like that'?” “Because I did not dare.” “So it was respect and fear of the teacher?” “Yes,” I sighed, relieved, “it was fear.”

But the judge continued: “Didn't you tempt him? Didn't you say: yes, I want to do it, or look at him like this?” The judge smiled at me with loving eyes. With all my trembling and fright, I had to smile, but answered: “No!” “And now,” the judge continued: “tell me one thing more. But I want the truth. Do you understand? The absolute truth. Did you like what the teacher did to you?” I did not answer; I was afraid. “I mean,” he repeated, “were you willing and did you like to play with his 'thing'?” “Oh, no,” I eagerly replied. “Or-but I want to know the truth”-he went on -“when he put that 'thing' into you, did it give you any pleasure or did it hurt?” “Sometimes it hurt, but not always,” I replied.

“So sometimes it felt good?” he asked in sharp tones. “Yes,” I blurted out, “sometimes. But only on rare occasions.” The judge smiled; my father looked at me astonished and angry. “Well, go on, little one,” the judge continued. “Sometimes it felt good.”

“And you did it willingly, isn't that so?” “No!” I remonstrated, fearing my father. “I did not like it and I never did it willingly.” “Yes, but you just said that it felt good.”

“Well, I couldn't help it, when it went in and out-” He interrupted: “All right, all right. You did not like to do it, but you unwillingly got some pleasure from it. Is that it?” “Yes,” I nodded. “Doctor, please,” the judge turned to the doctor. “Will you kindly affirm this matter?” I did not know what was about to happen. The doctor ordered me to sit on a high stool. He raised my skirt and, spreading my thighs, opened my lips with his fingers. I felt him insert something hard. Withdrawing it, he said: “The proof is absolute. She has had intercourse with him.” Bewildered, I got down from the chair. “Now tell me,” the judge went on, “do you know whether the teacher has done this thing to other girls?”

“Why, there are a number of them in the anteroom,” I said.

He laughed again. “I know that, but I want you to tell me whether you personally heard or saw anything?” “Yes,” I answered. “Melani and the Ferndinger girl told me so themselves.” “And did he do the same to them as he did to you?” “No,” I said in haste. “He never poked Ferndinger.” “Did you hear that word from the teacher?” the judge asked. I was perplexed. “No, not from him.”

“From whom, then?” he wanted to know. “Oh, just in school-from the other girls.” “From the Hoffer girl or Ferndinger girl?” “I don't remember.” “Now you said he did not poke Ferndinger?” “No, he just had her play with him.” “But Miss Hoffer?” “Yes, he poked her.” “Did you see it?” “Yes, I saw it once.” “And the other times?” “She just told me about them.” Turning to my father, he said: “Mr. Mutzenbacher, I am sorry that you have been obliged to hear this pitiful story; that such an erring educator, without conscience, should have ruined your daughter. Be consoled; the child is young. I assure you that no one will ever hear of this, and by keeping a strict moral watch over her, I hope that all evil results will be avoided.” We went home and then I felt convinced that the teacher had “ruined" me. He was sentenced to a long term in prison. The fact that he had “ruined” both Melani and me made the case doubly strong against him. (When I now think back that Melani and I had been “ruined” long before, as undoubtedly had been many of the other girls who had testified against him, I really feel sorry for him.) But this affair seemed to have decided my entire future life, as you will see as I proceed with my story. I might have been a good, true woman, as is Melani, who is married now and mistress of her father's inn. She is surrounded by a brood of her own children. A number of my former schoolmates also have pleasant homes and families. These early indiscretions did them no harm. Undoubtedly, the fear of becoming pregnant had a great bearing on their purity, until they fell in love and married. Although they say that they have been indiscreet at times, as my mother has been, in the eyes of the world they were honorable, good wives; they did not become whores, as I have done. In my next chapter, I will write of the adventures which caused me to become a courtesan.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A
s I have said before, I do not regret the life that I have led. But I do regret the cause. I do wish to state here, however, that I am convinced that today there are thousands of girls, in the lower as well as the upper classes, who, as children, go through the same experiences which I have so far recounted; and later become honorable girls-good, true wives and mothers-who completely forget the mistakes of their childhood days. Now to resume with my story. My brothers had gone out as apprentices, Lorenz to learn the same trade as my father. Franz to become a bookbinder. I saw them only on Sunday afternoons. Lorenz rarely talked to me, but Franz told me that he had met a servant girl who let him poke her and that he could sleep with her nights if he liked. My family had at this time a roomer, a quiet old man, who left the house early and returned late. I slept on the lounge, while my mother's bed, still unoccupied, stood beside father's. One day father said, with reference to the episode with the teacher: “I should give you a good thrashing. You are a dirty little wench!” This was the only time he ever mentioned the matter. I was shocked. “But,” I replied, “I could not help it!”

“Well, yes,” he said, “I suppose that is so. But such a dirty pup!” And he continued: “Well what's done is done, but, from now on, I will watch you. You will go nowhere without my permission, and from today on, you will sleep there-” pointing to mother's bed, next to his own. “We always have a roomer and I am going to watch you.” So that night I slept in mother's bed, next to my father's. When he came home from the saloon, it was probably eleven o'clock. I did not wake until I heard him whisper: “Are you there? Do you hear? Are you there?” Half asleep, I answered: “Yes, father, I am here.”

“Where are you?” “Here, father, I am here,” I answered.

He reached over and touched me. “Oh, yes-there you are!”

His hand slid down my throat, where he had first touched me, to my breast. I was paralyzed, as he began to feel my titties. I lay perfectly quiet. “So, then,” he stammered, “that is where the teacher held you?” “Yes, father,” I whispered. There also?” taking hold of the other breast. “Yes, father.” “The scoundrel,” he went on, “the dog. He would like that.” But all the time he was playing with my nipples. “How exactly did he do it?” he asked. “Just as you are doing it,” I stammered. Running his hand under my nightshirt, he caught hold of my mound. Playing in the hair with his fingers, he whispered: “Pepi?” “Yes, father?” “Pepi, did he feel down here, too-?” “Yes, father, there too!” “Perhaps even with his shaft-?” I was so choked, shocked and frightened at all this that I could not speak. Since father knew everything, I could not imagine why he was asking me these questions. Had he forgotten, or, was he doing all this for some other purpose? He repeated: “I say with his shaft, did he touch you here?” “Yes, father.” “In there-?” He tried to push his finger in. But I pushed his hand away. “But, father?” I said. “I want to know,” he whispered, again taking hold of me. “But father!” I begged, “don't do that!” He had his finger in the “opening” now. “Father! Stop!” I whispered. “You know that he 'had it in.' Please!-Stop-!” I whispered. “Did he poke you?” he asked, pushing his finger still further in. “Yes!” I said quickly, “he poked me-I could not help it!” “That is your good fortune,” he grumbled, leaving me alone. He then turned over and went to sleep. For a few nights we slept quietly in our respective beds. He did not touch me again. I had nearly forgotten the incident When I did think of it, I laid it to the terrible rage which I thought he must have harbored against the teacher. Then, one Saturday, we had been in the inn. As we went to bed that night, father again reached over. “You-,” he said, as he took hold of my breasts. “Yes, father!” “How often did the teacher poke you-?” “I don't remember.” “Well, how of ten?” “But I can't remember!” “I want to know!” He squeezed my breasts so hard that I screamed. “But, father-!” “How often-?” “Perhaps ten times-” “So? Ten times, eh?” He played with my nipple until it got hard. “Ten times?” he suddenly asked. I had to smile. “But, no, each time only once.” “So; ten times?” He fingered my nipple until it stood out straight. became curious and quite passionate, but so ashamed that I pushed his hand away.

“Now, father-stop!-What are you doing?” “Nothing-nothing!” he murmured and withdrew. For a few more days nothing occurred. I was usually asleep when he came into the bedroom. It never entered my thoughts that he wanted anything else. I just imagined that he could not forget the teacher. One evening, we retired early. Reaching over and feeling for me, he said: “What have you been doing all day?”

“Nothing, father,” I answered. He reached into my nightshirt and I covered my breasts with my hands. “Were you in school?”

“Yes.” He tried to push my hands aside and reach for my breasts. “Have you a new teacher?” “Yes.” “Well, does he fondle you too?” He caught hold of my breast and began playing with it. “No, father.” “And about the other teacher?” “We have a woman teacher.” “So? And the other teacher? Does he do anything to you?” I tried to force his hand away, saying: “No, he does nothing. He is still in prison. Remember?” With a quick movement, he reached between my legs. Before I could prevent it, he held my cleft in his hand. “I beg of you father,” I cried. “Father!” I breathed hard. He was tickling me. I became hot and passionate.

“You know,” he stuttered, “if the new teacher should begin to play with you”-he began to drum on my twig-“If he should really try anything like this"-he tried to get his finger in my 'opening'- “don't you let him!” “No, father, no-but now-stop!” And I closed my legs together. With a quick jerk, I freed myself. “Well, well, that's all right,” he said. I still had no idea of anything wrong. I was only afraid of myself. His actions made me so passionate that I wanted to be poked. The longing for a shaft became so great that I could hardly control myself. But I was afraid that he would kill me if I made the wrong move. I thought that he was only trying me out to see if I would resist temptation. But a few nights later, when I awoke from a sound sleep, he lay close beside me. He was carefully playing with my nipples until they were hard and standing out I acted as though I were asleep. I was filled with curiosity, anxious to see what he wanted. I remained perfectly quiet. He took my left nipple and began to loss and lick it. Unwittingly I began to tremble-more with passion than curiosity. He again started to lick and suck. Then he began fooling with both titties. Every time that I trembled he stopped. I thought that he was trying to find out if I was awake, but I pretended to sleep harder than ever. Suddenly he lifted the bed covers and raised my nightshirt. My heart beat loudly. I was afraid and very passionate but still I believed that he was subjecting me to a new test It was such an unheard of performance that I was beside myself with excitement. He sat up and slowly spread my feet apart. I let him proceed without resistance, but, as he put his hand on my slit I began to tremble, so he stopped again. I now began to snore, acting as thought I were not aware of these actions. He got between my legs, bracing himself on his elbows. He slowly rubbed his shaft against my slit. I could not resist that, but, as I began working up and down, I continued snoring and acting as thought I were performing the act in my sleep. Father held his lance up against my lips barely getting the head in. By now I was so excited that I was nearly crazy. But his action caused him to go oft, suddenly wetting my hair and belly with his discharge. I was left frustrated.

I was now convinced of what he wanted, and I was delighted I must admit, painful as the recollection of the incident is to me now. I thought so little of it at the time as not to wonder if it was right or wrong. I knew that it pleased me and I felt that I was now grown-up and did not have to fear my father any more. I was independent.

The following night I did not fall asleep, but made believe that I was asleep. As I expected, father came in. He looked to see if I was asleep and, satisfied from my regular breathing that I was, he undressed. Raising the bedcovers, he got into my bed and, lying by my side, carefully covered both of us. He then lay close to me and suddenly raising my nightshirt-I felt his shift stiffen-pressed against my naked thigh. Edging my gown higher and higher until it was around my neck, he began playing with my titties. This aroused my passion. I was afraid that he was going to play around the outside again, and that I thus would be cheated out of my share of the pleasure. Still I did not dare to make any advances. Sliding his hands down, he parted my legs. This was easy, for I had partly spread them already. Then he touched me with his fingers, and I did not resist. Instead I began to help him. I knew that from the night before he thought that I was asleep. My movements got him so excited that he immediately got on top of me and when, he started poking around my well with his lance, I got so passionate that I could not resist. I kept moving around in order to get it inside me.

Whether he thought that I was asleep or completely forgot himself, I do not know. But he also began to work and, with one quick push, he got it in as far as it would go! The sensation was so delicious, that I unthinkingly said: “Oh!” Father now lay quiet, his shaft still sticking in me. I knew that I had nothing to fear, and, acting as thought just awakening, I said: “Father! What are you doing?” At the same time I slowly ground my hips in a sensuous circle around his delicious shaft. He was frightened, but did not leave me.

“Father!” I whispered again, still writhing. “For goodness sake, what are you doing?” He did not answer. “Stop, Father! Stop! What are you doing?” And, as I spoke, I began to writhe more vigorously. “Nothing!” he whispered, “Nothing! I was asleep!”

“But, father, what are you doing to me?” “I did not know it was you!” he said, as an excuse. “Yes, father it is! It is I!” I cried, each time giving a harder push. He said nothing. “Why!” I continued. “Father, you are poking me!” And I put my arms around him.

He caught my breast, and, without further words, started to work with furious strokes. Holding him tight, I whispered in his ear:

“This is a sin-father! I am afraid-but oh! father-I love you-faster-faster-faster! There-that is good! But I am afraid-oh, father-!” “That's all right,” he answered. “Nobody knows it, and nobody will find out.” “No,” I said. “No-I won't say anything!” He pushed hard. “That is right. You are a nice daughter!” I asked: “Father is it good for you too-?” “Yes! Yes!” And he again put his mouth on one of my titties. “Whenever you want to, father-” I whispered. “You can poke me all that you want-!” “Keep quiet!” “Father-I am 'coming'. Faster-faster-oh, now!” I was happy. I had waited so long, and now I was satisfied. “Father, are you 'coming' too-?” “Yes, now. Now!-Pepi!-Now-Oh! But that feels good!” We both “went off” together; then, in each other's arms, we went to sleep. The next day father was very shy. He talked in low tones, never looking at me. I went out and waited for the evening. As we went to bed, I crawled over him. Placing his hand on my naked titties, I whispered: “Father, are you angry at me?” “No,” he answered, “I am not angry.” “You did not speak to me today.”

“I have been thinking,” he remarked. “What about, father?”

“Well, I think,” he answered, stroking my titties, “that if the teacher could do this, then it is all right for me.” I reached down, took hold of his shaft, which immediately stood like a soldier at command. It occurred to me that I was created from inside this same shaft. “Father, if you would like to have me again, I will let you,” I said. “In God's name,” he gasped. I then got on top of him and began riding him. He held my breasts. We soon finished another “turn.” My father now was very friendly. During the day, every time that he came near me, he patted my titties, and I, in returned pinched him in “front” He talked about his business, the running of the house, money matters, etc. He bought me new clothes-in fact everything that I could wish for, and even allowed me to keep the rent from our roomer and I felt quite grown-up and very important.

I once asked him: “Father, do you remember what else the teacher had me to do for him?” “No, what was it?” “Shall I show you?” “Yes, I am curious to know.” I put my head down, took out his shaft-which was now limber-and began to suck on it. “Is that good?” I asked. “Yes, that is very blissful and good! Keep it up!” “Father,” I lied, “the teacher did something else to me too.” “Do you want me to do that, too-?” he asked. I nodded.

He threw me across the bed, burying his face between my thighs. He then began to suck-my own father-so vigorously that I almost lost my breath! I was immensely satisfied. About this time we changed roomers. The new one was a waiter in a small restaurant. His name was Rudolph. He was a slender fellow with a yellow, sallow complexion and dark eyes. Although about thirty-six, he had only a few hairs on his lips-a poor excuse for a moustache. I disliked him. After the first few days, he tried to feel my breasts. He eyed me with scorn then, holding me, began pressing my titties. Enraged, I struck at him and kicked him until he had to let me go. “Well,” he replied nastily, “I suppose that only a teacher can touch the young lady?”

“Hold your tongue!” “I see! I see! Only learned men may poke you!” “If you don't keep your mouth shut,” I shouted, I will report you to the police.” He turned pale and, in a rage, finished dressing, throwing his things around in his room. Angrily putting on his hat, he came closer to me and whispered: “Wait! You threaten me with the police, you bitch-just wait! You will beg me to do you the honor some day!” Several weeks later I was washing myself, wearing only an undershirt. Father was just leaving, and he quickly bade me farewell. Reaching into my shirt, he quickly fondled my breasts. At that instant, Rudolph opened his door. Father quickly withdrew his hand. Rudolph meekly asked: “Pardon me, could I have my breakfast earlier? I have to go to the magistrate.” We hoped that he had not noticed anything, but when father had gone and I went into the kitchen to prepare Rudolph's breakfast, he grinned and asked: “So-your father may play with your titties?” “You lie!” I answered, blushing. “But I saw it,” he said. “You saw nothing of the kind!” I shouted back at him. “Father said only that I should wash myself better.” He laughed out loud. Walking to the sink, he quietly took out his shaft and began washing it, saying: “I must wash myself better, too!” He then came towards me and continued: “Yes, I must wash myself better, because today or tomorrow Miss Pepi may ask me to poke her!” I laughed with scorn and he left. But it was he who laughed last. Weeks passed. Rudolph seemed not to notice me. Father and I enjoyed ourselves-not every night, but quite often. We had tried every way which I had learned. Living in this way with father, I remained away from all the others. Only twice did I go to see the priest, and then intending only to go to Communion, not to be poked. The first time that I went to him, I found a little, seven-year-old girl in his room. He had completely undressed her. She smiled at him, lying there on his bed. As I entered, the father was licking her little grotto with his tongue-an act which the little tot greatly enjoyed. (She later told me that her uncle and the butcher did “that” to her too; of course they could not poke her.) His Reverence did not try to poke her, but as a precaution that she might not sin in the future, he was “just cleansing her.” I arrived just in time. I lay on the bed and he gave me a good poke! Then he dismissed us both. The second time Father Mayer and I were alone. I confessed my relations with my father. Clasping his hands, he said: Then you are lost!” I did not believe this nonsense any more, but I played my part in the comedy. I decided that I would earn his “absolution” at any cost. “I will do penance, your Reverence!” I said solemnly.

BOOK: The Memoirs of Josephine Mutzenbacher (vintage erotica)
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