Fatme's sexuality awakened around the age of seven. Before, she hadn't paid any attention when her father had sex with her mother in the evenings. Now, however, it was extremely interesting, and she snuggled her small, naked body close to her mother's nudity whenever her father bent over her open thighs. Fatme laid her face on her mother's inner thigh to get a close look. Her mother spread her labia and grasped her father's stiff penis, which she slowly and deliberately pushed in, deep inside, until it was completely enclosed. Then he thrust gently in and out, and this lasted quite a while, probably ten minutes. Fatme, her face resting on her mother's inner thigh, watched as her mother became increasingly aroused; obviously, her mother loved this sex very much. She began to pant loudly and wiggle her hips, whispering, "Ali, I'm coming!" And then Fatme knew that just seconds later, Mama was writhing and twitching, clinging to Papa, her face contorted in pain. Mama had explained to Fatme that this was perfectly normal, that it wasn't pain, but rather the wonderful inner explosion. Now Papa straightened up and lifted Mama's buttocks by her hips. He fucked her furiously fast and ejaculated inside her, because that's how babies were made. Mama grinned shamelessly and patted Papa's buttocks as he fucked her furiously, ejaculating inside her. Fatme could see from his penis and thick urethra that the semen was shooting through, and Papa's testicles were bouncing up and down. So that was what fucking was all about, and Fatme stared for a long time into Mom's cunt, from which Dad's slime was oozing out again.
Mom didn't masturbate very often, maybe two or three times a week, right after breakfast, when Dad had left the house. Dad didn't really mind, but she wasn't supposed to do it in front of him. Little Fatme, who regularly skipped school, was allowed to be there, though. She watched Mom very closely, on the one hand, how her finger did it technically, and on the other hand, Mom's facial expressions were extremely interesting. Strained, yes — but at the same time full of gentle passion. Mom masturbated very gently and for at least 15 minutes. When Fatme turned eight, she did it too, and Mom would glance over at her and nod because Fatme was doing it right. Fatme now masturbated at the same time as Mom, which created even more closeness and connection.
Mama became ill and knew instinctively that her end was near. She worried deeply about Papa and Fatme's future. She went to a matchmaker who suggested three older girls: Yasmin, 29; Elif, 28; and Aishe, 31. Mama spoke with Papa for a long time; he was not even 50 and had to sleep with all three girls and decide which one he wanted to keep after her own death. Papa initially refused, but eventually relented. When one of the girls came for sex in the evening, Mama would retreat to the guest room. The girls came every evening for a whole year, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, and sometimes even in groups of three. Fatme, by then 12 or 13, had been given specific tasks. First, she had to spread the girl's labia with her fingers and guide Papa's penis so that he could penetrate her slowly and deliberately. Secondly, Fatme had to pull Papa's penis out in time so that he wouldn't ejaculate inside her and unintentionally make her a baby. Fatme did this second task reluctantly, because it was so exciting to watch Papa's urethra as the semen shot through and his testicles bounced up and down.
Yasmin was 29 and had already slept with hundreds of men; she was the most experienced of the three. But she was always very depressed and miserable, yes, you could say that. You could always hear her say, "Mr. Ali, you can fuck me as you please, that's fine. But please don't cum inside, I don't want a baby yet, I'm still too young for that. So, please don't cum inside!" Now Fatme bent over Yasmin and spread her labia wide. Yasmin's cunt was already quite large, and her clitoris had remained very small despite vigorous, frequent masturbation. Fatme now pulled back Papa's foreskin completely and guided his penis until it found the entrance to Yasmin's cunt. As always, Papa pushed his penis slowly and deliberately into Yasmin's cunt, all the way in. Fatme didn't withdraw her hand but left it resting on Yasmin's labia until the end. No matter how much Yasmin slapped her dad's buttocks to make him go faster, he wouldn't be rushed and fucked slowly and deliberately as always. After a long thrust, Dad whispered, "Fatme, now, I'm about to come!" and Fatme carefully withdrew his penis. Fatme grinned maliciously because Dad had already ejaculated hard into Yasmin's hole even as he pulled out. Fatme would then pull out his penis, masturbate the ejaculating Dad's cock for a second time with her hand, and let the stream spray into Yasmin's fuckhole from the outside. We have to know, that Fatme liked it very much to masturbate her Dad's cock, that's for certain. Yasmin kept glancing uncertainly at Fatme, wondering if she had really pulled out in time. Fatme grinned, "Of course, Auntie!" Auntie was the respectful way to address a woman older than oneself. Dad usually fucked Yasmin a second time, but now Fatme let him ejaculate completely inside her before she withdrew his penis. After fucking, Yasmin always masturbated because she never had an orgasm during sex. Then Papa sent Yasmin home.
Elif was about 28 and not particularly pretty. But she always came home clean and lightly perfumed, because she loved her cleanliness. Fatme wasn't sure if Elif even knew that babies came from ejaculation. In any case, Elif liked letting Papa ejaculate inside her, again and again. Fatme only pulled Papa's penis out when he asked her to. Fatme would then pull out his penis, masturbate the ejaculating man' cock with her hand, and let the stream spray into Elif's fuckhole from the outside. Fatme would masturbate the ejaculating man' cock for a second time with her hand, so that the father would moan in plesaure and let after some minutes the jets spray into Elif's fuckhole from the outside. Elif didn't orgasm during sex either, and only over time did Fatme find out that Elif masturbated about once or twice a month, but she was incredibly embarrassed. Of the three girls, Elif was the one Fatme liked the most. But Papa wasn't very fond of her, because in his opinion, Elif was an uneducated idiot who only had sex on her mind. In the long run, that wouldn't work; Dad expected a bit more personality from a wife.
Aishe was already 31 and a mountain of a woman, she must have weighed 180 kg. But she was the funniest of the three of them; she was intelligent, educated, and sexually very active. Despite her weight, Dad liked her very much, and when time allowed, he even fucked her three times before evening. She was the first woman with a completely shaved pussy Fatme had ever seen. But this pussy was very deep hidden under all that fat. Fatme grinned sheepishly as she searched for her labia before fucking. As always, she pulled Dad's foreskin all the way back and guided his cock to Aishe's entrance. As always, Dad penetrated slowly and deliberately until he reached the end, because Aishe had a very small, tight pussy. Fatme could see the joy and ecstasy with which Dad fucked this woman. She really knew a lot about fucking and always came, which made Papa very proud. She didn't like it when Fatme pulled his penis out. "I'm on the pill, I'm not crazy!" But Fatme liked to masturbate Dad's cock and masturbate Dad's cock for a second time with her hand, so that the father would moan in plesure and let after some minutes the jets spill into Aishes's fuckhole from the outside. And so Papa, panting and sweating, ejaculated again into her little hole, because Aishe was very tight. Fatme knew that because of her terrible weight, she wasn't suitable for Papa. Nevertheless, Fatme was always happy when Aishe came to fuck her. Aishe stroked her hair when Fatme's face rested on her inner thighs during sex. Fatme was always very surprised at how much Papa's penis stretched Aishe's little hole and then fucked her slowly and deliberately. Aishe liked this style very much; you could see it when she gradually worked her way up the hill to her orgasm. During the breaks, Fatme played with Aishe's clitoris, which Aishe also loved. But it would never have occurred to Fatme to rub her aunt to orgasm; that would have been an unseemly transgression of moral boundaries.
Fatme disliked going to school. In fact, she only went to have a little sex. Her particular boyfriend was Mehmet, a brutish guy with a big BMW, which he mainly used for sex. As long as Fatme was still a virgin, Mehmet let her masturbate him and watched her masturbate herself. But she wasn't in love with him, because he changed his girlfriends like he changed his shirts. They usually drove to the edge of the woods, to a secluded spot. There, Mehmet would have sex with his "girlfriend of the day" in the back seat, and Fatme would watch them from the passenger seat. Mehmet usually had his buddies there, and when he was finished, he'd open the back door and let the next one have his way. Most of the girls already knew; only a few were truly surprised. That's how it happened that Mehmet's girlfriend was fucked by half a dozen guys in a row. Later, when Fatme was no longer a virgin, she let herself be fucked in the back seat like the other girls; she found it very funny and had an orgasm with every guy. So that was Fatme's school time; she learned nothing, or almost nothing, except public sex and public masturbation.
Papa sat by Mama's sickbed all day. His whole heart belonged to his wife, and he wanted to care for her himself until her last breath and be with her as she died. He gave up his job, and they went hungry. That was kismet, fate. He ate very little, giving everything to his wife and Fatme. Nevertheless, they quickly became impoverished, and hunger was their constant companion until the end of the year. His wife decided that none of the three aunts were suitable for him, and he promised to kick them all to the curb as soon as she died. Mother passed away peacefully, and they buried her the next day. Papa kept his word and stopped inviting the three aunts over for sex. He had slept with them every day for a year and had had enough. Fatme lay beside him, and they held each other in their arms; it was easier to grieve together. "Papa, I can do it for you with my hand, I do it for the boys, too." Papa thought about it for days. Then he agreed; he wasn't cut out for abstinence. Fatme sat up and slowly pulled his foreskin up and down. She knew he liked it slow and deliberate. "May I drink your semen, Daddy?" Fatme whispered, and he nodded. Before he came, she put her lips around his penis, let her tongue dance playfully, and continued to rub it. He ejaculated deep into her throat, and she swallowed his semen just as she did with the boys. Afterward, Daddy took her in his arms and caressed her. Could he masturbate her clit? Yes, of course, Fatme said, willingly spreading her thighs. Daddy was really good at it; he wasn't as rough and clumsy as the boys at school. She closed her eyes and let her orgasm build and wash over her. For the time being, this mutual masturbation was good and sufficient; they soon got over their grief.
"Daddy, wouldn't you like to sleep and fuck with me like you did with Mommy, Yasmin, Elif, and Aishe?" He scratched his head. "Yes, actually, but it has to be your decision, my love. I'm not the type to rape my own child, okay?" Fatme nodded; she understood that quite well. After all, she was almost 14 and one of the few virgins among her peers. Yes, she longed to be fucked by Daddy; she knew that. "Daddy, I never let my boys fuck me. I told them my dad would be my First, and that's what I want, with all my heart. Yes, I want to give you my virginity and become your little wife too, if you choose me over Aishe, Daddy!" She put her arm around Daddy's neck. "Please, take me, because I want to be your little wife until you find someone else to marry, okay?" Papa hugged her tightly. "You're so sweet, Fatme, you always make me so happy. I even forget I'm hungry."
"The first time will sting, maybe even hurt, my love," he murmured. "I know, Papa, I know. I've heard it from all my girlfriends, and that I shouldn't be afraid, it's a portal through which I must enter into womanhood. I really want you to be my First, Papa — not one of my boys. I'm very attached to you, Papa!" She couldn't manage any more declarations of love at the moment; she was very excited. Papa adjusted her. "I'll guide your cock as always, Papa," she breathed, pulling back his foreskin completely. Then she guided his cock to the entrance of her virgin cunt. She noticed his tears. "Daddy, I love you so much. You don't need to cry, you won't hurt me. I'm exactly the right age to have my hymen broken. And I'm so incredibly happy that it's you and not Mehmet or Freddy or Lorenz. Please don't be sad, Daddy."
Knowing something purely theoretically and experiencing it practically were two very different things. Fatme felt his penis making its way in, slowly and carefully. She felt her hymen stretch, but she wouldn't scream for anything in the world, scaring Daddy with pointless cries. For what seemed like an eternity, her hymen stretched more and more until it was about to tear. Then, a tiny prick, and the hymen ruptured. She felt his penis now fully penetrate her. Deep inside. "You are a woman now, Fatme, my love. And it makes me so proud that you let me do it," he whispered. "I'm going to fuck you like a real woman now, and we'll learn how to fuck together in the next few days."
She would remember this first fucking for the rest of her life. Daddy fucked her slowly and deliberately, for perhaps 15 to 20 minutes. It was a strange, completely new sensation, the way his cock thrust in and out of her, slowly and deliberately, just as he liked it. She gazed at his dear face, full of affection. She felt the lust and the desire for orgasm gradually creeping higher in her loins, making her clit of pleasure and the immense lust raging in her clit. She pressed her clit tightly against the shaft, so that with every movement, it scraped against the shaft, sending tiny flashes of pleasure through her. Fatme whispered, "Daddy, I'm coming!" and then the orgasm rolled in and washed over her. She squealed with pleasure and clung to Daddy. This orgasm was somehow completely different from the ones she had while masturbating. Daddy now grabbed her hips and lifted her ass. He fucked her very hard and powerfully, and his semen shot into her in powerful jets. She purred with lust and grinned inwardly; so this is what it felt like to make a baby! He kissed her eyes, and his penis remained still inside her until it began to soften. He lay down wearily beside her. "Daddy, wasn't that wonderful?" Fatme whispered, afraid that the beautiful feelings would escape. Daddy nodded; he was exhausted and needed to doze off a little.
She let Daddy fuck her thoroughly every day, sometimes several times a day. With Daddy's help, she learned to race up the hill to orgasm and then stay there, bouncing from orgasm to orgasm until he came. These orgasms were the most wonderful she had ever experienced. She felt very clearly how her relationship with Daddy was changing, and a strong bond was forming between them. She didn't go to school as often anymore to have a little sex. Of course, from then on she let Mehmet and all his buddies fuck her in the back of the BMW; sometimes there were five or six guys taking turns fucking her. And, to be honest, she had the most wonderful orgasms when she was being fucked by half a dozen cocks, and now she was urging Mehmet to order his friends to the parking lot. Mehmet shook his head at the little one who let everyone fuck her so insatiably. But the best fucking was in the evening or at night with Dad; he was definitely the best of them all.
The poverty and hunger were oppressive. Fatme approached her father about selling herself for sex and earning money that way. Papa was utterly horrified. But after a week, he picked up the thread again. How did she envision that? Well, Fatme already had an address handy: a classmate was a busy prostitute and had given her the phone number of a pimp. Papa called this Charly, and he was immediately interested. He worked for Madame Florence, the most famous Madam in Vienna, who ran her business from the Fleischmarkt. Now, tough negotiations ensued between Papa and Charly, who wanted to buy her on behalf of and for Madame Florence. Papa drove the price up to dizzying heights until they reached an agreement. And so it came to pass that Papa sold his Fatme to Charly for Madame. Fatme, now over 14, thus entered prostitution. But it was worth it; Papa no longer had to go hungry. Dad bought Fatme some pretty, daring dresses and makeup, then let her go to Charly's.
Charly wasn't the type she would have willingly gone with. She had to undress completely in front of him, and he thoroughly examined every inch of her body. Then he took some nude photos for Madame. Fatme asked, bewildered, if he wanted to fuck her? Charly laughed raucously, that cur. "Madame would chop my penis off herself and feed it to her dogs! No, what do you think? I can do anything, but I can't fuck any of the girls without Madame's explicit permission! Oh my God, you must have grown up in the sticks with the seven dwarfs! You still have a lot to learn. You can't run this business without a clue. So remember, if you have your eye on one of Madame's men or girls, be sure to ask her permission first. Otherwise, you'll be in deep trouble!" Fatme nodded; she would learn all of this.
Charly looked at the wardrobe that Dad had bought. He chose something simple, something girlish. He helped her apply her makeup properly — just a little, so she would look like a little girl. Then he led her into the back room, where her first client was waiting for her. A senior teacher, whose eyes lit up when he saw the little schoolgirl. Charly took the money and gave Fatme half. "Now, during your trial period, I'll take half. Later, when Madame takes you on, you'll give me 30%, like all the other girls. Can you remember that?" Fatme nodded; she could certainly do math. She asked quietly what happened next, what she had to do. Charly smiled. "You go back inside to that nice gentleman, his name is Gerd. You will be kind and friendly to him and do everything he wants. But if there's something you don't want to do, tell him, he'll accept it. And I'll keep watch from behind the screen to make sure he doesn't get rough, otherwise I'll punch him in the face. I'm responsible for your protection, Fatme. So, good luck!"
Fatme went inside and sat on Gerd's lap. "I'm Fatme, may I call you Gerd?" Gerd smiled arrogantly. "I'd prefer it if you called me Mr. Director, Fatme." He desperately wanted to kiss her on the mouth, but she only offered him her cheek. "You mustn't kiss me on the mouth, Mr. Director!" she said firmly. They whispered back and forth, then it was quite clear what Gerd — excuse me, the Mr. Director — wanted. She should sit backwards on his lap, and he wanted to fuck her from below and caress her breasts. No, she shouldn't undress completely, just take off her panties and unbutton her blouse. Fatme made sure he put on the condom, because that's what he had paid for. Now he fucked her from below, and his fingers glided over her small mounds and her nipples, because she didn't have proper breasts back then. After five minutes it was over; it was much easier than she had imagined. She went home; Charly would call her when he had a client for her. She went home, told her father everything in detail, and gave him the money.
She worked this way for almost a year and a half. To earn a little extra money, she served Turkish tea at the Turkish community center in the afternoons. No one there knew that she was a prostitute. Charly usually got her three or four clients in the morning, and the money was more than enough to support her father and the family. Charly shook his head because she orgasmed every time she was fucked. "You have to control your passion, otherwise you'll burn through all your energy far too quickly." She couldn't; the orgasms came like clockwork. And she felt refreshed after fucking the clients, not drained. Charly watched over her from behind the screen and continued to shake his head. In the afternoons, she served tea, and around that time, plump Aisha would occasionally come to Papa to let him have sex with her. Fatme knew this, of course, but she wasn't jealous of Aisha in the slightest. She knew how much Papa enjoyed having sex with the plump woman. That's how it came about that she met Hakim while serving tea.
Lightning struck. Cupid's arrow pierced her heart and made her hold her breath. Fatme knew in an instant that Hakim was "her" man. She had not the slightest doubt. What frightened her were the rumors that Hakim was involved with the Turkish mafia. She wanted nothing to do with the mafia or anyone from those circles. Nevertheless, she sat down with Hakim, and they talked about this and that. She wasn't at all surprised that lightning had struck Hakim too. And what was even more surprising was that Hakim was completely innocent. He was a wonderful man, about ten years older than her. He looked at her for a long time. "Yes, the bit about the mafia is partly true, Fatme. But it's very complicated, and I want to explain it to you openly and honestly one day. Right now, I can only hope that you'll still want to see me despite the half-truths." Fatme swallowed hard. There was a secret he couldn't reveal to her now. Well, she would trust him. "But I'll tell you one thing, Hakim: if you really are in the mafia, then I'll never see you again. You can be sure of that."
Fatme laughed heartily when Hakim tried to guess her age and said 19. She giggled and looked straight into his eyes. "Hakim, my makeup is deceiving you. I'm only 15." This caught Hakim off guard. He hesitated, unsure how to explain it to her. "You're far too experienced for 15, Fatme. That's what fooled me, not your makeup." Fatme shyly placed her hand in his, for they were sitting in the public courtyard of the community center; this was how respectable couples met in public. "I have a secret too, a complicated one, Hakim. I'll tell you, right after you've explained the whole mafia thing to me." They talked about their respective sex lives. Hakim confessed that all his Turkish girlfriends came from the sex work industry; it was always casual and without any romantic baggage, just physical intimacy for a few days or weeks. Fatme nodded understandingly. "That sounds like you're not ready to commit yet?" Hakim thought for a moment. "Yes, you're probably right about that. I'm only 28 and much too young to start a family." Fatme squeezed his hand and placed it on her chest. "I'm just an ordinary Turkish girl, and I was born here in Vienna. I only know the secret, solitary sex of all virgins; my finger is my constant lover. And I lay with my father." Hakim murmured that he understood the part about finger sex, but not the other part. That she lay with her father. Fatme knew it was an important moment, but she didn't want to lie to Hakim, ever. "My mother died about two years ago, and since then I've been sleeping next to my father instead." Hakim looked at her with wide eyes. "Does that mean...?" and Fatme answered immediately, "Yes, it does." They were silent for a long time, then Hakim said, "I want to talk to you about this, about this father secret, once we've solved the other secrets, okay? Until then — let's keep quiet about it, alright?" Fatme nodded. "Yes, Hakim, that's a wise decision. I was afraid you'd get up and leave right away. But you're giving us a chance, you're giving me a chance to explain and unravel the threads. Thank you, Hakim."
They sat on the bench in the courtyard every afternoon now, as was proper, and told each other everything, except for their secrets. One day, he invited her to his apartment. Fatme immediately agreed and went with him. "I'm not a virgin anymore, Hakim," she said softly. "Daddy made me a woman two years ago. And today I want to belong to you, if you'll have me." They made love until late that evening, then she looked at her watch and said she had to go home to Daddy. He looked at her with great concern as she dressed and walked her downstairs to the front door.
It was three months later in his apartment. Hakim asked her to sit at the coffee table. He placed an ID card on the coffee table. "Fatme, Hakim Elbagr is a fake name. I'm Detective Inspector Ronald Hofstätter, a police officer. Until yesterday, I was living undercover in the Turkish mafia. They've been exposed now, many are in custody, and I gathered the information so they can be brought to justice. This was a joint police operation with the German, Dutch, and Spanish police. The Turkish mafia isn't dead, of course, but we've dealt them a serious blow. Fatme, I haven't been allowed to reveal this secret until now. And I sincerely hope you'll stay with me, even though I'm a police officer." Fatme looked at him wide-eyed, examining the ID card. "And who knows about this?" she croaked hoarsely. "Imam Mueddin has known for two days; he helped us cross some good people off my list. He trusts me, the Imam." Fatme looked straight at him. "I'm glad you're not a real mafioso. And I think you've done our Turkish community a great service. At least, I believe so." Fatme twirled the ID card in her fingers. "And of course, I want us to stay together. Even more so now that you're no longer a mafioso." She glanced shyly at him. Hakim nodded. "Yes, I do too. I want to live with you and get to know you really well. I've loved you since the very first moment, but now we want to do everything properly, okay?" Fatme nodded in agreement. "And now for my secrets, Hakim." She looked rather sad.
"Hakim, in the afternoons I serve tea or lie with you. In the mornings, I work as a prostitute and give the money to my father so he can live a good life." Fatme held her breath and looked into Ron's face. He thought for a very long time. "Did someone force you into prostitution?" he finally asked, more sharply than he meant. Fatme shook her head. "No, I myself suggested it. We were starving like birds in winter, so I proposed. Only after much resistance did Papa sell me to Madame Florence at the Fleischmarkt, or more precisely, to the pimp Charly, who's directly responsible for me." Fatme looked down. Hakim took her chin in his hand so she would look him in the eyes again. "And — do you enjoy being a prostitute, Fatme?" She said immediately, "No, no! But I have no other way to support Papa and the family." Hakim held her chin firmly. "Would you give up prostitution right now if I gave you regular money for Papa and the family? Say, two thousand? You can take it, it's money I 'earned' from the Mafia. So no problem."
Fatme was stunned. Hakim would give her money so she wouldn't have to work as a prostitute anymore? She looked at him, beaming. But then her face darkened. "But what do I do about Madame Florence, about Charly?" Hakim only hesitated for a split second. "Forget Charly, I'll deal with him personally. The thing with Madame is more complicated. She'll take everything away from your dad again, that can't be allowed. I'll call her and see what's possible, okay?" Fatme's eyes filled with tears. "You're going to do all this for me, Hakim?" He looked at her firmly and resolutely. "From this moment on, you're not going to work as a prostitute anymore, and that's exactly what I'm going to tell Charly. I'll tackle the Madame thing first thing tomorrow. I absolutely don't want her to hurt your dad." Fatme sighed deeply. "Thank you, Hakim, for taking my first secret so wonderfully. I actually expected you to throw me out on my ear, me, the gutter swallow. But no, you set me free without shining armor and a white horse." Fatme laid her forehead on the back of his hand. "And now my second secret, isn't it, Hakim?"
"My mother died almost two years ago. Since then, I've been living with my father. At first, I only used my hand on him and let him ejaculate in my throat; he really likes that. Later, I asked him to deflower me and make me his little wife. He did, honorably and very tenderly. Since then, we have sex as often as he still can, but I lie in his arms every night, whether we have sex or not. He's in his mid-sixties and has sex with me at most twice a week; otherwise, he masturbates my clit sensually because he's very good at it and he simply loves it. And I love being fucked by him. He used to have another woman he had regular sex with, the chubby Aisha, but she's married now. This thing with my father is something I will never give up as long as he lives. Forgive my crude language, but every word is true." Fatme nestled her face into his hand; it was another moment when everything could shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. Hakim was very serious. "Forgive me, Fatme, if I'm not really thrilled. I need to think more about what this means for me and for us. I'm half-hearted, to be honest. I fully understand how and why the incest came about, and I can honestly accept that. But the fact that you can't let it go, that you don't want to let it go, that's a tough pill to swallow. I can't give you a good answer right now, not right now. Give me some time to think about it. Maybe we can talk about it again in a few days, okay? My world would fall apart if I rejected you because of this. Please, give me time to think. I absolutely don't want to make a big mistake, Fatme. You mean a lot to me."
Ronald met with Charly late that evening and demanded that he give up on Fatme. To give up completely, Fatme now belonged to him alone and no one else; he would, of course, still speak to Madame. Charly was only used to such talk when a desperate father wanted his daughter back. A wad of cash, or a few punches, was how he dealt with such fathers. Ronald was cut from a different cloth, and Charly grew increasingly meek. Madame had given Fatme to him, and so on. Ronald's fists ended the nighttime argument; he put Charly in a headlock and left him no choice. Charly swore like a sailor, but he backed down. "Okay, okay. Let's stay calm, Inspector. Fine by me, but settle it with Madame in person; I can't do it." Ronald let him go.
Madame didn't discuss it over the phone. "Who knows who's listening in, my dear Inspector. Just come by, and we'll sort everything out privately." Ronald went to the Fleischmarkt. Up there, on the seventh floor, was Madame's penthouse. The overweight old woman lay shrouded in a veil on a chaise longue, but Ron had no time to admire her naked voluptuousness. She negotiated with the iron fist of General George Patton. For over two hours, they haggled over coffee and chocolates. Ron left with a partial victory, and Madame smirked at her far more valuable partial victory.
Ronald told Fatme that same evening. "First, the really good news. You won't be working the streets for Charly anymore, Fatme. Not a single day." Ron skipped over the fight with Charly; it was unimportant. "What's important is that Madame has agreed that you won't be working the streets for Charly anymore." Fatme looked at him with wide, round eyes. "Madame said so?" she asked incredulously, because they said Madame was as tough as nails and didn't give anything away for free. Hakim nodded. "Yes, she told me herself. I think we can trust her word. She may be whatever she is, but she's the type who keeps her word."
Ron paused and lit a cigarette. "Of course she had a condition, of course. Madame doesn't give anything away for free." Fatme looked at him expectantly. "She wants you as an escort for two evenings a week for now. She'll earn ten times as much from you, even though you're still entitled to 70%. So you'll earn significantly more too." Fatme interjected that she didn't know what an escort was or what her job entailed. Ronald gathered his knowledge. "A rich man books an escort for an evening. As an elegant companion to the opera, a concert, or a fancy restaurant. There are tiered prices, and in the highest category, the guy is allowed to have sex with the girl." Ron paused before continuing. "There's a catch, though. Charly remains your 'handler,' Madame insists on that. He arranges everything for you, collects the money upfront, and pays you afterward. He negotiates with the client and then tells you what's been agreed upon and what's been paid for, so you know exactly what the client has paid for. On the one hand, you're an elegant lady accompanying a gentleman. An escort girl is expected to have a much higher level of sophistication than a streetwalker. Although, in the end, it usually just boils down to the same thing."
Fatme thought about it. "I have to be elegantly dressed, beautifully made up, and perhaps adorned with jewelry. An opera, a concert, or an expensive restaurant. Hakim, I'm fine with the wardrobe, makeup, and hairstyle. But I've never been to an opera, a concert, or a proper restaurant. I'm afraid I'll disappoint the gentleman." Ronald looked directly at her. "Of course, Madame has already thought of that. Charly will not only give you detailed information beforehand about the client and any special requirements, but also about the composer and the plot of the piece. Most operas are actually quite simple stories that can be told in five minutes. Madame has also been in the escort business for quite some time, and you're not the first inexperienced girl she's sent out. I'm quite sure she'll discuss the choice of client and your briefing with Charly in great detail and with great care. The guy is actually disgusting, but Madame is quite satisfied with his performance. So don't be afraid."
Ron lit another cigarette. "I'm thinking about the other thing much more. That you're supposed to keep fucking with complete strangers." Ron looked down, but his attention was entirely focused on Fatme. She sighed deeply. "The alternative is that she'll ruin Dad financially and socially." She bit her knuckles. "I have no choice, Hakim. She mustn't destroy Papa, and I'm convinced she could. I've let other men fuck with me before, so that's not the problem. The problem is our relationship. How could you bear the thought of me fucking with other men? That's the only problem, and I'm not taking it lightly. Ultimately, the only question for me is whether I continue to support Papa or whether I betray him and let him die, just to keep you. You already know my answer to that."
Yes, Ronald already knew the answer. He could only keep Fatme if he continued to allow her to sleep with her father. And now with other, nameless, rich gentlemen as well. He stood on the sandy beach before the line etched in the sand; now he had to jump. Now. Hic Rhodus, hic salta! And there was only one alternative: abandon Fatme, leave her. The very thought made the wound that Cupid's arrow had inflicted in his heart bleed. No, he couldn't, he wouldn't. Abandon Fatme here and now, just because she had to sleep with other men without having a choice? Was he a man or a trembling weakling?
Ron sat down next to Fatme on the couch. His fingers, holding the cigarette, trembled. No, no, and no again! Fatme meant a lot to him, no, she meant everything. He had always avoided falling "really" in love. But here, now, with Fatme, he had found the love of his life. And he wasn't about to let his petty, narrow-minded morality tear it apart. Never.
Ron took Fatme's hand and kissed her fingertips. "Fatme, I will bear it as long as I know that you love me. That you love only me, that I am the only man for you. Then I can bear anything. I intend to do so, and I ask for your help if I waver." They sat for a long time in silence. Fatme rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm your wife, Hakim, from the very first moment. Unwaveringly. Sleeping with other men has always been just a business transaction for me, nothing more. I only do it for the money. My money, or in the future, for the money that Dad could never repay Madame. I sleep with you because I love you with all my heart. Because my heart overflows with love for you. I've never loved so unconditionally before, and I never will again if you send me away now. I would be incredibly sad, Hakim."
Ron was deeply moved. She had never expressed her love so clearly before. Warmth washed over him. He had always felt her love; now she was saying it openly. "I love you with all my heart, Fatme. It's the first time I've ever loved a girl so deeply and unconditionally. My petty, bourgeois self is screaming bloody murder, but I'm not listening. I'm an adult and I know when I'm making a good decision, and this decision is good and right. I won't be jealous of your clients because I know how it all fits together and how it came about. I am your husband, Fatme, unbreakable. Forever."
Ron immediately called Madame and told her that he and Fatme would comply with her demands. She simply said that she hadn't expected anything different. Charly would contact Fatme. They kept the conversation brief; everything had been said. Fatme lay down on the couch and buried her face in his lap as she wept. "I'm so afraid, Hakim, for you and me. Will we both be able to endure this? Will our relationship survive it?" Ron stroked her hair. "Yes, we'll make it through, because we're both very strong. And together we're even stronger." Fatme nodded, weeping.
Ronald started his new job at the heart of the Criminal Investigation Department in the Rossau Barracks. His apartment was on Ruprecht Square, less than a ten-minute walk from his new workplace. Charly didn't call Fatme until a week later. She was to come and discuss her first assignment with him in person. When she arrived, Charly congratulated her on her promotion to escort girl. There were only a handful of them, and Madame Florence kept a watchful eye to ensure everything remained discreet, elegant, and expensive. The client was a Saudi businessman who frequently used the escort service. Charly described the man and his habits; she was to accompany him to an important business dinner with high-ranking officials and local businesspeople. The Saudi understood German and could also speak it, so it wasn't a disadvantage that Fatme didn't speak English. Madame lent her a valuable necklace and matching bracelet, and Fatme had to return it to him afterward. The Saudi had slept with all the escorts so far and wanted to do so again now; after all, he'd paid for it. "But if he repulses you, for whatever reason, then you don't have to sleep with him, Fatme. Madame made that very clear." Fatme nodded; she understood everything. And the Saudi looked quite acceptable in the photos. "Charly," she asked, "did any of the other escorts say anything negative about him?" Charly thought for a moment and shook his head. "No, they all unanimously said he was a pleasant person and didn't ask for anything unusual. He usually wanted to sleep with them a second or even a third time, and they described him as very potent. Missionary and doggy style, otherwise..." "No, they all unanimously said he was a pleasant person and didn't ask for anything unusual. He usually wanted to have sex a second or even a third time, and they described him as very potent. Missionary and doggy style, nothing else." Later in the conversation, Charly mentioned almost casually that the inspector had given him a good beating because Fatme now belonged entirely to him and would never work as a prostitute again. Fatme's jaw dropped; Hakim had never mentioned that.
Fatme was very excited the next evening. She took a very long shower, washed her hair carefully, and trimmed her pubic hair. Charly had recommended that she wear her tight-fitting, dark red bodysuit, which accentuated her figure very well. After she had put on the necklace and, now made up, went over to Ronald, he whistled through his teeth. "Wow! You look like a very elegant 20-year-old! Yes, the gentleman will look upon you favorably, I'm sure of it." He hugged her. "Shall I accompany you to Charly's?" She declined; it was only a short walk to the meat market. And Charly would wear his best suit and take her by taxi to the Saudi's hotel and pick her up again afterward. The Saudi had agreed to be the First to a young girl.
Fatme didn't get home until after 2:00 a.m., completely exhausted. She quickly showered and slipped into bed with Ron. She said the evening had been wonderful. The client was a cultured man and treated her like a princess from the very first moment. She spoke very little during dinner; the businessmen conversed in English and had a lot to discuss. She never found out what they were talking about. Ron asked, how it had continued? The client asked very politely if he could have sex with her. Yes, she agreed, and he fucked her three times. The third time, he couldn't ejaculate anymore. She had dozens of orgasms and was happy but quite exhausted; she had given it her all. At the end, he handed her an envelope containing three thousand American dollars as an extra thank you for the pleasurable sex. Ron hugged and embraced her. She should give some of the money to her father, but also buy herself one or two very elegant dresses, because she would need them in the future. Hugs and smiles, they fell asleep.
The weeks drifted by. Ronald and his squadron were on the trail of a serial killer, and it was very exciting. Fatme went escorting two or three times a week; Charly was worth every penny. Madame had called her briefly and said how satisfied she was with Fatme's escorting, and Fatme was a little proud of herself. She was doing a good job and earning a lot of money. Almost all the clients wanted to fuck the escort girl; there was hardly one who didn't. Fatme sat down at Ron's computer and searched for information about the man from the previous night. They were often quite big names she'd slept with. Every night, she told Ron in all detail how the escorting session had gone.
One day, she and Ron got onto the topic of escorting again. Ron voiced his concerns for the first time. When she came home late at night or early in the morning, she was exhausted and worn out from the night's events with the client. He said he wasn't happy that she was exerting herself so much that she was no longer available to him. He felt that the "full program of passion" was rightfully his, not having an exhausted and drained girlfriend. She immediately understood what he meant. He was absolutely right. She suggested that in the future, no client should get the "full program with passion"; that should be reserved for Hakim only. And she kept her word. Of course, she let the clients have sex with her, but she remained passive and let her orgasms roll off her back easily. Ron was right; he should be the only one to get the full treatment with passion. It was an adjustment for her to remain passive while being fucked. Of course, she had orgasms, even with this in-and-out sex. But when she passively allowed her orgasms, she lost much less sexual energy, that's true.
It felt a little strange, this new passivity. Well, she didn't need to seduce the client; he'd paid for it. She smiled sweetly and invitingly, which didn't hurt Hakim. Quite a lot of clients wanted to lick her clit before sex, which she granted and actually enjoyed very much. So she often let them lick her clit to orgasm and then said to the client, "Sir, I'm ready to have sex now!" She guided his penis into her vagina herself; she couldn't stand it when someone rammed his penis in like a wild beast. No, she did that much better herself. But now, instead of actively having sex with him or arousing him, she simply lay there passively and let him thrust and pump. She had promised Hakim that. Nevertheless, she had an orgasm almost every time, then she writhed and twisted, but she tried to just passively accept it. She didn't smile when the man was about to ejaculate. Sometimes she had to help him by masturbate his cock which stuck inside her by hand when he desperately begged her for help. Almost all the older men did that. If someone wanted to have sex again, she was of course willing and ready, but she never asked anyone herself again, no. Then she went to the bathroom and cleaned her cunt. The evening was over, she got dressed and went downstairs to Charly in the hotel lobby. When she got home, usually before midnight, she took a long shower and slipped into bed with Ron. She told him about having sex with the guest, and she was still full of sexual energy. Now she was exactly how Hakim wanted her, an active, charming lover who now demanded the icing on the cake of her day of sex and got it. Ron said that's how he wanted her. The whole shebang with lots of passion.
And so a year passed. Fatme now worked as an escort seven evenings a week. Madame was very fond of her and the money she brought in. But Fatme couldn't be persuaded to do it in the afternoons, because Madame couldn't earn enough from her. Her afternoons belonged to her Papa she said firmly to Charly and even the Madam herself. There she would lie tenderly snuggled against him and stroke his penis. On some afternoons, Aishe would come by and let him fuck her, if he wasn't too tired. Aishe had given birth to two babies, and she was absolutely convinced that Fatmes Papa had fathered them. Her husband was a really good husband and father, but he knew very little about sex; he never learned anything whar Aishe had shown him. Fatme always stroked Aishe's clit, but without masturbating her, because that would have been an unseemly intrusion. No, she very much enjoyed stroking Aishe's little clit because it was shaped like a small boy's penis. And Aishe sighed with lust when Fatme stroked her clit, and when she got really turned on, she masturbated herself, quickly and hard. No, Fatme was happy that Dad enjoyed fucking Aishe so much. No, Fatme's afternoons belonged to Dad alone.
Toward the end of that year, Fatme had just turned 19, and Ronald became very uneasy. "Frank Halter, the murderer, has it in for you now because you're my wife." But Fatme refused to be rattled or allow a bodyguard. They agreed that Charly would send Ronald a photo of each guest, and they had agreed he would reply with "OK" or "run for your life." Ronald wanted to make sure that Frank Halter didn't just book her through the escort service and get his hands on her that way easily. But the murderer was very clever and didn't fall for her escorting. He had something better in mind. One day, she had just gotten ready to go to her father's, when a hand went over her mouth and she was instantly rendered unconscious by the chloroform. That's how Frank got hold of her.
Frank took her to a remote house in southern Styria, near the village of Zehensdorfberg, where his father, Artem Galebnikow, owned a remote house. She remained handcuffed to the wall by one wrist, even while Frank was having sex with her. Yes, he had sex with her repeatedly a day, for over three weeks. He was fascinated by her body and fucked her as often as he could. She couldn't tolerate alcohol at all and fell asleep almost immediately. So he gave her poppers and experimented to find out how many he needed to give her to really get her aroused; it ended up being around six vials. Fatme, who was very familiar with her own lust, had never been as horny and driven as she was now by the poppers. She desperately wanted to be fucked, right now!
She stared, her eyes glazed, at Frank's enormous cock. No, she had definitely never seen one so big before; it was almost twice as long as Hakim's. Grinning, Frank pulled back his foreskin, revealing the large, impressive glans with its prominent opening. Fatme involuntarily licked her lips. Frank laboriously forced his monster into her cunt, and Fatme had to hold her breath, so large and powerful was his cock filling her.
No, she had definitely never had such a huge cock inside her before, definitely not. She had to keep holding her breath, so powerful and intense was the sensation of this gigantic cock pounding in her cunt. Frank was obviously very skilled at fucking. He effortlessly found their shared rhythm; they were perfectly synchronized right from the start, and Fatme cheered inwardly as she practically ran effortlessly up the hill, towards orgasm. She stared into Frank's eyes and clung to him as her orgasm erupted and washed over her. A knowing smile flickered around Frank's lips, and she could have strangled him for it. But now it was like with Dad; she stayed on top of the hill, bouncing from orgasm to orgasm, hanging stiffly in ecstasy for ten minutes, holding him tightly. "There you go!" Frank growled, grabbing her hips, lifting her ass so that her cunt opened even wider. He fucked her furiously, now spurting inside her, jet after jet. She could feel each jet splattering into her cunt like fat, wet cowpats. Frank left his cock inside her until it softened, then pulled it out, grinning like a schoolboy who'd pulled off a great prank.
The thought shot through Fatem like a whip crack. Frank's abduction had interrupted her contraception, and of course, he hadn't taken her pills. She had read the warning hundreds of times that stopping the pill greatly increased the risk of pregnancy. If Frank continued as before, fucking her eight times or more a day, he would 100% get her pregnant. This fear now hung over her like a black cloud, and she suffered terribly.
Frank had promised Ronald in his phone call that he would enjoy fucking Fatme from wedding night to wedding night. Fatme could well imagine Hakim's despair, but on the other hand, she was certain that he hadn't given up on her, but was desperately searching for her with all his might. She was handcuffed day and night, one hand on each hand. On nice days, she went out into the sunshine with Frank, chained to him. Frank fucked her on the lawn in front of the house; she usually couldn't get poppers there, yet she still willingly gave herself to him. She had to admit it to herself: purely sexually speaking, she had never been fucked as well as by Frank. On the one hand, she was a prisoner, completely at his mercy and at his whims; on the other hand, she desperately wanted to be fucked by him, day and night. From the very beginning, she gave him the "full package with all her passion" and felt herself betraying Hakim in the process. But her desire was stronger than any other consideration; Frank's fucking always reminded her of her father's fucking, and she wept with joy, lust, ecstasy and arousal.
She had long since stopped counting the days. She didn't count how often Frank fucked her, nor how many orgasms she had while being fucked. Numbers had no value here, in God's own beautiful nature. Frank treated her well; apart from the handcuffs, she had no complaints. She had even gotten used to him going to the toilet with her chained up — what was the big deal? Frank went outside every day and talked on the phone for long periods; he obviously had to keep in touch with his people. She wasn't allowed to make phone calls, though. Ronald had surely already called Papa and told him they were seriously looking for her, and that Papa shouldn't worry too much. And he'd certainly informed Charly as well. Fatme's thoughts revolved mainly around how she should tell Hakim. That she had found herself, here in this predicament. That she had found her true self. That passivity during sex was wrong, that she was deceiving herself, deceiving herself. In her mind, she had already rehearsed it a hundred times, how she would tell Hakim, and how he would understand. Yes, there was a danger that he wouldn't understand, that he wouldn't want to believe it. They would break up, because she didn't want to pretend anymore, never again. She wanted to be herself, not be fucked by clients like lifeless driftwood. No, she wanted to, she needed to live out her sexuality in order not to freeze or wither away. Hakim had to understand it, he simply had to.
After three weeks of captivity, Frank said he'd had enough. He wanted to face Ronald and shoot him. Frank was simply fed up with all these games. "You're great to fuck, Fatme," he said, "there's a volcano slumbering inside you, and when I see it erupt, it warms my heart." Fatme lowered her gaze. "I know, Frank. I've seen the volcano erupt again and again these past few days, and I've enjoyed it, this volcano, as you call it." She looked up at him uncertainly. "So, you're going to kill me now?" Frank laughed silently. "Nonsense! Of course I'm not going to kill you. You're a great girl, wonderful to fuck. No, I'm going to kill Ronald Hofstätter, our game is over." She was still looking at him. "And thenafter you'll kill me?" Frank laughed again. "No, you idiot, of course not. Why would I? You never did anything to me, and you were always great in fucking. Live and keep on fucking like there's no tomorrow!"
Fatme stood on the roof of Gasometer C, clinging to a rusty, man-high piece of metal. It was the vent pipe, but Fatme didn't know that. Frank had put her there and said he would crouch behind her and then shoot Frank. "Yes," Fatme said, sending up a silent prayer that he wouldn't shoot Hakim, the brute. Frank had given her only a light, tattered dress to wear, no underwear, because she didn't own any clean ones anymore. The cold west wind made her dress flap, and she shivered against her exposed cunt. Frank held her around the waist, and they both stared at the other side of the roof, where Hakim's head appeared, the pistol clamped between his teeth. Hakim didn't take his eyes off them for a moment and stepped onto the roof, onto the patch of carpet that had been laid out there. Ronald shouted, "Here I am, Frank!" and bent his knees slightly, getting into a firing position. Frank grumbled loudly, "So now we're both here, you and I. And Fatme too, how could I have missed that? Are you going to shoot her, Ronald, to have a clear line of fire?!" Hakim shouted, "Bacaklarını aç!" which means "Spread your legs!" in Turkish.
Without even thinking, Fatme spread her legs wide. Hakim fired immediately, twice. As Frank flinched, Fatme jumped aside in a panic, but continued to cling to the rusty piece of metal, screaming at the top of her lungs. Frank screamed back and threw his arms up. Fatme could see another bullet strike his skull, his brains spurting out the back. Frank fell backward, lifeless like a rag doll. He fell to the edge of the roof and then to the ground below. Fatme stopped screaming in horror. Hakim stood up and holstered his pistol in his shoulder holster. Fatme wasn't particularly afraid of heights and now walked barefoot and lightly around half the curve of the roof, falling into Hakim's arms. Just then, a uniformed policewoman appeared at the iron ladder and climbed up beside them. "Ronald, you're bleeding!" shouted the policewoman, who also had her pistol holstered. "We need something to apply a tourniquet," she called. She looked around frantically, then spotted Fatme's fabric belt. "Your belt, quick!" She shouted, and since Fatme was standing there completely clueless, she ripped her belt off. She knelt behind Ronald and tied off his leg high up. "I had him aimed over the barrel, Ronald," the policewoman said, "and if you'd missed, I would have shot him right in the face, on my soul!" The policewoman ordered that they had to leave immediately; Ronald needed to go to the hospital right away. She was the first to climb down the iron ladder and helped Ronald, who was pale with fear of heights. When they got to the bottom, Ronald said, "I don't feel a thing, no pain at all!" and the policewoman nudged him with her elbow. "Yes, of course, Mr. Wooden-Leg! It's just the adrenaline gushing out of your hair. Of course you don't feel anything yet." She turned to Fatme and offered her hand. "I'm Rosa Morgentau, Ronald's colleague and friend." Fatme shook her hand. "I'm Fatme Ökdemir, Ronald's girlfriend. He speaks very highly of you, Rosa."
Fatme couldn't leave now; she had to stay with him. Ron lay pale in the hospital bed, still asleep after the anesthesia wore off. Frank's bullet had thankfully missed his femoral artery, and had been surgically removed. He would make a full recovery, the surgeon said with satisfaction. Rosa left, and Fatme stayed by his side. In the late afternoon, Ronald awoke, gradually regaining color in his face. "Did I get him?" was his first question, and Fatme confirmed it. "You shot him in the head, and his brains squirted out the back, then he fell off the roof." Hakim smiled contentedly. "Now that's over, and he'll never touch you again." Then he brooded. "I didn't even see Frank shoot me," he said, astonished. "I really didn't see it, didn't notice it." He shook his head from side to side. "Well, that's how it is with witness statements. I may have been one of the main players, but I didn't see such a crucial detail at all. That's actually quite disturbing, don't you think?" Fatme replied that she hadn't seen it either. She had only noticed a shot that hit Frank in the head. Hakim smiled. "After you obediently did the splits, I could see his legs perfectly. So I immediately fired twice, right into his knees. Then you jumped to the side screaming, and I had a clear line of sight. I shot him right in the genitals and then again in the skull to make sure he was dead. He was already dead when he fell backward into the abyss."
Fatme stayed with him in the hospital for five days, then Hakim was discharged. At home, she took a long shower and remembered how she and Frank had showered together every morning, handcuffed to each other, and the thought of Frank made her shudder. Following Hakim's instructions, she made pork medallions and roasted vegetables. Rosa arrived right on time with flatbread from the Jewish baker. They all enjoyed the meal, and Ron pushed his plate back. He began, "Fatme, I have something important to confess. For the past three weeks, Rosa has been lying with me, and we've been fucking like crazy, with ejaculation and everything. And..." Fatme placed her fingers over his lips. "Stop it, Hakim. That's alright, I would have lain with you in her place, just to make you feel like a man. Rosa, thank you for that." Fatme looked at them both kindly. "Now tell me something new, how did little Bodnar manage to get that old curmudgeon between her thighs?"
Rosa, of course, knew every last detail. Now she pantomimed everything, but in between, she spoke what she was portraying. She imitated Bodnar as he mounted his wife, Yvette, and fucked her while cursing, at least once a week. Hakim and Fatme laughed uproariously as the old curmudgeon pushed his wife aside after his laborious ejaculation. Now Bodnar turned to his daughter, little Laura, who was already quite the handful. Bodnar masturbated his daughter every night since a whole year, and Hakim and Fatme laughed uproariously because Rosa so skillfully pantomimed the strained Bodnar and his heavenly delighted daughter. Now Laura grabbed her father's invisible penis and masturbated it, then she took his invisible glans in her mouth and greedily slurped and swallowed his semen. Rosa masturbated the invisible penis in the air, and her body swayed with the vigorous rubbing, and Hakim and Fatme slapped their thighs in excitement. And then came the great moment. Bodnar was still quite tipsy from his tour of the bars, and Laura cunningly lured him between her thighs. Rosa made the Jew Bodnar cross himself before he thrust forward and — with a loud plopp! from Rosa — deflowered Laura. And now there was no stopping them. Rosa whispered that Bodnar had said Laura reached orgasm even more easily than Yvette, that after the first big one it was a real fireworks display, and that the little one jumped from peak to peak like a little goat. Hakim and Fatme laughed until they cried, they had enjoyed Rosa's pantomime so much.
Fatme lay on Ron's chest. "I need to talk to you, Hakim. It's something very important. It's about me, my true self. For your sake, I became passive during sex, no more 'full program with passion,' only you got that. But that's a mistake. When I'm passive, I'm not myself anymore. I only realized this when Frank really fucked me hard, like he wanted to shoot me to the moon. He laboriously forced his gigantic cock into my cunt, and I only helped him when I rediscovered myself. I helped him in because I wanted to be fucked, as weird as that may sound. Only when I completely let go, in that strange situation — he could kill me at any moment — only then did I feel who I really am. I always resisted being called that, but deep down I'm a whore, it's as simple as that. I realized it because I gave myself to Frank willingly and freely; he didn't need to get me going with alcohol or poppers. No, I wanted it myself, I wanted to be fucked by his monster cock until I didn't know which way was up. I wanted to feel that gigantic cock pounding inside me, I wanted it to push me up the hill and send me hurtling into orgasms endlessly."
"I don't know if it was really just because Frank had such a gigantic monster cock, or if I just imagined it. But since I went back to escorting after that, I've given every client the "full program with passion," and I immediately felt that it's right for me. That's my true self; I want to give myself completely, experience my orgasms fully, and I want to experience all of that with many, many men. I don't know if you can handle that, but I can't do without it anymore." Fatme's head rested on Ronald's chest, and he stroked her hair. "Fatme, I already know all that without you even saying a word. And look, where am I? Did I run away? Did I send you packing? No, I'm still here, and you're still here too. Is that answer enough for you?"
Fatme wept with happiness. Hakim was the best, and he belonged to her, she belonged to him. He stroked her hair. "Make sure you don't get pregnant again. Aborting Frank's child damaged us both equally, even though it was truly necessary. But I don't want to go through it a second time." Fatme nodded and whispered, "I know, Hakim. And getting pregnant by Frank certainly wasn't my fault." She lay on Hakim's chest for a long time, letting him stroke her hair.
When Ronald came home, Fatme was sitting at the dining table, fully dressed in her coat, staring blankly at the kitchen counter. He greeted her quietly, and only then did she look up at him. "Hakim." He knew immediately what had happened. "Dad died this afternoon," Fatme said softly, looking at him. He took off her coat and laid her, still dressed, on the bed, then lay down beside her. "Just yesterday Aisha was here, she let my Dad fuck her twice with great pleasure and went home humming happily. Today at midday I lay down next to my Dad. He looked into my eyes with a radiant smile when I brought him to a hard-on with my mouth, something he really likes. Then I mounted him and rode him slowly and deliberately, as is his way. It took a very long time again, he's over 70 after all. He cupped my breasts, my nipples, with both hands while he came with a soft hum. 'Stay with me a little longer,' he whispered, and I stayed seated on his cock. He closed his eyes and his penis went completely soft. I looked at him. He wasn't breathing anymore. Dad was dead. I stayed sitting on him for a long time, his soft penis inside me. I think at that moment his soul flew out the open window. I called Imam Mueddin; he's handling everything — the medical examiner, the city administration, the funeral tomorrow at Liesing Cemetery." Fatme closed her eyes. "The imam told me to go home and cry it out. But I just wandered around downtown with my eyes open and didn't notice anything. I thought for a long time about whether I should call you, but then I didn't want to call you in from work." Ron stroked her face. "Just let your tears flow, you loved Dad very much. And tomorrow I'll take the day off and go with you to the funeral, of course."
After Dad's death, Fatme was overcome by something strange. She wanted to have sex with very young boys, little lads. She didn't know where these strange desires came from. So she lured little Felix into Dad's deserted apartment; he was probably eight or nine. She undressed him completely and told him to undress her completely as well. He pointed with his finger. "What do you call this?" Fatme smiled. "This is my cunt, Felix." He chewed and swirled the word around in his mouth, "Cunt, cunt." Then he looked up, "May I take a good look at your cunt, Aunt Fatme?" She nodded and spread her legs. Felix examined it with all ten fingers; he was very thorough. "I've seen Mom's too very often, but she didn't let me examine it." Fatme replied with a smile, "That's my clit. I can rub it, just like you rub your cock when you want to squirt." He nodded eagerly. "Mom always lets me do it when we're sitting at the kitchen table and I'm supposed to be doing my homework. When Mom notices I have an erection, which I always do, she takes it out and plays with it until I ejaculate; she loves doing that. Then I must rub it as often as I want, and Mom watches with a smile, and I have to ejaculate into her cupped hand, again and again. She always says that's how it's supposed to be and that I should keep doing it until nothing comes out anymore." Fatme swallowed briefly, then asked, "Do you actually know how babies are made?" Felix nodded eagerly. "Dad thrusts a lot into Mom's cunt; I've secretly watched it several times. And then he ejaculates inside Mom's cunt, his sacklet bounces up and down merrily; I think that's how he makes her the babies. And I spy on Daddy always making this way the neighbors wife the babies in secret, and young Lucy's from the second floor he makes secretly the babies too . But Mom told me once she doesn't want another baby, just the fucking."
Fatme had him where she wanted him. "Can I take a good look at your penis, then you can put it in and cum inside, okay?" Felix nodded and held his penis out to her. Fatme carefully took it in her hand and pulled back the uncircumcised foreskin completely. His penis looked just like Aishe's clit, only it was significantly larger. She examined it from all sides, then lay down on her back. "Come on, I'll guide your penis in, Felix." And she guided his penis in and showed him how to fuck her. He was very quick to learn, and his penis only went soft again after the third time he came. Felix asked if she thought he could fuck his mom too? Fatme smiled. "Yes, of course, you just have to catch her once when she's already naked, for example, in her bed or in the shower." Felix scratched the back of his head. "No, in the shower won't work, she always locks the bathroom. But in the morning, after she's made Dad breakfast and he's left for work, Mom always lies down in bed again. I think she rubs her cunt really hard then, maybe." Fatme chimed in. "Yes, exactly in that situation, when Mom is rubbing her cunt really hard, you can crawl under her covers and quickly stick your cock in, into her cunt, because then she'll be completely distracted and won't resist. And she won't bite your head off." Felix nodded, his eyes shining. He would try it that way tomorrow. Fatme was confused by herself, by her urges and her rather strange advices, and sent Felix home.
And then there was Albert, a serious boy with round glasses. He was also around nine, maybe ten. He wasn't at all surprised when she undressed him. And he liked to undress her himself, then waited eagerly. He nodded almost contemptuously when she asked him if he could ejaculate yet. Of course, he wasn't a baby anymore. And had he ever had sex? Of course, he said, in a really condescending way. And how did that happen? "Actually, it's a real secret, and I'll only tell you if you can keep it to yourself, Aunt Fatme." Fatme nodded, of course she would keep the secret. "For a few months now, I've taken her by force to have sex with Mom in the morning when we shower together. Real sex, like Dad. I've seen him do it to her often enough, always from behind, when she's lying flat on her belly or on all fours like dogs, she really likes that. That's how it is, now you know." - Fatme was quite surprised, does she let herself be fucked so easily? "Oh no," Albert grinned mischievously, "but I did fuck her against her will in the shower a few months ago, and she whimpered like a wet cat while I was fucking her and was very grumpy afterwards. But then I told her that Frankie fucks his mom, the pastor's wife, every morning in the shower against her will, and that's what I want now, too. My mom doesn't actually like it at all, just like the pastor's wife, and she's always pretty angry when I do it to her. But she can't do anything about it, and her protests go in one ear and out the other. No, actually she doesn't like it at all, but I do it every morning anyway. I fuck her against her will from behind and press her against the tiles and make her whimper. Sometimes I make her brace herself against the tiles and stick her ass cheeks out at me. I figure if she really didn't want it, she could shower alone, without me, but she always showers with me. So I think she likes it. It was somehow true, even though she then gossiped as bigotedly as the pastor's unmarried daughter." Fatme then asked how old he was exactly. Albert thought for a moment. "Eleven years and eight months, Aunt Fatme." Now Fatme let Albert fuck her, right there, on Dad's bed. She even managed to persuade him to go a second round, and the boy came inside her with a contented grunt.
Fatme quickly shook off this unholy urge. As an escort girl, she had enough men to fuck; she didn't need little boys to fuck. She never told Hakim about it; she was deeply ashamed of that episode with the two dozen little boys she had let fuck her.
Life slowly moved on. Fatme finished evening school and graduated with honors. Ron bought champagne again; now she was at a good point. She could start something new, study at university, trade on the stock market, or become an astronaut. "Or a professional boxer, you always forget that, my dear. Punching men in the face, yes, that would sometimes be just the thing."
Years later, on a sunny day in May, they stood before Imam Mueddin and took their vows. Now they were truly married, and Fatme and the other escort-girls who had come wept bitterly. But Fatme assured them that she would of course continue working as an escort, no question about it.