The Memoirs of Josephine Mutzenbacher (vintage erotica) (5 page)

T
he other boy whom I mentioned, as I recollect, lived several doors from us on the same street. His name was Shani. I liked him very much. He was thirteen years of age, pale and slender and very handsome, with dark eyes and hair. We were accustomed to bid each other the time of day as we passed, but aside from this had held no conversation. Since he was in the same class at school as my brother, Lorenz, and very friendly with him, I feared to attempt what was in my mind. I felt that he must be very chaste like Lorenz. He often visited Lorenz, but he always was so sober and grave that I feared to start anything with him, albeit he was very friendly with me. He happened to come one afternoon when Lorenz and Franz had gone somewhere to deliver a message. I knew they would be some time, and mother was busy in the laundry. Needless to say, I planned to put the time to good use. I informed Shani that Lorenz was not home. Then, as he started to leave, I asked him to come in and stay a while. He hesitated. I then fibbed a little, saying that Lorenz would soon return, and since he still seemed a little hesitant, I told him that I was afraid to stay alone. He then reluctantly came in.

We both were very bashful and embarrassed. But I took him from the kitchen into the living room, and, after a time our bashfulness wore off. He said nothing; I also remained silent. I snuggled close to him. He smiled at me. I put my arms around his neck, rubbing my body closely against his. I thought that with this encouragement he would surely feel my kitten or take out his tool and put it in my hands. But he did neither; simply stood still and smiled.

This was too slow. I went to bed, lay down on my back and said: “Come over here!” As he slowly approached, I began to raise my dress, saying: “Now you don't see anything.” I raised them a little higher. “Still you see nothing.” He sat perfectly still and showed no interest whatever. I then raised my hem above my stockings. “Still, you see nothing!” He made no move, simply smiled bashfully. “But, now,” I called, as I completely uncovered the gem-I wore no panties that afternoon-“Now what?” He stood still while I waited. My excitement arose still higher as I realized that his sword would fit my scabbard just as Alois had. I was anxious to see it, to hold it, to feel it inside me! I reached for his trousers. He stepped back, saying in a low, sorrowful voice: “I can't do it!” “Why not?” as I jumped from the bed. “I just can't do it!” he whispered. “So show me!” I said, again reaching for his pants. “Show me why you can't.” He wanted to run away, but I held on. Reaching into his pants, I drew out his member. It was thin and very long. I noticed that the foreskin was drawn away back from the head, which was a new phenomenon to me, but the handsome machine could stand just as straight and stiff as any of them. I was so anxious to have this lovely object put in its proper place, that I immediately raised my dress, but he fought me off, saying: “Let me go, I can't do it!” “You can, too!” I said. “No, I cannot!” “You lie, you can, but you don't want to do it.”

“No I really can't,” he said in a sad tone. I was surprised by this demurrer and curious to know the reason. I asked him, but he turned away, put the splendid instrument back in his pants and buttoned them up again, saying: “It is impossible, I tell you!”

“My anger arose. “You lie! You don't want me! If you really don't just say so, but don't lie like that.” He came toward me. “I am not lying,” he said, caressing my cleft without raising my skirt. He hesitated a moment, then again said: “No, I simply cannot do it!”

“But why?” “On account of these damned women!” he blurted out. “What women?” “I have had to poke twice already today,” he said. “Who do you mean?” I asked. He repeated: “Twice already, and if I poke you now, I won't be able to do anything tonight, and she'll whip me.” “Who?” “My mother!” “Your mother?” “Yes.” “She will whip you if your shaft won't stand.” “Yes.” “But why? You don't mean to say that you poke your own mother.” “I must,” he said, now almost in tears. “These God-forsaken women, they are all alike.” “And you have poked her twice already?” “Oh, no. Her turn comes tonight.” “Well then, who do you poke?” “My sisters.” “Your sisters?”

“Yes, both of them. And if I poke you now, it will not stand for me tonight when I get in bed with my mother and then she'll know I poked Rosa and Wetti, and she'll whip me.” After saying so much, he decided to tell me the whole story, seeming to be much relieved to confide in someone. He had never known his father, who died when Shard was a baby. I had often seen his sisters and his mother, who was a small, thin, scrawny women with beautiful, black eyes and hair like her son. Rosa, the elder sister, was eighteen, blonde and slender, with lots of freckles and well-developed, pointed titties. Wetti, the younger sister, was sixteen, short and plump, with developed titties and a broad backside. This precocious girl had been seduced when only twelve years old by a book agent, who canvassed from house to house. Finding her alone at home one afternoon, he took advantage of the situation and enjoyed a healthy poke. He had not raped or forced her, by any means; she was perfectly willing to be seduced. She had started to develop quite young and was at that time already casting eyes at the men. Wetti one day told her brother Shani of the adventure, also showing him how the book agent had done it, and after that they often played at this game. Then, they were in the midst of their fun, Rosa surprised him. She stood quietly looking at them. They hastily jumped up fearing a good real thrashing. They thought Rosa would tell on them. But she simply asked: “What are you doing?” Not receiving any answer, she said no more, but that night, after the family had retired and Shani was sleeping in the same room, she called to him. As he came to her, she asked: “What were you doing to Wetti today? “Nothing!” “So…? Well at least you had her dress up and her titties out.” “Oh, we were just playing.”

“Show me how you played.” When he did not move, Rosa, lifting the covers, said: “Come in, lie down alongside of me.” And as he crawled into bed with his sister, he noticed that she was entirely naked. He at once began to play with those lovely titties which he had long admired. Rosa took hold of his shaft. She was so nervous that she could hardly talk. Shani had also become very much excited and passionate. Yet he was afraid, for heretofore he had poked Wetti only in the daytime, with all her clothes on. As a little boy, he had feared and respected Rosa, and it did not seem possible that he was now here in bed with her playing with her round, warm titties and she playing with his shaft. “Have you often done it to Wetti?” Rosa asked. “Yes,” he confessed, “often.” “Shall I tell mother?” she asked and fondled his stiff stalk. “No, please don't say anything,” he begged. She continued: “And now you are here in bed with me, playing with my titties and rubbing against me with your member. Just wait until I tell mother in the morning.” “Oh no. You can't say that, for you called me in. “Like fun I did. Mother will believe me before she will you. I'll tell her that you came over and tried to poke me, and I'll tell her you have been poking Wetti.”

At that she moved closer to him, again giving him her titties to play with. But, when he tried to get away, she held on to his member and said: “Stay her, you mutt. I won't say anything. Don't be afraid. I only want you to poke me too.” At that he climbed on top of her. She pushed his spear away up into her so that he could feel against his pelvis the lips and soft hair-cushion surrounding her grotto. But she was still a virgin, which made it very difficult. Finally, reaching behind her and pulling her to him, he gave one great push, and succeeded in getting inside. He reached the apex of passion at once! After groaning several times, Rosa, also seemed satisfied. She then sent him back to his own bed. The next morning he noticed blood spots on his shirt and Rosa told him they came from her maidenhead. It was only a short time until Wetti discovered what was going on between her brother and sister, night after night, so she joined them and now Shard had to take care of both sisters. Whether the mother suspected something from his pale appearance or whether she overheard the love-bouts during the night, Shani did not know, but one night, when he had fallen asleep in Rosa's bed, the mother came in, woke them and ordered Shani back to his own bed. In the morning she said: It is not proper for a boy to sleep with his own sisters.”

Rosa at once said: “He is afraid.” The mother then declared: “If he is afraid from now on, he shall sleep in my room.” So his bed was moved into his mother's bedroom beside her own. At night she came in and then stepped up close to him and hugged him tightly, so that he should not be frightened. She put his hands on her breasts and he played with them until he fell asleep. (Her breasts were not so large and round as his sister's, but, of course, they were well developed.) This went on for several nights, Shani becoming more courageous. One night she took him into bed with her and he snuggled up close to her and she noticed how stiff and hard his member was. She felt it against her side, felt it quiver. Pressing his hands against her breasts, he heard her cough nervously, moving away every time that his throbbing tool touched her bare thighs. But, after several nights of this sort of thing, when he rubbed the weapon against her she no longer moved. Instead, she slowly lowered her hand and began fondling him. Then, suddenly pulling him over her, she pushed the device up inside her, pressing her breasts against his face and whispering: “Now… push, my boy!… my own son… push!.. . Mother will let you!… Push. Push harder!… Faster!… My own son!… Faster!” Shani told me that from that night on he had to poke his mother at least twice a night, sometimes standing up, sometimes sideways, then from behind-in fact, in every conceivable way. His sisters soon discovered what was going on nightly; they were not afraid any more, but followed the poor boy all day, so that he was constantly forced to poke either his sisters or his mother in all possible positions and places. There was not a nook or corner in the house that they had not tackled him in. He had to poke them on chairs, on tables, on the floor, the kitchen bench, standing or lying, in all shapes and manners possible. The sisters had long since lost all sense of shame and soon took turns. Sometimes one of the two watched the performance and, as soon as it was finished, took his organ in her mouth, sucking and licking it to make it hard again so that she could get hers while the other sister looked on. In a short time the mother got reckless and joined with her daughters. At first, a lot of jealousy sprang up, but finally the trio agreed to share him equally, so that often the sisters would call him at night and the mother would let him go. After satisfying both the sisters, he would return. In the meantime, the mother would again have become passionate and, as soon as he returned, would start playing with him, taking his device in her mouth, doing everything possible to inspire another erection, so as to satisfy herself. Often, when Shani made the rounds of the three, his mother, watching the others, would force him to poke her again. This would make it four times in succession he was forced to undergo the exercise. The mother noticed that he was getting weak and haggard looking, so she forbade the girls using him during the daytime, and if she discovered that he had disobeyed her during the day and was unable to do his duty at night, she gave him a whipping. As he told me this story, growing angrier all the tune, damning the three women, I became more passionate. I tried, several times, to take hold of his tool, but he, in his quiet way, begged me to leave him alone. At last, I raised my skirts and forced him to play with my kitten, but to no avail. Suddenly we heard the kitchen door open, interrupting our conversation. I was shaking with passion and nervous fright. It was Mr. Eckhard, just returning home. Now my longing turned toward him, thinking that he must satisfy me! I dismissed Shani in such haste that he was astonished, not knowing what to think of such actions. I eagerly ran to Mr. Eckhard, whom I had avoided since my affair with Mr. Horak in the cellar and Alois in Clementina's lap. But now, in my present state, my passions aroused to the highest pitch, I certainly was pleased to see him! I thought of his spear, which I was curious to see and fondle again, of the endearments which he had bestowed upon me, and at the same time I thought of Shani's mother and sisters, of whom I now was heartily jealous, for they had a poke whenever they wanted one-forgetting all about Franz, my brother, who was now only too glad to poke me whenever I asked him. (But for a long time now he did not interest me.) I ran up to Mr. Eckhard and before he had time to speak I had my hand in his pants feeling for his device. Throwing my other arm around his neck, I whispered: “Hurry, hurry, before someone comes!” I felt him get hard, but he answered: “Hurry? What for? What do you want?” I was not bashful and he merely asked me so as to hear me say the words, and he well knew what I wanted. Without hesitation, I said: “I want to be poked by you. .. quickly!” Without further ado, Mr. Eckhard, trembling, threw himself onto me, nearly knocking me over. But I did not want it that way. Holding onto his shaft, I pulled him into the bedroom and threw myself on the bed. He was so intent on trying to force the great saber inside that he nearly split me. I could not stand this violent assault, so, reaching down, I cupped my hands around his tool, holding it just so that the head went in. The pleasure was heavenly. I felt the pulse beats in his long stalk and the head trembling in my slit.

He pushed and pumped. It was so delightful that I wondered how I could ever want for any other man but him. The pleasure was so exquisite that I called out: “Oh… just keep on… that is so good… poke me harder…!” Mr. Eckhard seemed to lose his senses when he finally squirted. He twitched and groaned and flipped and flopped. But I had tasted very little of this exquisite pleasure and was not nearly satisfied. Alas, he was all in. I was anxious to teach him what I had learned from Mr. Horak, so I started playing with his device. I wanted him to poke me through the back door, so I took his tool between my thumb and middle finger, playing round the head with my forefinger as I had seen Clementina do to Alois. When this did not seem to help, I took his limber weapon in my mouth, sucking and licking it around the head with my tongue. With my hands I played in the hair, which was tickling my eyes, and fondled his marbles, anxiously watching him grow stiff and hard again. At last he grabbed me, ready for another “piece,” but, putting my arms around his neck, I whispered into his ear: “Don't you want to get it in farther?”