Na Chi­na

Franz stayed in the pa­la­ce with the in­con­so­la­ble Be­au­mont, whe­re el­se could he ha­ve tur­ned? The ci­ti­zens’ reign of ter­ror cha­sed the no­bi­lity away or un­der­ground. Of cour­se, it was cle­ar that this was not a per­ma­nent so­lu­ti­on, as re­vo­lu­ti­on af­ter re­vo­lu­ti­on swept the coun­try. You only had to put 2 and 2 to­gether, the no­bi­lity would co­me back and claim their pla­ce. It was for­tu­na­te that Be­au­mont in­tro­du­ced him to Sir Re­gi­nald Braithwai­te. The th­ree of them of­ten di­ned to­gether, Franz was at so­mething of a di­sad­van­ta­ge be­cau­se he spo­ke omly a lit­tle bit En­glish.

Sir Re­gi­nald was an En­glish mer­chant who was pic­king up the pi­e­ces of his Fren­ch com­pa­ni­es. Fran­ce would re­co­ver in the next 15 to 20 ye­ars, but he had no bu­si­ness being he­re at the mo­ment. He had be­en li­ving apart from his wi­fe and son for ye­ars, who at 17 was still sha­ring a bed with his mother. That was the re­al bre­ak, that she had ma­de the boy her hus­band four ye­ars ago. She and his son no lon­ger ac­com­pa­ni­ed him on his many trips abro­ad, whi­ch he con­si­de­red to be right and im­por­tant. Howe­ver, his two daugh­ters we­re at­ta­ched to him and ac­com­pa­ni­ed him everywhe­re.

He saw a new op­por­tu­nity. Hong Kong or la­ter perhaps Shanghai. He was sit­ting on pac­ked suit­ca­ses, so to spe­ak, and it was a go­od thing from his point of vi­ew that his fri­end Be­au­mont in­tro­du­ced Franz. He had taught the Que­en’s daugh­ter for two and a half ye­ars and, in Be­au­mont’s opi­ni­on, had tur­ned a spoi­led, stu­pid chick in­to an im­pres­si­ve young lady. Of cour­se, Be­au­mont was com­ple­tely unawa­re of the pu­rely se­xu­al re­la­ti­onship betwe­en the two. And so it was that Sir Re­gi­nald hi­red Franz. Franz had no idea what he was get­ting him­self in­to, but he had ne­ver run away be­fo­re. The per­ma­nent po­si­ti­on with the En­glish oli­gar­ch ca­me at just the right ti­me. The girls’ nan­ni­es cer­tainly didn’t want to go to Chi­na and, in Sir Re­gi­nald’s opi­ni­on, one tu­tor was enough for the two daugh­ters.

Franz ne­e­ded new pa­pers, Lo­ren­zo’s Ve­ne­ti­an let­ters we­re no lon­ger any go­od. Sir Re­gi­nald laughed, that was no pro­blem, he was in and out of the En­glish am­bas­sa­dor’s of­fi­ce. Franz bre­athed a sigh of re­li­ef, be­cau­se he was about to ha­ve the pa­pers for­ged by cri­mi­nals. Sir Re­gi­nald ac­cep­ted him in­to the Bri­tish Em­pi­re with ge­nui­ne pa­pers. Sir Frank But­te­rill from Hamps­te­ad ne­ar Lon­don, mi­nor no­bi­lity, knigh­ted, a loyal sub­ject of King Ge­or­ge at the age of 32. Per­fect.

Re­gi­nald’s hobby was fen­cing. Even in war‐torn Pa­ris, he had set up a mo­dest fen­cing ro­om in his hou­se and prac­ti­ced daily. He was neither a bra­wler nor a mad­man who spil­led his blo­od in sen­se­less du­els, he was a knight in spi­rit, to­day he would be con­si­de­red a sports­man. He was un­sur­pas­sed with foil and ra­pi­er, he was always or­ga­ni­zing com­pe­ti­ti­ons with li­ke‐min­ded pe­o­ple and fen­cig mas­ters. When Be­au­mont on­ce let slip that Frank had be­en a sol­di­er and fought with a sword be­fo­re his te­a­ching ca­re­er, Sir Re­gi­nald’s be­ne­vo­len­ce pou­red over Frank. He es­cor­ted him to his fen­cing hall and they tes­ted them­sel­ves. Frank had ne­ver wi­el­ded a ra­pi­er or foil be­fo­re, so they swit­ched to ra­pi­ers. Although a lit­tle rusty, Frank did qui­te well. As a re­sult, he trai­ned with Re­gi­nald two or th­ree ti­mes a we­ek, and it was ba­si­cally qui­te go­od for the cou­ch po­ta­to Frank But­te­rill.

Two we­eks be­fo­re he left, he met Re­gi­nald’s daugh­ters. 14‐ye­ar‐old Eve and 11‐ye­ar‐old Ro­se. Li­ke Re­gi­nald, the girls we­re tall and bony, neither of them be­au­ti­es. Frank chec­ked their le­vel of kno­wled­ge. Eve was al­re­ady very ad­van­ced in math, ge­o­me­try and al­ge­bra and spo­ke a lit­tle Fren­ch as well as En­glish. Phi­lo­sophy, his­tory and ge­o­graphy we­re blank spots. Ro­se was pretty go­od at En­glish li­te­ra­tu­re, whe­re Frank didn’t ha­ve a clue. Ro­se strug­gled with math, ge­o­me­try and al­ge­bra and al­so spo­ke very lit­tle Fren­ch. Frank de­ci­ded to fo­cus on Eve’s les­sons and Ro­se was able to join in as far as she could. She was a bo­okworm and didn’t fe­el left behind, when she had to re­ad a bo­ok.

Sir Re­gi­nald in­vi­ted so­me no­ble clas­sy ho­o­kers over when he wan­ted to blow off ste­am. But that was not Frank’s tas­te. Re­gi­nald’s hou­sehold was small, with 6 maids and 2 fe­ma­le co­oks ta­king ca­re of everything. Only now did Frank re­a­li­ze that it was going to be a dif­fi­cult mat­ch. He had to pull out all the stops to fuck all the 8 En­glish girls by the ti­me he ar­ri­ved in Hong Kong. Not that they we­re aver­se, but they had no fi­re in their as­ses. No­ne of them mas­tur­ba­ted re­gu­larly, and it was re­ally hard to get them to do and to show the “ir­re­gu­lar” at all. So fuc­king was not their best dis­ci­pli­ne. They let them­sel­ves be fuc­ked pa­ti­en­tly, but that said it all. He tre­a­ted them li­ke la­di­es, be­cau­se he would be li­ving with them for the next months and ye­ars.

Hong Kong was a ni­ce lit­tle city, a do­zen ri­ch En­glish­men did their bu­si­ness from he­re, the se­cond im­por­tant lo­ca­ti­on was Shanghai. The de­ci­si­on in fa­vor of Hong Kong was ma­de be­cau­se Sir Re­gi­nald was able to ac­qui­re a prin­cely pa­la­ce he­re. It was ex­qui­si­te even for spoi­led Eu­ro­pe­ans. God knows why the prin­ce par­ted with it. Sir Re­gi­nald’s van­guard had do­ne a go­od job, they we­re very well ac­com­mo­da­ted. The many ser­vants and maids we­re in­tro­du­ced to the lordship.

One of them did not bow as sub­mis­si­vely as the others, her eyes flashing with fi­re as she lo­o­ked at Frank. He step­ped up to her and un­pac­ked his best En­glish. Her na­me was Mei Song, she re­pli­ed. He me­mo­ri­zed her na­me. She ca­me in the eve­ning when her shift was over. They chat­ted for half an hour and hit it off straight away. Mei lit an oil lamp, “be­cau­se you eat with your eyes too,” she said with a smi­le.

She was the first Asi­an wo­man Frank had se­en. She was small and gra­ce­ful, a body li­ke a lit­tle girl. He ca­res­sed her slen­der, fairy­ta­le body; she had small, vir­gi­nal bre­asts that se­e­med al­most boyishly firm. In the light of the oil lamp, he saw her small, pink te­ats and the small, che­eky bush abo­ve her cleft, whi­ch didn’t ne­ed trim­ming. He thought she was a very young girl at first, but she was al­re­ady 27 and a very ex­pe­ri­en­ced wo­man, he re­a­li­zed im­me­di­a­tely. She to­ok the le­ad and ro­de him very gra­ce­fully and pas­si­o­na­tely. But be­fo­re he cum­med, he swap­ped pla­ces with her and fuc­ked her from abo­ve. She hug­ged him lo­vin­gly as he squir­ted and stro­ked his back un­til he fi­nished and lay down next to her. She was mu­ch bet­ter at fuc­king than any of the En­glish girls he so­on left behind. When her sche­du­le didn’t al­low her to co­me and fuck him, she sent another lo­vely maid. The­re we­re around 35 young Chi­ne­se girls in the pa­la­ce, ea­ch mo­re lo­vely than the next. She always wan­ted to know the next eve­ning whether the re­pla­ce­ment had fuc­ked well or not. He ne­ver found fault with her, she cho­se the girls ca­re­fully. They stayed to­gether as a cou­ple for the who­le 6 ye­ars be­fo­re he left the pa­la­ce.

Mei told her story over ti­me. “In our vil­la­ge com­mu­nity, the cus­toms had be­en pas­sed down for many ge­ne­ra­ti­ons. At the age of 6, we girls had to le­arn to drink the jui­ce of the youn­ger men, be­cau­se they we­re not al­lowed to fuck girls un­til they we­re old enough to build a hut or a hou­se. Most of them didn’t ma­ke it un­til they we­re about 25. We girls had to mas­tur­ba­te our brothers’, cou­sins’ or un­cles’ cocks or ta­ke them straight in­to our mouths and then swal­low the jui­ce. The men’s jui­ce was con­si­de­red ma­gi­cal or sa­cred and was not to be was­ted. It is al­so con­si­de­red so­mehow nu­tri­ti­ous. In the af­ter­no­ons, when the work in the fi­elds was do­ne, everyo­ne would gather in a lar­ge li­ving ro­om and one of the boys would re­ad a story, usu­ally one that in­vol­ved a lot of sex.

We young girls had to mas­tur­ba­te the jui­ce out of the young lads and then drink and swal­low it. At that ti­me I was the only young girl in our com­mu­nity, I had to drink the jui­ce of se­ve­ral boys every day and I re­ally en­joyed doing it. I only stop­ped when I had ta­ken my vir­gi­nity. If the­re we­re too many, they had to mas­tur­ba­te them­sel­ves at the sa­me ti­me and then squirt down my th­ro­at. As the bo­ok or story that was re­ad was usu­ally very in­ten­se, both the boys and I we­re qui­te arou­sed on the­se af­ter­no­ons and I only mas­tur­ba­ted very se­cre­tly so that no one no­ti­ced.

The ol­der boys, li­ke my mother, who was the only young wo­man in the­se groups, we­re only al­lowed to snog, cud­dle or tou­ch ea­ch other in­ti­ma­tely, but in se­cret. They we­ren’t al­lowed to go any further, but she let a man mas­tur­ba­te her in se­cret and in­cons­pi­cu­ously so that the others didn’t even no­ti­ce or could only ra­rely ob­ser­ve. But my mother was re­bel­li­ous and di­so­be­di­ent in many ways. She would sit on this lap, then the next. So­me af­ter­no­ons she would let her­self be fuc­ked by 2 or 3 men, her brothers‐in‐law or her ge­nui­ne brothers, but that was not unu­su­al. Of cour­se, I so­on dis­co­ve­red that the one on who­se lap she was sit­ting, was ca­re­fully and se­cre­tly fuc­king her from be­low. She put a cloth over her legs and lis­te­ned at­ten­ti­vely whi­le she let her­self be fuc­ked mis­chi­e­vously. She pul­led her shorts down a lit­tle un­der the cloth so that he could stick his cock in from behind. I usu­ally ar­ran­ged it so that I could se­cre­tly lo­ok un­der her cloth, even though I was gi­ving a blow­job. She grin­ned wryly be­cau­se I was lo­o­king un­der the cloth, so she had to laugh at my chil­dish cu­ri­o­sity. When she mo­ved to a lap, everyo­ne had to lo­ok away. She let me wat­ch, when she lif­ted the cloth and in­ser­ted the lit­tle stiff cock in­to her bushy fuckho­le, that was our se­cret. She re­mai­ned per­ched on her he­els, smi­led at me and put the cloth over her lap. I of­ten saw the un­cles’ or cou­sins’ cocks stic­king in­to my Mom’s pus­syho­le and slo­wly going in and out. As you may ha­ve no­ti­ced, Chi­ne­se men ha­ve re­la­ti­vely small cocks, but for me as a vir­gin it was very ex­ci­ting to see the small cocks sli­ding in and out of her hairy fuckho­le for a very long ti­me. She ma­de su­re that he did it re­ally se­cre­tly and in­cons­pi­cu­ously. She laughed li­ke a bell when one was re­ady and had squir­ted in­to her ho­le, whi­ch was always very ex­ci­ting for me. Cus­tom de­man­ded that she was not al­lowed to do it, but she hid it un­der the cloth, although everyo­ne knew ex­cept my father. So­me­ti­mes she win­ked at me cons­pi­ra­to­ri­ally, li­ke when she se­cre­tly showed me how to mas­tur­ba­te when I was 6. Of cour­se, mas­tur­ba­ting was just as for­bid­den for us girls as it was for the boys.

I slept with my pa­rents from an early age on, as my brothers had all left ho­me. My mother and I would lie fa­cing ea­ch other and she would hug me ten­derly when Dad fuc­ked her from behind. He only wan­ted to do it from behind, but I ne­ver found out why. She ne­ver had an or­gasm when he fuc­ked her, but when he fell as­le­ep, she mas­tur­ba­ted al­most every night. I lo­ved the phy­si­cal con­tact with her, I was her child af­ter all and lo­ved the tou­ching. As she ne­ver spo­ke with my father about fuc­king in the men’s club in the af­ter­no­on, I na­tu­rally didn’t say anything to him either. I sus­pec­ted for a long ti­me that he knew all about it, but I was pro­ba­bly wrong.

I still re­mem­ber the ar­gu­ments be­cau­se my father wan­ted to ta­ke my vir­gi­nity and fuck me very early on and my mother pre­ven­ted it be­cau­se I wasn’t yet 14. But I re­ally wan­ted it, I wan­ted it my­self ba­dly. I was no lon­ger a lit­tle girl, I wan­ted to be fuc­ked by my un­cles and brothers on cer­tain af­ter­no­ons just li­ke my mother and not just suck their cocks or mas­tur­ba­te and drink the jui­ce. Dad got his way and, at my in­sis­ten­ce, de­flowe­red me betwe­en 13 and 14. I lay fa­cing my mother and we held ea­ch other as he ap­pro­a­ched me from behind and grab­bed my but­tocks with his big hands. I wasn’t afraid at all and my mother kis­sed me on the eyes as he slo­wly pe­ne­tra­ted and to­re my hy­men. It har­dly hurt at all and I whis­pe­red prou­dly to my mother that I was now a wo­man. She kis­sed me again and held me gen­tly whi­le he wor­ked behind and fuc­ked me. I har­dly felt the squir­ting and was sur­pri­sed that he lay down behind my mother and fuc­ked her too. He ra­rely did that, he usu­ally fuc­ked only one of us both in turn every night un­til I was 24 and was ta­ken on as a maid he­re at the Ti­ger Prin­ce’s pa­la­ce. The prin­ce only fuc­ked his no­ble wi­ves and girl­fri­ends, we maids we­re stric­tly for­bid­den to fuck and we only did it very, very se­cre­tly. Af­ter a few ye­ars, the prin­ce mo­ved back to the im­pe­ri­al city and the pa­la­ce and all the ser­vants we­re sold.”

Frank taught both girls in the mor­nings and ga­ve Eve pri­va­te les­sons in the af­ter­no­ons. She had a go­od re­la­ti­onship with him right from the start and although she ma­de an im­pres­si­on on him just as dry as the other 8 En­glish girls who had fuc­ked him rather lis­tles­sly, Eve tal­ked openly and hap­pily about sex. She was al­re­ady 14 and re­ally in­te­res­ted in the mat­ter. In pas­sing, she men­ti­o­ned that she and Ro­se had be­en mas­tur­ba­ting for many ye­ars.

What she was qui­te bothe­red about was her ol­der brother, who had be­en let­ting his mother mas­tur­ba­te him for ye­ars, sin­ce he was 13, and was fuc­king her so­on af­ter. Eve had found out about and ob­ser­ved both the mas­tur­ba­ting and the fuc­king with in­te­rest, but at the sa­me ti­me ex­pe­ri­en­ced the emo­ti­o­nal dis­tan­ce betwe­en the pa­rents. The father was very an­gry that his son was fuc­king her daily, but he was com­ple­tely power­less.

The mother was ac­tu­ally ase­xu­al, Eve said, she let her brother fuck her in­dif­fe­ren­tly and pas­si­on­les­sly. She just let her­self be fuc­ked, without mu­ch emo­ti­on, and when she was arou­sed af­ter fuc­king, she tou­ched her cli­to­ris bri­e­fly to trig­ger the or­gasm. Eva ne­ver had the im­pres­si­on that her mother ever mas­tur­ba­ted out of se­xu­al de­si­re, but she didn’t know for su­re. She and Ro­se we­re ac­tu­ally spying on the brother.

She had un­zip­ped a cou­ple of lads’ pants in Pa­ris last ye­ar, mas­tur­ba­ted him and ma­de him squirt on the flo­or. It was ex­ci­ting and th­ril­ling, but she didn’t da­re to fuck any of the lads, even though she fan­ta­si­zed about nothing el­se at night. She had always ho­ped that her father would ta­ke her vir­gi­nity and fuck her, but he was always cor­rect and only fuc­ked the no­ble who­res or the res­pec­ta­ble, shy wi­ves of his fri­ends or ac­quain­tan­ces. She lo­ved and ado­red her father, who se­e­med to ef­for­tles­sly fuck even the shyest, most res­pec­ta­ble and stric­tly ce­li­ba­te wi­ves.

Frank res­pon­ded to her ca­su­al to­ne, knowing well that he would ta­ke her vir­gi­nity and fuck her. He didn’t ha­ve to rush things, Mei and the other Chi­ne­se maids sa­tis­fi­ed him every night. But he felt the dark ur­ge that a vir­gin trig­ge­red in him. It wasn’t dif­fi­cult at all to get Eve to show him her pus­sy. It was a pretty lit­tle pus­sy, she al­re­ady had a thick fuzz of black pu­bic hair and a rather lar­ge cli­to­ris. He didn’t ne­ed to te­a­ch her how to mas­tur­ba­te, she mas­tur­ba­ted every night li­ke Ro­se. He kept brin­ging up the sub­ject of fuc­king and she so­on be­ca­me ob­ses­sed with it. It only to­ok a lit­tle push to get her. She was happy and ex­ci­ted to gi­ve him her vir­gi­nity and fuc­ked him every af­ter­no­on. She didn’t or­gasm whi­le fuc­king him, but she re­le­a­sed her­self with a fin­ger without shy­ness or sha­me af­ter fuc­king him. He fuc­ked her every af­ter­no­on un­til she se­du­ced her father when she was 16. Then she no lon­ger ne­e­ded Frank.

Ro­se was even ea­si­er to get around. Eve had told her about fuc­king Frank and as long as he was still fuc­king Eve, he had to put the bra­kes on Ro­se. She was still too young, he wai­ted un­til she tur­ned 13 and shif­ted their af­ter­no­on stu­di­es to Ro­se, be­cau­se Eve was at the end of her edu­ca­ti­on. She now spent her days with her father le­ar­ning the bu­si­ness. Sir Re­gi­nald im­por­ted ma­chi­nery, te­ch­no­logy and we­a­pons to Chi­na and sup­pli­ed En­gland with spi­ces, fo­od and silk. It was not a par­ti­cu­larly dif­fi­cult bu­si­ness and Re­gi­nald was ple­a­sed that Eve was in­te­res­ted in it.

Frank now taught Ro­se in the af­ter­no­on. She ne­e­ded a bit mo­re of a run‐up than Eve to fall in lo­ve with her te­a­cher. She was just dying to show him her pus­sy. She was now 14 and her pus­sy was only sligh­tly dif­fe­rent from Eve’s. And she al­so had the thick, black fuzz li­ke her sis­ter, whom Ro­se en­vi­ed be­cau­se their father so­me­ti­mes let Eve sle­ep over. Frank didn’t ha­ve to bre­ak down any do­ors to get Ro­se to fuck. She was re­ady to gi­ve him her vir­gi­nity af­ter a short ti­me. She was the dri­ving for­ce, Frank just had to fol­low her with a smi­le. She de­ter­mi­ned the day on whi­ch he had to ta­ke her vir­gi­nity and fuck her. He let him­self be cap­tu­red and ma­de her fe­el li­ke the mis­tress of the si­tu­a­ti­on.

Ro­se’s pus­sy was de­fi­ni­tely pret­ti­er and mo­re ex­ci­ting than Eve’s. She al­so had a big­ger clit and Frank as­su­med that she mas­tur­ba­ted mu­ch mo­re fre­quen­tly and in­ten­sely than her ol­der sis­ter. He pe­ne­tra­ted slo­wly and with re­lish, she win­ced vi­o­len­tly as her hy­men to­re. It bled a lit­tle, but she ur­ged him to fuck her pro­perly. He fuc­ked her for qui­te a long ti­me, hol­ding back the squir­ting as she be­ca­me mo­re and mo­re arou­sed. Her fa­ci­al ex­pres­si­on be­ca­me dis­tor­ted, she con­tor­ted her fa­ce in or­gasm. It was very vi­o­lent and she clung to him tigh­tly. He was al­most star­tled, be­cau­se he was used to Mei’s light and not vi­o­lent or­gasms. Still, it fil­led him with a cer­tain pri­de that he had brought the young girl to or­gasm the first ti­me he fuc­ked her. He squir­ted it all in with re­li­ef. They we­re both out of bre­ath, but she kis­sed him long on the lips and said, “Thank you, Sir Frank!”

Ro­se, whom he was now spe­ci­fi­cally te­a­ching math, ge­o­me­try and al­ge­bra, ob­vi­ously had a fa­bu­lous ta­lent and fe­el for the sub­ject mat­ter. They fuc­ked every day be­fo­re class, but then she bit in­to the ma­te­ri­al. Frank had as­ked Re­gi­nald to send him the jour­nals of the Royal Sci­en­ti­fic Ins­ti­tu­te and was ex­plo­ring with Ro­se all the ar­ti­cles in the jour­nals. She was highly ex­ci­ted and ea­gerly awai­ted the as­sign­ments, whi­ch she de­vou­red. Her in­te­rest in li­te­ra­tu­re wa­ned ra­pi­dly as she be­gan to de­al with tricky mathe­ma­ti­cal ques­ti­ons. Very mu­ch re­vol­ved around as­tro­no­mi­cal ques­ti­ons, and an­ti­ci­pa­ting this, it is fair to say that Frank was very proud of Ro­se when she be­ca­me one of the first wo­men of the ti­me to be ad­mit­ted as a non‐re­gu­lar mem­ber of the Royal As­tro­no­mi­cal So­ci­ety 30 ye­ars la­ter.

But we’re not the­re yet, she was 14, she tur­ned 15 and 16. When she had tur­ned 17, Sir Re­gi­nald ur­ged her to get mar­ri­ed. Her first sight was of her be­lo­ved te­a­cher, of cour­se. But Frank had go­od re­a­sons not to mar­ry, and he stuck to his guns, even if he couldn’t tell Ro­se the re­al re­a­sons. They fell out when he brought forward his 6‐ye­ar re­la­ti­onship with the chi­ne­se maid Mei. This hit Ro­se hard, she clo­sed her clas­ses and now only ra­rely fuc­ked him. Re­gi­nald dro­ve up all the young En­glish­men betwe­en Hong Kong and Shanghai, she fuc­ked most of them for a few days on a tri­al ba­sis un­til she de­ci­ded on one. Eve, who hadn’t fuc­ked him for we­eks and had a very happy li­fe in Sir Re­gi­nald’s bed, to­ok him to Ro­se’s wed­ding. He was still suf­fe­ring gre­a­tly from their ar­gu­ment and Ro­se’s frosty em­bra­ce. As quic­kly as he could, he lay in Mei’s arms to for­get the frus­tra­ti­on. He had to ad­mit to him­self that he had got­ten far too clo­se to Ro­se, and now he had to ato­ne for that. But he had grown even mo­re fond of Mei, and he shud­de­red to think that he would ha­ve to le­a­ve Mei at so­me point. It couldn’t ha­ve es­ca­ped her no­ti­ce over the ye­ars that he hadn’t aged a day. Af­ter Ro­se’s wed­ding, Sir Re­gi­nald pla­ced him with a ri­ch bu­si­nes­s­man on the is­land of Ma­cau a few mi­les away. So he was a day’s jour­ney from Hong Kong and away from wo­men’s pro­blems. But was it re­ally him?

The Wal­dorfs in Ma­cau we­re the de fac­to kings of the is­land. Their main bu­si­ness was tra­de betwe­en Chi­na and Eu­ro­pe. Sir Re­gi­nald was, of cour­se, only a mi­nor com­pe­ti­tor with whom the Wal­dorfs and the Lords in Shanghai could get along well.

Elly Wal­dorf was a small, fri­en­dly girl of 13. Frank and she had a go­od rap­port from the start, and he was an ex­qui­si­tely tre­a­ted guest des­pi­te his low rank, tu­to­ring the daugh­ter of the hou­se Lord. Among other things, the Wal­dorfs had the lar­gest and most ex­clu­si­ve brothels in the coun­try, and cli­ents of­ten ca­me from far and wi­de for the won­der­ful birds of pa­ra­di­se that of­fe­red a night in the highest he­a­vens. Frank quic­kly for­got about Mei, be­cau­se Ro­bi­na Wal­dorf, Elly’s mother and, so to spe­ak, the Ma­dam, sent him a be­auty as a gift every night. He re­ad, taught and wor­ked all day, but in the eve­ning he be­ca­me a bon vi­vant. He di­ned with the be­auty of the night and they sip­ped ex­qui­si­te wi­nes un­til they went to his quar­ters to fuck. He had swe­a­ted with Sir Re­gi­nald on the fen­cing flo­or for an hour every other day, now he was sof­te­ning in­to a bon vi­vant, a dandy. He had ma­de go­od use of the 6 ye­ars and was now flu­ent in En­glish, the Chi­ne­se lan­gua­ge was hard to le­arn but he could ma­ke him­self un­ders­to­od in a ru­di­men­tary way.

Emily was a very go­od le­ar­ner. She had ta­ken af­ter her mother in terms of her dis­po­si­ti­on, she was a re­al be­ast. She had mas­tur­ba­ted for the first ti­me at the age of 5, so he no lon­ger ne­e­ded to ins­truct her. Of cour­se she tal­ked to Frank about it right from the start, she wan­ted him to ta­ke her vir­gi­nity and fuck her. She re­ally knew all about it and knew what she was as­king for. He had al­re­ady le­ar­ned from Re­gi­nald so­me ti­me ago that the Wal­dorfs we­re not to be tri­fled with. Many a one had di­sap­pe­a­red or be­en found in the sto­ma­ch of a shark. He re­mai­ned on his guard. He said not un­til she was 15, be­cau­se if girls star­ted fuc­king too early, their pus­si­es wouldn’t de­ve­lop pro­perly. He knew that this su­pers­ti­ti­on was po­pu­lar in Chi­na. She should ask around. Emily re­cei­ved con­fir­ma­ti­on from so­me pe­o­ple. When she told him very sa­dly, he re­len­ted. They ma­de a pact with a handsha­ke, as she had se­en the adults do. He would ta­ke her vir­gi­nity on her 15th birth­day, they agre­ed.

Frank no­ti­ced from the start that a cer­tain high‐class who­re vi­si­ted him al­most every other day. She was gi­ven su­ch pre­fe­ren­ti­al tre­at­ment in the res­tau­rant that he be­ca­me cu­ri­ous and as­ked the other girls about her. Be­cau­se she didn’t stand out, she was a whi­te girl li­ke many others, the­re we­re girls from all over the world and of all skin co­lors. She cal­led her­self Lu­kre­zia and was from Italy, she said, but he quic­kly re­a­li­zed that she only knew Italy from tra­ve­lo­gues. But she spo­ke Ita­li­an fla­wles­sly, whi­ch ma­de him even mo­re cu­ri­ous. It to­ok him se­ve­ral we­eks to find out a cor­ner of the truth. She was the daugh­ter of “Tai Pan” Wal­dorf’s se­cond wi­fe, as he was re­ve­ren­tly cal­led. Her mother was ac­tu­ally from Italy, and Ly­dia, as Lu­kre­zia was ac­tu­ally cal­led, was her mother’s right‐hand wo­man, the se­cond boss of the brothels. She didn’t work as a high‐class who­re her­self, but it had be­en brought to her at­ten­ti­on that young Sir Frank could al­so spe­ak Ita­li­an and knew Italy li­ke the back of his hand. Ly­dia was ac­tu­ally mar­ri­ed to one of the tri­ad bos­ses who ser­ved the Wal­dorfs, but he was con­si­de­red by the brothel girls to be qui­te se­xu­ally dull and we­ak. A bru­tal thug with a lit­tle baby‐cock, they said dis­pa­ra­gin­gly.

Now Frank was dou­bly on his guard. He had to of­fer Lu­kre­zia everything se­xu­ally and not up­set her be­cau­se of her hus­band. She ca­me th­ree or four ti­mes a we­ek to di­ne and fuck. She had be­en brought up very stric­tly by her mother and was not very ex­pe­ri­en­ced se­xu­ally. In her 20s, she had ba­rely fuc­ked a hand­ful of men, mos­tly in lon­ger af­fairs. She only mas­tur­ba­ted very, very ra­rely and in se­cret, be­cau­se her mother was re­len­tles­sly strict against it.

Frank tre­a­ted Lu­kre­zia very lady­li­ke and well, he ma­de her happy with go­od man­ners, long con­ver­sa­ti­ons about Italy and go­od sex. Af­ter six months, she ga­ve up the ga­me of hi­de‐and‐se­ek of her own ac­cord. It was fi­ne with him, be­cau­se she al­so had to be ca­re­ful that her hus­band didn’t get je­a­lous and he in turn drop­ped the fact that he was mar­ri­ed in En­gland so that she didn’t in­dul­ge in any dre­amy fan­ta­si­es. She let her­self be gui­ded se­xu­ally and was quic­kly very go­od at fuc­king. She to­ok con­tra­cep­ti­on se­ri­ously.

He agre­ed with Emily that he would only te­a­ch her 4 or 5 days a we­ek and ha­ve 2 or 3 days off. He chan­ged sil­ver in­to cop­per coins, bor­rowed a hor­se and ro­de around the area to get to know the coun­try and its pe­o­ple. Gir­ded with a go­od ra­pi­er that Sir Re­gi­nald had gi­ven him, he ro­de around the area for 2 or 3 days, ma­king ac­cu­ra­te maps of his rou­tes be­cau­se he en­joyed it. That he would ha­ve be­en bet­ter off not doing it be­ca­me cle­ar to him so­me­ti­me la­ter, very cle­ar in­de­ed.

Frank tra­ve­led from pla­ce to pla­ce, di­ned in the small inns, in­vi­ted many a man for a jug of wi­ne and was in­vi­ted to stay the night in re­turn, ne­ver on­ce did he sle­ep in an inn. The far­mers knew how to tre­at a guest. He slept with the far­mer cou­ple on their sha­red sle­e­ping mat and fuc­ked the far­mer’s wi­fe just li­ke the lan­dlord. He knew what an un­ne­ces­sary lu­xury be­auty was, no one was ugly when na­ked. The pe­a­sant wo­men we­re all go­od at fuc­king, he com­ple­ted his Can­to­ne­se with the se­xu­al vo­ca­bu­lary used in the coun­try­si­de. Most of the pe­a­sant wo­men had no idea about or­gasm or mas­tur­ba­ti­on, it was not com­mon among them. If a wo­man did or­gasm whi­le fuc­king, it was nothing new for the cou­ple. So­me far­mers wa­ved their daugh­ter over when she was no lon­ger a child. They let them­sel­ves be fuc­ked by the guest with the sa­me ple­a­su­re as the mother, so­me even by the father. The pe­o­ple mos­tly li­ved in ani­mis­tic re­li­gi­ons and had ne­ver he­ard of Ch­ris­ti­a­nity, and the­re was not even a word for in­cest. The brothers and ser­vants fuc­ked the maids and daugh­ters in another be­dro­om if it was a lar­ger farm. He en­joyed fuc­king the­se sim­ple wo­men and girls at le­ast as mu­ch as fuc­king the no­ble who­res. The only re­al dif­fe­ren­ce was that the no­ble who­res we­re chatty or could hold a sen­si­ble con­ver­sa­ti­on. The pe­a­sant wo­men, on the other hand, we­re mu­ch mo­re sel­fish when it ca­me to fuc­king and de­man­ded another round without any fal­se sha­me. He ma­de the­se trips for a go­od two ye­ars.

Emily’s 15th birth­day was a lo­vely ce­le­bra­ti­on. In the early af­ter­no­on, Frank fol­lowed her to her ro­om. She could har­dly wait to be de­flowe­red and she let her­self be fuc­ked won­der­fully. He fuc­ked her twi­ce in a row, then they had to stop, the din­ner bell cal­led. They fuc­ked every mor­ning be­fo­re class, it be­ca­me a ni­ce rou­ti­ne. Emily knew, of cour­se, that he was al­lowed to di­ne and fuck with a high‐class who­re in the eve­ning and this pre­ven­ted her from fal­ling in lo­ve. She lo­ved fuc­king, she was happy about every or­gasm whi­le fuc­king, whi­ch didn’t work every ti­me, but then she did it her­self with a fin­ger, that was okay too. Everything went well, Emily was a go­od and di­li­gent stu­dent, she spo­ke flu­ent Fren­ch, was go­od at math, ge­o­me­try and al­ge­bra. Abo­ve all, howe­ver, she le­ar­ned the tra­de on tho­se days when Frank ro­de in­to the coun­try.

One mor­ning, af­ter he had just fuc­ked Emily and they star­ted studying, Frank was cal­led to old Wal­dorf, the “Tai Pan”. He had no idea and was just sur­pri­sed to see an ele­gan­tly dres­sed Dut­ch­man sit­ting next to Wal­dorf. The fel­low was a vain bo­gey­man and spo­ke very po­or, pri­mi­ti­ve En­glish. Frank saw that so­me drawings he had ma­de of his paths we­re spre­ad out in front of Wal­dorf. Wal­dorf ad­mo­nished him from the start that it was a se­ri­ous mat­ter, that he should put every word on the sca­le. Frank’s sto­ma­ch clen­ched as the Dut­ch­man bar­ked away. Drawing nau­ti­cal charts was a do­cu­men­ted pri­vi­le­ge of Hol­land and his drawings always showed the ca­nal and the co­as­tli­nes le­a­ding to the city of Can­ton. The charts we­re pre­ci­se and ac­cu­ra­te and we­re le­gen­ded in En­glish and Ita­li­an.

That was bra­zen es­pi­o­na­ge, ex­clai­med the Dut­ch­man.

Old Wal­dorf hel­ped as best he could. Sir Frank was a sub­ject of the crown and a tu­tor. He knew not only En­gland, but al­so the coun­tri­es of the main­land, and he at le­ast had per­so­nally autho­ri­zed him to tra­vel on hor­se­back in the sur­roun­ding coun­try­si­de, whi­ch of cour­se was not true. They had ne­ver dis­cus­sed the tre­a­ti­es betwe­en En­gland and Hol­land con­cer­ning the maps, so it soun­ded cre­di­ble to him that Frank was com­ple­tely in­no­cent.

The Dut­ch­man did not gi­ve an in­ch. He de­man­ded the ex­tra­di­ti­on of all the maps and Frank him­self, who would ha­ve to await the ver­dict in the cus­tody of the Dut­ch ma­ri­ti­me court. So Sir Frank went with the Dut­ch­man and Wal­dorf as­su­red him that he would in­form the Bri­tish Ad­mi­ralty in Can­ton. The Dut­ch­men loc­ked Frank in a ro­om, but it was not a dun­ge­on. He was tre­a­ted well and in­ter­ro­ga­ted harshly every other day. It to­ok two we­eks be­fo­re the royal map ke­e­per, the Dut­ch ex­pert, fi­nally ar­ri­ved. He exa­mi­ned his drawings and found them to be pri­mi­ti­ve, nai­ve sket­ches, com­ple­tely un­sui­ta­ble for ship na­vi­ga­ti­on. The ex­pert found Frank’s sta­te­ment that he had only ma­de it for him­self and only to ex­plo­re the land betwe­en Ma­cau and Can­ton cre­di­ble. He had only mar­ked vil­la­ges, farms and bri­dle paths, and the rough co­as­tli­nes we­re only in­ten­ded to ke­ep him away from them. The ex­pert re­tur­ned the maps to him and ad­vi­sed the Cap­tain to re­le­a­se Frank.

Ly­dia pic­ked him up with a hor­se. They had to ri­de two hours to the pa­la­ce and to­ok a bre­ak. Ly­dia had so­mething on her mind, she be­gan to cry ter­ri­bly and stam­me­red that she had just be­co­me ter­ri­bly je­a­lous when she found out he was fuc­king Emily every mor­ning. Every mor­ning! Even now she was ou­tra­ged that he pre­fer­red su­ch a young girl to her. Frank lis­te­ned trans­fi­xed. It would be very bad if all this was al­re­ady doing the rounds!

Ly­dia con­ti­nu­ed to sob and re­por­ted that, of cour­se, the­re was no gos­sip within the hou­se. Frank bre­athed a sigh of re­li­ef. Ly­dia had found Emily in the pa­la­ce gar­den and they be­gan to ar­gue, one step­sis­ter ac­cu­sing the other of ste­a­ling her lo­ver. They re­mai­ned ir­re­con­ci­la­ble, one had him every eve­ning, the other every mor­ning. Ly­dia was de­e­ply of­fen­ded be­cau­se Emily was showing off her in­no­cent youth.

And what did Ly­dia ha­ve? A jerk of a hus­band who was now openly fuc­king his lit­tle boy’s as­sho­le. He even brought him in­to the be­dro­om, he fuc­ked the con­fu­sed boy in the as­sho­le and re­a­ched around his hips to mas­tur­ba­te the boy at the sa­me ti­me. Ly­dia lay on the mar­ri­a­ge bed and co­ve­red her­self up to at le­ast get the boy arou­sed. So­me had a big­ger cock than her hus­band, she flir­ted with the boy, dro­ve him crazy when she showed him her pus­sy play. She smi­led when he squir­ted in a high arc. Ly­dia as­ked Frank if this was a go­od mar­ri­a­ge!

Frank was very an­noyed be­cau­se Ly­dia had be­trayed him to the Dut­ch agents. He’d got off with a black eye and four we­eks in the brig, but he was caught betwe­en two mills­to­nes, Ly­dia and Emily. At that mo­ment he re­a­li­zed that he had to es­ca­pe as quic­kly as pos­si­ble. He en­joyed Ly­dia and Emily’s gen­tle and pas­si­o­na­te em­bra­ces, but he had to get away. Old Wal­dorf cra­dled his he­ad re­gret­fully, but Frank’s de­ci­si­on was unsha­ke­a­ble. Shanghai was 1,500 ki­lo­me­ters to the northe­ast, but it was the se­cond most im­por­tant tra­ding cen­ter whe­re the­re we­re Eu­ro­pe­ans. With a he­avy he­art, he ga­ve Frank a let­ter of re­com­men­da­ti­on and let him go.

Frank ro­de lei­su­rely to Shanghai, ta­king ten we­eks and staying over­night on farms. For a few cop­per coins, he re­cei­ved a prin­cely tre­at­ment. He could cho­o­se betwe­en pretty daugh­ters and maids, but mos­tly only the far­mer’s wi­fe was the­re to fuck. He to­ok what he could get and the far­mers we­re not stingy in sa­tisfying the high Lord. Frank lo­ved the rough, una­dul­te­ra­ted na­tu­re of wo­men in the coun­try­si­de. He to­ok his ti­me with the jour­ney, he felt com­for­ta­ble in the arms of the­se sim­ple wo­men and girls, who to­ok fuc­king mu­ch mo­re na­tu­rally and ea­sily than the lu­xu­ri­ous no­blewo­men of Ma­cao. He re­a­ched Shanghai af­ter ten we­eks, only ha­ving to fight highway­men twi­ce on the way and buy his way free with cop­per coins or sil­ver flo­rins.

Shanghai was a lar­ge city and an im­por­tant port. He ren­ted a few ro­oms in the cen­ter and sat day af­ter day in the res­tau­rants whe­re Eu­ro­pe­ans al­so fre­quen­ted. He had pla­ced ad­ver­ti­se­ments in the lo­cal news­pa­pers, but do­zens of con­tacts led nowhe­re. It to­ok th­ree months be­fo­re he found what he was lo­o­king for. The wi­fe of a Dut­ch ship cap­tain was lo­o­king for a te­a­cher for her daugh­ter, as her te­a­cher had sud­denly di­ed. He li­ked the Dut­ch wo­man and ga­ve in a lit­tle on the pri­ce, as he could af­ford it. The go­od Mrs. Mi­che­lis was very go­dly and re­for­med, but that was no obs­ta­cle. He was not al­lowed to tell 14‐ye­ar‐old Ger­tru­dis any Catho­lic sto­ri­es, he pro­mi­sed with a laugh. He was a tu­tor and not a pri­est. He was mi­les away from any chur­ch. Frank was glad that he had had his ye­ar of birth fal­si­fi­ed on his pa­pers in Ma­cau, be­cau­se Di­a­na Mi­che­lis chec­ked his pa­pers ca­re­fully. She had even con­tac­ted the old Wal­dorf by let­ter and had Frank’s de­tails con­fir­med in wri­ting.

Frank had be­en su­blet­ting from an old Chi­ne­se wo­man for the first th­ree months and she had let the young Eu­ro­pe­an fuck her from day one without any pro­blems. She was by far the ol­dest he’d fuc­ked, she was pro­ba­bly ol­der than 65, but she didn’t know for su­re. He was­ted no ti­me in lo­o­king for a youn­ger lo­ver. He­re, in a busy city, it wasn’t as easy as in the coun­try­si­de to get clo­se to the pe­o­ple. He fuc­ked the fri­en­dly old wo­man, at le­ast it was bet­ter than ha­ving no one to fuck. She gig­gled and cluc­ked li­ke an old hen, but he could fuck her as of­ten as he wan­ted. Her gig­gling, to­oth­less laugh­ter and the che­e­ring mo­ve­ments of her ema­ci­a­ted body told him how mu­ch she en­joyed fuc­king, how mu­ch fun she was ha­ving. Un­for­tu­na­tely, she spo­ke a di­a­lect that was not at all si­mi­lar to Can­to­ne­se, whi­ch he knew re­a­so­na­bly well, and was com­ple­tely unin­tel­li­gi­ble. He would ha­ve li­ked to talk to her about her past sex li­fe.

Lit­tle Ger­tru­dis’ te­a­cher had be­en run over by a hor­se‐drawn car­ri­a­ge. The girl had just star­ted to le­arn the mathe­ma­ti­cal ba­sics of ship na­vi­ga­ti­on with her. Frank had no idea about na­vi­ga­ti­on, but he bought th­ree mo­re text­bo­oks on the sub­ject of na­vi­ga­ti­on and le­ar­ned the ba­sics from scrat­ch with Ger­ti. They ma­de go­od pro­gress, he empha­si­zed mathe­ma­tics, ge­o­me­try and al­ge­bra, so that she un­ders­to­od the con­nec­ti­ons qui­te well. Ger­ti was a go­od, cle­ver and hard‐wor­king pu­pil and she was ke­en to le­arn Ger­man be­cau­se her father was Ger­man.

Di­a­na Mi­che­lis ran the hou­sehold her­self, she only had an old, grumpy and abys­mally ugly Chi­ne­se wo­man as do­mes­tic help. She was out of the ques­ti­on for him, she pro­ba­bly dis­li­ked fuc­king as mu­ch as she dis­li­ked wor­king. He he­ard Di­a­na Mi­che­lis strug­gling with her lust night af­ter night, cha­sing her or­gasm lou­dly and vi­o­len­tly, then the­re was si­len­ce. Af­ter a few days, he could no lon­ger res­train him­self and en­te­red Di­a­na’s ro­om whi­le she was strug­gling to or­gasm. She star­tled when he tou­ched her gen­tly. She im­me­di­a­tely hid her na­ked­ness, they whis­pe­red sof­tly and he sh­rug­ged and tur­ned to le­a­ve. “Stay, Sir Frank, stay!” she whis­pe­red al­most inau­di­bly.

He went back to her, she ma­de ro­om for him and he lay down na­ked next to her. “I know you men want to fuck every day, but so do I!” she said, smi­ling sof­tly. “Un­for­tu­na­tely, I usu­ally ha­ve to mas­tur­ba­te be­cau­se my hus­band is away all ye­ar round. Only very ra­rely do I ha­ve a short af­fair, a quic­kie. I’m always very asha­med be­cau­se I lo­ve my hus­band with all my he­art.” Frank un­ders­to­od her very well, be­cau­se his body could re­ally miss fuc­king and or­gasms. She played with his cock for a long ti­me, “fi­nally a re­al one again and not a lit­tle Chi­ne­se one!” she said. He felt her body, she was small and slim and her bre­asts too, sad rem­nants from bet­ter days, af­ter all she was al­re­ady 48 ye­ars old.

She had no par­ti­cu­lar de­si­res when it ca­me to fuc­king. She pro­ba­bly wouldn’t ha­ve an or­gasm, she said, that only hap­pe­ned very ra­rely. She would mas­tur­ba­te to or­gasm la­ter, she was so used to it. They fuc­ked calmly and with con­cen­tra­ti­on, she was qui­te tigh­tly built and al­so re­a­ched the pla­te­au very well, but she just couldn’t ma­ke the le­ap to or­gasm. Af­ter squir­ting, he lay down next to her and wai­ted, un­til she had fi­nished mas­tur­ba­ting and they tal­ked for a whi­le un­til he went back to his ro­om.

Ger­ti wasn’t a be­auty, not by any me­ans. But she was very shy and for the first few months he couldn’t en­ga­ge her in any se­xu­al di­a­log. But one day she star­ted. “You’ve be­en fuc­king my mother, pro­ba­bly for a long ti­me!” she said, sligh­tly re­pro­a­ch­fully. Frank nod­ded in con­fir­ma­ti­on, “Sin­ce about the first we­ek I ca­me he­re. She do­es it vo­lun­ta­rily, I don’t for­ce her to do anything.” But Ger­ti had over­co­me an in­ner inhi­bi­ti­on and kept brin­ging up the sub­ject of fuc­king. It tur­ned out that she har­dly knew anything about se­xu­a­lity, she ne­ver tou­ched her pus­sy de­li­be­ra­tely. She had of­ten wat­ched her mother fuc­king a chi­ne­se stran­ger, but she had ne­ver thought it th­rough. She was may­be about 6 or 7 when she as­ked her mother about it, but Di­a­na didn’t en­ligh­ten her or li­ked to talk about it, “may­be la­ter when you’re ol­der!”

The girl shyly af­fir­med that se­xu­a­lity was very mu­ch on her mind and gra­du­ally her cu­ri­o­sity awo­ke. Days pas­sed be­fo­re she be­gan to ask again. Day by day she eli­ci­ted mo­re and mo­re ge­ne­ral in­for­ma­ti­on from Frank, but she per­sis­ted in as­king how many wo­men he had fuc­ked. She was very im­pres­sed that he had li­ved in a brothel in Ma­cau for ye­ars and had fuc­ked a high‐class who­re the­re night af­ter night. He had to des­cri­be the who­res’ bo­di­es to her, the Whi­tes, the Asi­ans and the Ne­gro­es. For a whi­le she was in­te­res­ted in the Ne­gres­ses, who­se pus­si­es we­re either light pink or jet black. Ger­ti found it very stran­ge that this was only a pu­rely vi­su­al ef­fect and that they fuc­ked li­ke everyo­ne el­se. She had always ima­gi­ned that Chi­ne­se wo­men, for exam­ple, fuc­ked qui­te dif­fe­ren­tly from whi­te wo­men, as they had com­ple­tely dif­fe­rent eyes. Frank smi­led qui­e­tly, be­cau­se he al­so had si­mi­lar ide­as, un­til he fuc­ked one.

The­re we­re only dif­fe­ren­ces betwe­en the at­ti­tu­de of wo­men, he said, re­gar­dless of skin co­lor. So­me only fuc­ked from the front, so­me only from behind, but most fuc­ked both ways. The­re we­re dif­fe­ren­ces in ac­ti­vity, in pas­si­on. So­me didn’t li­ke fuc­king at all, others did. He sus­pec­ted that it just de­pen­ded on the go­od or bad ex­pe­ri­en­ces.

They we­re qui­te fa­mi­li­ar with ea­ch other af­ter months. He had edu­ca­ted her ex­ten­si­vely and without re­ser­va­ti­on about se­xu­a­lity. He had ex­plai­ned fe­ma­le mas­tur­ba­ti­on to her in su­ch de­tail that one mor­ning, eyes down­cast, she con­fes­sed to ha­ving do­ne it twi­ce du­ring the night and that or­gas­ming was a gre­at thing. But she didn’t want to say any mo­re. Whether she was still a vir­gin, he so­me­ti­mes as­ked her, although he knew the answer. Very stran­ge, he said, in most Eu­ro­pe­an coun­tri­es girls we­re de­flowe­red at 14 at the la­test, in a few mu­ch la­ter, su­ch as in En­gland. In Italy and Fran­ce, girls we­re de­flowe­red at 13, usu­ally by their own father. And in Chi­na, girls we­re de­flowe­red as early as 12, usu­ally al­so by their father. He found it hard to be­li­e­ve that she was still a vir­gin at 14, al­most 15. She should show him her pus­sy, that would con­vin­ce him. But he was stum­ped. She wouldn’t show her pus­sy to anyo­ne, that was for­bid­den. Said the mother. “And your mother always ke­eps to the prohi­bi­ti­ons?” Frank said pro­vo­ca­ti­vely, but he didn’t push her any further. He knew that her mind was wor­king and rum­bling.

One day they we­re tal­king about de­flowe­ring again and he told Ger­ti how Mei was de­flowe­red. In a tight em­bra­ce with her mother, the father pe­ne­tra­ted the 13‐ye­ar‐old from behind and to­ok her vir­gi­nity. Frank told her how proud she was that her father was fuc­king her pro­perly and that she was now al­lowed to fuck everyo­ne in the af­ter­no­ons just li­ke her mother. Ger­ti was very skep­ti­cal, so Frank had to des­cri­be the cus­tom in the Chi­ne­se coun­try­si­de in de­tail. Ger­ti be­ca­me even mo­re skep­ti­cal, she had re­ad many sto­ri­es and le­gends, cur­ren­tly ‘Tris­tan and Isol­de’ and fuc­king was always de­pic­ted ro­man­ti­cally. He said that the Chi­ne­se al­so lo­ved ro­man­ce, but in the coun­try­si­de fuc­king was very na­tu­ral, pu­rely phy­si­cal and nothing ma­gi­cal was ma­de of it. But in a story, the author had to sell the re­a­der on the ro­man­ce, that’s what the re­a­ders wan­ted.

Ger­ti had tur­ned 15, she was al­re­ady mas­tur­ba­ting every night and her thoughts re­vol­ved around fuc­king and gi­ving up her vir­gi­nity. Frank had to des­cri­be the de­flowe­ring over and over again in gre­at de­tail, Ger­ti’s eyes gla­zed over or fil­led with te­ars. She had to cry again and again for no re­a­son and didn’t know why. Frank to­ok her in his arms every ti­me and let her cry on his chest. She cri­ed on his bro­ad chest every day, it be­ca­me nor­mal for her to nes­tle in his arms. He ga­ve her ti­me to co­me to terms with this rol­ler­co­as­ter of emo­ti­ons. Again and again he told her how mu­ch he would li­ke to fuck her and ac­cep­ted that she sho­ok her he­ad. But cons­tant drip­ping we­ars away the sto­ne.

Another quar­ter of a ye­ar pas­sed be­fo­re she was re­ady. She wan­ted it and she was afraid. She was in lo­ve with Frank and it in­cre­a­sin­gly pai­ned her that he was fuc­king her mother night af­ter night. “Would you pre­fer her to be tos­sed about li­ke a le­af in the wind if she let chi­ne­se stran­gers fuck her?” he as­ked the girl and of cour­se she sho­ok her he­ad. Af­ter all, she re­ad the news­pa­pers and knew how bad it had be­en for many a wo­man.

Frank was still sur­pri­sed when one mor­ning she said with su­ch de­ter­mi­na­ti­on that she wan­ted him to fuck her. His he­art le­apt for joy when he saw her se­ri­ous­ness. He laid her on the bed, co­ve­red her with kis­ses, with Fren­ch kis­ses. His hand slid un­der her skirt, along her thighs. She had ne­ver al­lowed her­self to be tou­ched so in­ti­ma­tely be­fo­re, but she quic­kly be­ca­me hot and al­lowed him to stro­ke her pus­sy and his hands to part her thighs. She sighed and gas­ped in fe­ar as his fin­ger pro­bed her clit and then gen­tly rub­bed it. She al­re­ady knew this, she knew what would hap­pen next. But he stop­ped long be­fo­re her or­gasm. He kis­sed her eyes and whis­pe­red that he would fuck her now. She nod­ded, although she was pe­tri­fi­ed. He kis­sed her again and again and flip­ped up her skirt. He gui­ded her kne­es in­to the right po­si­ti­on and lo­o­ked at her pus­sy with ple­a­su­re, a truly be­au­ti­ful pus­sy! Then he pe­ne­tra­ted ca­re­fully and con­si­de­ra­tely. He had to th­rust se­ve­ral ti­mes be­cau­se her hy­men didn’t te­ar im­me­di­a­tely. But then he pe­ne­tra­ted her de­e­ply and saw her happy smi­le. He fuc­ked her for qui­te a long ti­me and squir­ted in­si­de, then drop­ped down next to her, exhaus­ted. It was a hard pi­e­ce of work. He grab­bed her clit and mas­tur­ba­ted her. Her thighs be­gan to trem­ble and she had a very slight or­gasm. She hug­ged him and kis­sed him gra­te­fully.

They fuc­ked every mor­ning af­ter he ex­plai­ned the si­de­re­al ca­len­dar to her. She le­ar­ned to mas­tur­ba­te him with her fist and let him squirt in­to her mouth. The se­men didn’t tas­te go­od at first and she spat it out, but af­ter a whi­le she swal­lowed the se­men. Af­ter fuc­king, they stu­di­ed hard, every day.

One eve­ning Di­a­na said she knew he was fuc­king her daugh­ter. He re­mai­ned si­lent in shock — damn, had Ger­tru­dis blab­bed? — and she con­ti­nu­ed, “ple­a­se be go­od to her, she’s still so young and fra­gi­le.” He nod­ded in agre­e­ment and said he would ne­ver hurt her. It had tur­ned out that way as she felt a lot of pres­su­re to be ma­de a wo­man. She was the only and last vir­gin in her cir­cle of fri­ends, he ad­ded, be­cau­se Ger­ti had told him that her­self. He was cer­tainly not the ty­pe to pur­sue young things li­ke Ger­tru­dis, he li­ed che­e­kily. She swal­lowed it and said, “I’m not very happy about it, but it had to hap­pen so­me­ti­me. She li­ves he­re as an only child, she har­dly has any fri­ends, but they’re all ol­der than her. You’re pro­ba­bly right, may­be that’s whe­re the pres­su­re re­ally ca­me from.”

She ca­me back to this la­ter, “Don’t bre­ak her he­art! As long as she’s happy with the fuc­king, I won’t in­ter­fe­re. She’ll be he­art­bro­ken when you le­a­ve us one day!” He nod­ded and pro­mi­sed to tre­at the child well. She ga­ve him a go­od ex­pla­na­ti­on of how she had dis­co­ve­red it. The old, ugly Mrs. Chung had drop­ped it on her, but she didn’t want to be­li­e­ve it. Howe­ver, it ate at her and so she be­gan to spy.

He stayed with Di­a­na and Ger­ti for al­most 2 mo­re ye­ars. He had ne­go­ti­a­ted with Di­a­na from the start that he would ha­ve th­ree days off in a row on­ce a month. He had to ri­de far out of the city un­til he re­a­ched ru­ral are­as. He always did the sa­me thing, jin­gled the cop­per coins in his poc­ket and went with a far­mer to spend the night. The ri­cher far­mers had a few maids, so he could cho­o­se one, or they prou­dly of­fe­red him his daugh­ter. Not a sin­gle one was a vir­gin, they all had mo­re or less ex­pe­ri­en­ce. But the sim­ple, na­tu­ral man­ner of the Chi­ne­se wo­men from the coun­try­si­de was re­ally very ple­a­sant for him when it ca­me to fuc­king.

So­me­ti­mes a far­mer had neither maids nor a manly daugh­ter and sha­red his wi­fe with him. Most far­mers’ wi­ves we­re young and preg­nant. He of­ten won­de­red why he par­ti­cu­larly li­ked that? Was it be­cau­se they we­re preg­nant? Or was it the far­mer who­se cu­ri­o­sity at­trac­ted and pi­qued him? Or the far­mer’s wi­fe when she had her first or­gasm whi­le he was fuc­king her and then said to her hus­band that she no lon­ger had to do it with her fin­ger af­ter fuc­king him?

He had to ad­mit that it was a horny si­tu­a­ti­on when, af­ter fuc­king, a pe­a­sant wo­man put one leg on her exhaus­ted hus­band and the other leg on the exhaus­ted guest and mas­tur­ba­ted spre­ad wi­de apart. In their ani­mis­tic vi­ew, it was the wo­men who mas­te­red the gre­at ma­gic of or­gasm and ma­de no se­cret of it, but prou­dly and self‐con­fi­den­tly rub­bed it in the men’s fa­ces. Frank lo­ved the­se ri­des, no rain and no wind could stop him.

Ger­ti had be­en 17 and was now ap­pro­a­ching 18. She was now a gre­at fuc­ker and could ma­ke su­re she had an or­gasm. She lo­ved fuc­king and had fuc­ked se­ve­ral boys and young men on the days when Frank was out ri­ding. Her in­fa­tu­a­ti­on with Frank had di­mi­nished a lot, the­re we­re so­me ni­ce boys she lo­ved mo­re than her old te­a­cher. Her father had co­me for two we­eks and Ger­tru­dis slept with her pa­rents. Di­a­na had wat­ched her daugh­ter grow up with pri­de and was not asha­med to fuck the father in front of her daugh­ter.

How sur­pri­sed she was when Ger­ti to­ok Daddy’s cock in her mouth and lic­ked it stiff and horny. He wan­ted to fuck again straight away, but Ger­ti didn’t ma­ke ro­om for Di­a­na, ins­te­ad moun­ting her father her­self. He and Di­a­na we­re ini­ti­ally shoc­ked, but the 18‐ye­ar‐old fuc­ked him very pas­si­o­na­tely and lust­fully. Af­ter he had cum, she rub­bed her clit with her fin­ger to or­gasm. The father didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t tal­ka­ti­ve anyway, but this ti­me his si­len­ce was even mo­re mu­te. Ger­tru­dis laughed and smi­led, she hug­ged her father and mother, kis­sed them again and again and said how mu­ch she lo­ved them. Di­a­na and she saw te­ars in his eyes for the first ti­me, whi­ch he wi­ped away an­grily. The ice was bro­ken.

Frank to­ok one last bre­ak, and this ti­me he ro­de th­rough ru­ral Chi­na for al­most six months. Every night he lay in the arms of a swe­et Chi­ne­se girl. He was truly in lo­ve with the na­tu­ral, una­dul­te­ra­ted at­ti­tu­de of Chi­ne­se men and wo­men towards fuc­king. He jin­gled his cop­per coins and the far­mers of­fe­red him their be­au­ti­ful, in­no­cent‐lo­o­king daugh­ters and maids. He was in a lo­ve frenzy, he didn’t ne­ed ro­man­ce li­ke others, he wan­ted the fri­vo­lous, in­no­cent‐obs­ce­ne phy­si­cal lo­ve­ma­king with the girls. He found out how mu­ch it spur­red him on to pe­ak phy­si­cal per­for­man­ce when he fuc­ked the gig­gling, laughing preg­nant far­mer’s wi­fe in uns­po­ken com­pe­ti­ti­on with the far­mer un­til the early hours of the mor­ning. He had even sought re­fu­ge in a nun­nery on­ce, fle­eing the he­avy rain. The nuns we­re ce­li­ba­te, but again the tin­kling of his cop­per coins wor­ked won­ders. The ab­bess as­sig­ned him a young no­vi­ce, she ma­de the se­lec­ti­on, not Frank. The no­vi­ce was very shy and re­ser­ved at first, but she thawed out and he fuc­ked the sha­ven‐he­a­ded child with gre­at ple­a­su­re the who­le night. He stag­ge­red from farm to farm, from bed to bed and would ha­ve pre­fer­red to re­main a tra­ve­ler fo­re­ver, but he had set him­self a li­mit of 6 months and stuck to it.

Frank had of cour­se had his pa­pers for­ged further and was re­ady to go ho­me again af­ter 20 ye­ars in Chi­na. Ho­me — yes, whe­re was that exac­tly?

Le­a­ving it to the gods, he would ta­ke the next ship. He had bought new clothes and to­ok the ship to Ams­ter­dam. It could just as ea­sily ha­ve be­en En­gland, Italy or Fran­ce, but he wan­ted to ta­ke the first ship, whi­ch was Ams­ter­dam.

Although the ship did not slow down, it to­ok mo­re than 5 months to re­a­ch Rot­ter­dam, the last port be­fo­re Ams­ter­dam. Lo­ve af­fairs de­ve­lo­ped among the mos­tly we­althy pas­sen­gers, most of whi­ch las­ted no lon­ger than one night. Re­pe­a­te­dly. Ne­verthe­less, Frank to­ok hap­pily part in the fuc­king ga­me. Se­ve­ral ti­mes the cuc­kol­ded hus­bands got to­gether and ga­ve the most cons­pi­cu­ous bulls a th­rashing. Frank did not ta­ke part in the­se bra­wls, he was in­cons­pi­cu­ous and di­li­gent. He al­re­ady left the ship in Rot­ter­dam, he wan­ted to con­ti­nue on to Fran­ce.

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