THE ALTAR OF VENUS: The Making of a Victorian Rake

by AnonYMous

  I was waiting impatiently in the lobby the following evening when he arrived, and as we seated ourselves in a secluded corner, I handed him a cigar, lit one myself, and waited expectantly.

  "I've go the information you wanted, son. The man comes in from the street. They either have their operation nicely timed, or else a signal of some kind is passed from the window, which, by the way, fronts the street. Their rooms are on the third floor."

  "Fine!" I exclaimed. "Exactly what I was hoping! One more question and I'll tell you my scheme. Could you, on some pretext, arrest that chap and have him detained temporarily?"

  "I could get an order to pick him up for investigation … but what good would that do?" he replied, doubtfully. "We have no kind of case against him, and he would be out in a short while."

  "Okay! Now I'll tell you what I have in mind. I propose to attract her attention with a display of money. If she rises to the bait, and does me the honor to accept me as a prospective victim, I'll play into her hands. Now here is where you come in. When the appointment is made you'll be on the job and follow us at a discreet distance. When we enter the building you'll wait outside, and when hubby shows up, nab him and remove him quietly from the scene. And I'll guarantee that if I'm assured of an hour or two alone with this tricky Lorelei, safe from the intrusion of wandering husbands, I'll have better success than my predecessors had. What about it? Will you help me?'

  "Your idea is good in theory, but it won't work in practice!"

  "Why won't it work?"

  "Because she's too clever. When her man fails to show up she'll know something has happened and find a way to get rid of you."

  "She won't dare make any racket and I won't be so easy to shake. Are you willing to help me give it a try?"

  "Sure! I'll help you! Make a date with her, if you can, and keep me posted. It won't cost anything to try, I guess, thought it will probably knock out our chances of landing the birds by frightening them off."

  "What's the difference," I rejoined, "your infernal Bastille is full enough already."

  Before he left that evening we perfected the details of the plot.

  All the next day, I loitered around the café where we had seen her previously, carrying with me a flamboyant roll of money, small notes on the inside, a few more pretentious ones on the outside. But my vigil was in vain. In the evening my friend called me by phone, and I was obliged to report an unsuccessful day.

  "It's in the neighborhood she hangs out in," he said encouragingly. "If you keep your eyes open you'll spot her."

  It was not until midafternoon of the fourth day that my patience was rewarded when suddenly, out of nowhere apparently, appeared the object of my search. She seated herself indolently at a table in front of a small café, and gave an order to the attendant.

  With beating heart and studied nonchalance I followed her, accommodating myself at a nearby table. With but a casual glance in her direction I order a bottle of vin rouge, leaned back in my chair, and pretended to be watching the passers-by. When I had finished the wine, I summoned the waiter and asked for a second bottle. And at the same time I brought forth the "flash" roll from my pocket, peeled off one of the larger bills, and tendered it in payment. When he returned, I carelessly flipped a generous tip on the table, trusting that the damsel was observing my affluence and lavishness. A few moments later I glanced as though by accident in her direction. Our eyes met. She returned my gaze for a few seconds, and then demurely lowered her vision. I straightened up, twisted my chair about slightly, and continued to eye her from time to time, endeavoring to indicate with my glances the admiration she had inspired.

  For some minutes this little farce was kept up. Finally she smiled at me – and there was an invitation in the smile.

  I rose and, approaching her table, begged her in my best French to permit me to join her. She consented modestly and ws soon laughing delightedly at my efforts to pay her expressive compliments in French.

  When we separated that afternoon, an appointment had been arranged for another meeting the following day.

  For nearly a week our midafternoon meetings continued, and during this interval our friendship progressed rapidly. I missed no opportunities to convey an impression of prosperity and affluence, making many allusions to imaginary possessions, and business interests in England, and sighed regretfully over the fact that our acquaintance would be of short duration because of the urgency of my early return to London. And night by night, I reported the developments of the day to my companion in conspiracy.

  The sixth day she confided pensively that our visits were soon to terminate as she had just received a telegram from her husband announcing his return the following Saturday, and I knew that the moment had arrived to speak my little piece. With all the passionate ardor I could summon, I exclaimed:

  "Ma cherie, I just can't give you up without something to remember you by! You know I'm returning to England next week, and if your husband is going to be here, then I will probably have to leave without seeing you. Darling, don't think me bold, but couldn't we go some place and have a day or two together, all by ourselves? Some nice quiet place, where we can be alone, and spend all of the time just loving each other?"

  CHAPTER 7

  The little hypocrite wiped an imaginary tear from her eye and assured me soulfully that she had never, never done such a thing before, and that I must think she was a light woman to have even suggested any such thing, that if it weren't for the deep affection I had inspired in her heart, she would be greatly offended, and so on.

  "I know it sounds bold, darling, but I'm just crazy about you, and my only hope is that you'll be generous!" I pleaded.

  "Well," she finally agreed, "I believe my husband would kill me if he ever found out but … I'll tell you what we can do. I'll take you to my apartment and we can spend a few hours together. It wouldn't be safe for me to go to a hotel because somebody might see me and tell my husband. You can meet me here Thursday afternoon."

  That night I saw my friend, and advised him that the date for the trimming of the sucker had been definitely set and he promised to make all necessary arrangements to take care of his end of the program.

  The anxiously awaited hour arrived, and punctually, in accordance with her promise, she was there waiting for me. And across the street idling before a shop window was my detective friend. She and I got into a taxi, and though I did not look behind I knew he was not very far in the background.

  After a winding drive we drew up before a tall edifice, and as we got out another care passed us slowly and came to a stop near the next corner.

  We entered the building and stepped into an automatic lift. At the touch of a button the car moved silently upward and a few moments later she was conducting me down a lengthy corridor, before the last door of which she stopped, lifted a key in the lock, and we were inside.

  Evidently there was no intention to delay things, for she lost no time in getting down to business. Seating herself on my lap, she pressed her lips to mine, favoring me with a voluptuous tongue caress which aroused every primordial instinct in my body, in fact was so ravishingly intoxicating was the caress that for a moment I forgot, in the swirl of my emotions, that it was simply calculated to render me an easy victim to a blackmailing scheme.

  Her next move was to withdraw her breasts from its silken shield. Tilting it upward with her hand she pressed the nipple between my lips. To the accompaniment of expressive sighs and voluptuous shivers on her part I sucked the protuberant little tit and played my tongue over the rosy circle which surrounded it.

  The movement was emotional and one of my hands, which had been resting on the bare flesh of her leg, just above the hose, began an upward exploration under the semi-transparent garment. But before it got very far, she detained me, suggestion that we retire to the bedroom where I could remove my clothing and be more comfortable.

  Carrying the decanter of liqueur with her she conducted me to the privacy of the sleeping quarters of the apart
ment.

  Placing my faith in the efficacy of my detective friend's co-operation, I slipped off my clothing, and at her invitation lay down on the bed. No sooner had I done this than she stepped to the window, and closed the Venetian shutters.

  "Ah," I thought, "the signal for hubby."

  She returned to the side of the bed and slowly unfastened the diaphanous garment which, when removed, revealed a seductive picture. But it was not entirely a nude picture. For in addition to the silk brassierre whose form-sustaining pockets fitted her pretty breasts as though molded over them, and her hose and slippers, she had on another article of apparel of odd construction which fitted like a glove about her hips and thighs. It was something like the abbreviated thighs feminine exhibitional dancers use, which though effective in concealing the most intimate parts of the body leave all else exposed. Enough of this girl's body was visible to reveal a physical perfection worthy of sincere admiration and, crook or no crook, she presented as pretty a spectacle as ever delighted a masculine eye or excited the envy of feminine one.

  Alas, she wsa doomed to wait somewhat longer than she imagined at that moment, for down on the street below, a travel-stained gentleman, in a dusty leather ulster, a small valise in his hand, returning unexpectedly from a long journey, walked right into the arms of a detective who was lounging in the doorway, and was quickly whisked into a waiting cab. He raved, swore, threatened, and pleaded in turn, to no avail. He was not even permitted to use the telephone in the precinct station, despite his last, despairing plea.

  Sufficient time had now elapsed to assure me that the gentleman's detention had been realized without a hitch, and I felt free to make a few moves of my own. My only preoccupation was that she might possibly raise a clamor which would be prejudicial to my plans. But in this moment, as though heavens themselves were in sympathy with me, or actuated by her own reference to rain, the room darkened – and preceded by a sharp gust of wind a torrential deluge began to fall. It clattered and thundered against the sides of the building and the Venetian shutters over the windows and I knew that as long as it lasted any unusual noise in the room would be effectively cloaked from other occupants of the building.

  Applying my mouth to the nipple of one of her breasts to distract her attention, I reached down and began to search for the buttons which would release the tight garment, which up to the present had obstructed both my vision and my fingers. But I could not find them nor did I discover just where or how this singular garment was fastened. I tried to slip my hand under it but it was skin tight and resisted my effort.

  As she made no motion to assist me and comprehending that she had no intention of doing so I decided to remove it myself without wasting any more time in search of mysteriously concealed hooks or fastenings. Inserting my fingers under the waist band, I got a firm hold and gave a quick, stout jerk. The garment ripped straight down the front.

  The results were electrical. In a second's time she was converted into a scratching, snarling, clawing little wild cat. It was all I could do to prevent her from doing me some actual physical harm before I got her clamped down in a manner which rendered her helpless.

  "Cochon!" she gasped, her face livid with rage, "you've torn my panties!"

  "I couldn't get them off any other way, sweetness!"

  "Let me up!" she hissed.

  "What do you want to get up for? Aren't we going to do something first?"

  "I've changed my mind! Let me up instantly! I am afraid my husband is coming!"

  "But you told me he wasn't coming until Saturday!"

  "I have a presentiment he's coming today! He may be here any minute!"

  "Well, if you're afraid he may come, let's hurry up and finish before he gets here!"

  Securing her two wrists firmly with one hand, I reached down with the other and pulled away the remnants of the torn panties. So closely had she kept me occupied during the brief struggle that I had not even gotten a glimpse of what the torn garment revealed – but now I glanced downward, and received a surprise.

  Her cunt was as devoid of hair as that of a baby. I placed a hand on it, and found that it had been cleanly and neatly shaved within recent hours.

  The discovery was interesting for I knew that when Parisian girls keep this particular portion of their anatomy shaved off it means that they are submitting their bodies to a certain caress which hair rather tends to interfere with.

  In plain words, somebody is sucking them.

  The contact of my hand galvanized her into fresh action and I had all I could do for several minutes to subdue her again. Finally, heaving and panting, half suffocated, she lay still. And a moment later, somewhat to my surprise, the tension of her muscles relaxed, the angry expression disappeared from her face.

  "You're hurting my arms," she murmured plaintively.

  Cautiously, alert for some new move, I relaxed my grip slightly.

  She snuggled up to me and at the same time extended her hand downward. Her fingers closed about my cock and clasped it firmly. Still suspicious of this sudden change in tactics, but seduced by the contact of her soft hand, I adjusted myself to a more comfortable position by her side and waited developments. The hand on my cock began to move back and forth, and the manipulation set a series of pleasant little thrills darting through my body. Instinctively I hugged her closer. The sensation was so agreeable, that for a moment I forgot her unexpected change in comportment and abandoned myself to the caress. Soon the pleasurable sensations intensified and her hand began to move more swiftly. And, in a flash, I understood what she was up to.

  The little fox was attempting to jack me off, hoping to get rid of me in this fashion.

  Adroitly, I skipped one of my knees between hers, and then, before she had time to realize what I was doing, I had her legs apart and was on top of her, with the head of my cock right against her cunt.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, when she felt it penetrating her. "Wait! Wait! Don't make me do it that way! I'm afraid of getting a baby! Take it out! Take it out! I'll suck it instead!"

  The offer was tempting, but remembering her elusiveness, I thought better not to surrender the ground already won. I gave a shove, and the result of the shove was that I found my cock sheathed in positively the tightest little cunt, not presumably virgin, of its entire career.

  "Oh!" she gasped. "My husband will kill you for this!"

  Curses, threats, epithets, and maledictions poured from her lips in a steady torrent. Indifferent alike to threats and revilements, I worked my cock in and out. This tight constriction was delicious. And the obscene epithets with which she continued to shower me, instead of dampening my ardor, seemed to stimulate it. It was a unique experience. When the exquisite sensations reached maximum of their intensity I stopped moving and let the tension relax. When the equilibrium wsa restored I began again, pushing my cock in and drawing it out with slow measured movements, calculated to prolong the pleasure as long as possible.

  Meanwhile, the flow of curses and revilements continued without interruption. But now I began to note something incongruous. She was lifting her bottom slightly to meet my thrusts! And between her revilements and the movements of my cock as it slid in and out of the tight little hole, was a curious synchronism – a rhythmic relation. It brought to my mind the recollection of a funny story I had once heard, about a little boy caught in the act of masturbating himself by a maid who reprimanded him with a lugubrious warning to the effect that he would die if he did that. To which the boy replied, too far along with the business in hand to stop, replied:

  "I don't care if I … do … die … do … die … do … die … do-die do-die do-die-do-die!"

  While my cock was going in, she held her breath. And while it was coming out she gasped some epithet. But at the same time her bottom was coming up to meet each thrust.

  I smiled down into her face. She looked me angrily in the eye for a moment, and then suddenly her expression changed. She lay still for a few minutes and then, with a tremulous little "O
-o-o-h!" began to raise and lower her hips with greater energy. I increased the rapidity of my own movements and at the same time released her hands which until now, I had pinned down tightly with my own. Her arms came up and folded about my neck.

  I had conquered the little vixen.

  A moment later, heralded by several passionate exclamations orgasm overtook her, and as I perceived it, I also let go also.

  When the final tremors of our mutual orgastic exaltation had died away, she sank limply back on the bed, one white forearm doubled across her face. The little red lips, which but a shot time before were hurling maledictions at me, were quiet now. In silence, I slowly disengaged myself and, rising from the bed began to put on my clothing. I was almost dressed before she stirred, then sitting up suddenly she glanced downward, to where some starchy fluid was trickling slowly down between her thighs onto the white linen of the bed. She sprang to her feet exclaiming:

  "Oh! You've probably gotten me with a baby!"

  Precipitately, she rushed into the bath room from whence the sound of splashing water spoke eloquently of her precautions to avoid unwanted progeny.

  I had completed my dressing when she came back into the room with a towel stuck between her legs. The spectacle she presented as she stood there eyeing me in a puzzled, undecided way, her cheeks flushed and her short black curls in disorder about her face was extremely enticing and for a moment I almost regretted having put on my clothes. Suddenly however, I noticed tears glistening on her eye lashes. A wave of compassion swept over me, and my complacency at having bested her changed to pity. She had tried to trick me and had failed. But she was a woman. More than that – a young and beautiful one, naked and crying. What combination imaginable could be more effective to move a masculine heart?

  I had intended to leave quickly for I had been in the place longer than I expected and knew my detective friend would be uneasy, not knowing just what might have transpired. But I was stirred by her melancholy demeanor. I had outwitted her, and could afford to be generous. Seating myself in a chair I said in more kindly tones: