Archive-name: Slaves/harem2.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Harem


You probably can come to no valid conclusion about the events that occurred
later, the episodes with Ted and with Doris without considering the episode
with Tyrone.  He is obviously a major element in the foundation.  The incident
described here, is factual, though it may seen to have been romanticized
somewhat, and perhaps it was.  Details may vary slightly from fact.  If so, the
reason is obvious- memory is irregular and faulty, and none of the details,
unfortunately, were recorded as they happened. No diary was kept.  Still, the
events were shared almost on a daily basis with my friend Sara, and upon
reading this file, she says that her recollection is essentially identical with
the record.  Whether she agrees with my conclusion is another matter. but then,
you don't know my conclusion, do you?

To tie down the event, consider the background.  June, 1984. Herbert is in
Europe, attending a major conference and staying on for other business.  He
will be there for six weeks, perhaps eight.  Helen has not been able to go.
She plans to join him in the South of France later after his conference is
over, in two weeks or so.  For now, she is still at home, busy but not
overwhelmed with her work.  Helen fancies herself a queen. She is intelligent,
attractive, with a marvelous voluptuous body.  But she has a haughty,
imperious, I-am-superior-to-you attitude that annoys many people and absolutely
infuriates others.  She is married to an older man who obviously adores her,
pampers her, caters to her every whim, but who cannot at all control her and
has never satisfied her.  Her husband travels extensively.

The evening that this event began, a Friday, Helen had gone to the symphony,
alone, and there met a man, Tyrone, whom she had known well once and disliked-a
tall, spare man of curious temperament, a hedonist, a true male chauvinist,
stubborn, opinionated, willful-a type that Helen usually detested.  That
evening, after the concert, he offered her a drink, and thinking of avoiding a
long cab ride home alone, she accepted.  The thought of physical involvement
with this man, though perhaps not repulsive, was certainly far from her mind.
After stopping for a drink and a late, light supper, he did drive her to her
house, made the expected pass, and she responded by giving him a stinging slap
in the face.  He replied as no man had before.  He twisted her arm, turned her
away from him, and using a hard, bare hand, slapped her fiercely across the
rump.  She reacted immediately, and when he slapped her bottom hard again, she
gasped aloud as if all thought of resistance was gone. Recognizing her reaction
exactly for what it was, as complete submission, he led her to her bedroom,
stripped her bare, spanked her further and harder, and soon joined her nude in
her bed.  He was rigidly erect and she was obviously totally acquiescent,
totally passionate, totally responsive.  He took her in strange positions and
in strange ways, vanquishing her completely and perhaps satisfying her better
than she had ever been satisfied.

Now it was hours later.  He had gone, almost without a word andshe had to deal
mentally with the evening's almost incredible events.  Well, one thing of which
she was certain- she would not be seeing him again.  He had brutalized her-
well, not exactly brutalized, but he certainly had spanked her.  Not that it
had hurt especially, but it had cost her her dignity.  And he had done strange
things, disgusting things.  Like putting his finger into her anus, and then, of
all things, kissing her there, a wet, thrusting kiss, inserting his tongue as
far as he could.  That was absolutely bestial.  Animals behaved like that, not
intelligent people.  And worst of all, he had taken her, made her whimper in
pleasure, brought her to orgasm several times, and before leaving, firmly
pinched her nipples, made her call him Master, and made her suck his then
semi-soft cock, brought him back erect and was quickly impaled again on it.
Now she lay resting in bed, thinking about all this, about the moment when he
first took her into her bedroom, stripped her bare, and spanked her-- right
here, she thought, in this very bed.  And she found herself getting overheated
once more, her nipples again erect, and her juices flowing.  Crazy as it
sounds, she was going to cum again.

The thought about the spanking- actually several spankings thathe had given
her, all with his bare hand against her naked bottom, with her trying to twist
away from the strokes, but at the same time, raising up slightly, perhaps
unconsciously, to be accessible, to offer a more tempting target.  No man had
ever spanked her before.  In fact, in her entire life the only spanking she
received was as a schoolgirl of 16, when one evening coming home late and
slightly tipsy from a high-school dance, she had found her mother waiting up,
furious.  Her jeans were taken down, then and there, and her bottom basted by a
very angry parent.  That one, she reflected, hurt a great deal more than the
one did tonight.

Her strange thought was that she really wanted to share this experience.  She
would call Sara.  Now that they were really close she would tell her
everything.  Sara would just love to hear about this adventure.  She loved
kinky things and kinky clothes and kinky adventures, and especially, intimate,
kinky talk.  Sara would flip!!!  Yes, she thought, Sara WILL flip if I call her
at 3:30 AM even to tell her THIS story.  Helen lay back in bed, nude,
voluptuously excited, sleepless, thinking strange thoughts.  This WAS a strange
adventure, a marvelous kinky adventure, one to be regretted, perhaps, but one
to be savored, to be reflected on, to be shared with a really close, loved and
understanding friend, one to be discussed with her in a particularly private
moment (perhaps while lying with her face between Sara's elegant breasts, while
kissing and gently sucking a delicious, responsive nipple).  But this was an
experience to be digested and analyzed and understood, but not one to be
repeated.  She chanced to look at her telephone, on the nightstand next to her
bed.  She willed it to ring.  Let some one call me, she thought, anybody.
Nobody  did.  She thought, what if it rings right now, and it is him- Tyrone,
that bastard- and he orders me to get into my car and drive to his house, stark
naked, right now!!!  Would I? she thought.

Helen had before tonight, very limited extramarital experience. On each of the
three or four times that she had been bedded down, the man was of the same
type- a mature, intellectual, professorial type, a man for whom she had
profound respect, a man who respected her own intellectual strength and her
polish, who treated her like a great lady is treated, a man who in each case
was almost a clone for her husband.  In each case so far the appeal had been
mental.  Heaven knows that Tyrone was none of these things that had interested
her in the past.  He was a totally different specimen- mature, yes, but not a
great mind, not a scholar at all, not particularly physically attractive, not
muscular, not strong, not especially talented in anything that she could
identify.  All he did was take charge, ignore what she wanted (or thought she
wanted) take control of her, discipline her, and--- well, what else, she
thought.

The next morning she could think of nothing else.  Now she had better personal
insight in to what had really happened.  He had somehow peeled off the veneer
layer from her, and had gotten down to the core, to what she felt was the
fundamental person inside.  He made her feel like a true love slave, ready,
anxious to please his every whim. And the funny thing, the absolutely wierd
point about this whole episode was that she did not love this man- she did not
even especially like him and did not respect him.  He did not have the deep
bass voice that she sometimes found sensuously attractive.  He was not
especially handsome nor tall.  He had no great brain.  What he did have was a
certain presence, a command of the situation that she found just incredibly
overpowering.  And he wanted her, obviously wanted her, physically wanted her,
carnally wanted her, and could and would all but own her, body and soul, but
mostly body.

She immediately began to share her experience with Sara, and found that Sara
was, as expected, almost as delighted hearing the details as she was in telling
them.  Helen found this part of the adventure just delectably delectable- lying
nude with Sara, her lips nuzzling Sara's shell pink ear, perhaps her tongue
probing, her hands running across that ravishing rump, a hand searching between
Sara's widespread thighs, a finger finding delicious moisture.  As the
adventure proceeded, Sara demanded to know, needed to know every detail- whom
she had met, what they looked like, what they had done, for how long, how,
when, where.  Sara seemed to want to participate, but vicariously, afraid
really to cross the line and join directly in the adventure.  And this Helen
wanted to protect her from, not really knowing where it was going.  So Sara
knew everything that happened between Helen and Tyrone and his friends, but
Tyrone never knew about Sara.

Helen thought through her situation--her husband will be gone for a month or
more and for that month she has a master, one who owns her, will train her in
the image that he finds desirable.   He will spank her when he pleases, perhaps
in the privacy of her bedroom and perhaps elsewhere, with others watching.
That much he has already told her.  She knows that she should flee him, refuse
to see him again or ever speak to him.  And she is entirely certain that she
will not do that- that tomorrow she may be terrified of what can happen, but
she knows that she WILL see him again.  And she will be spanked by him- and she
is, of course. Now these subsequent spankings that she gets later are not at
all severe beatings- only fairly gentle spankings applied with a bare hand or
mildly with a leather strop to her naked bottom.  They do not even especially
hurt.  They perhaps more than anything else are symbolic, both to him and to
her, of his sexual domination. They paint her rear end a bright pink, leaving
her heaving and gasping, and incredibly lascivious, looking only for ways to
please him even more.  And he promises her nothing more than regular, almost
constant excitement, wild new adventures, exciting new friends, and orgasm,
orgasm, orgasm!!!!

And so she does not go to Europe that summer.  She decides thatthe pressures at
work are too great, that she cannot get away, that Herbert will travel alone
and enjoy himself, that his freedom will be good for him, invigorating.  She
tells all this to Sara, and she thinks it is hysterically funny.  Sara believes
that all women occasionally have their brains in their vaginas but that Helen's
brains now are totally confined to the clitoris, (and on stating that
conclusion, Sara leans forward, finds that delicious appendage, and emphasizes
her point by giving it a lovely kiss).  Sara thinks that Helen is currently
involved in very private, intimate treatment, perhaps best called Mind Fuck, in
Sara's judgment an effective and acceptable form of therapy. She approves of
this adventure, totally.  She has not met Tyrone, but she certainly now knows
all about him, and she thinks that Helen has never looked so good or been so
interesting.  Her only complaint is that Helen does not have as much private
time for Sra, but the time they do have together is absolutely marvelous- mre
intimate and exciting than it had ever been before.

So Helen has a master, a strong man on whom all her almost juvenile feminine
wiles of the past are useless, a man who has raptured her, has used her
thoroughly and often and made her love him for it, conquered her totally
employed her sexually in every conceivable way, introduced her to threesomes
and foursomes and orgies, photographed her nude body in unbelievable poses,
kept her constantly aroused and is now putting her through her paces, a series
of varied sexual adventures, all embarrassing to her but marvelously,
deliciously dangerous and exciting at the same time. The queen has become a
willing sex slave to a highly imaginative master, and never has she felt
herself so much a woman as now.

For the two year period prior to Tyrone she and Sara had been taking belly
dancing lessons- at first with a group of woman at the local YWCA- and at the
end of that series, from an older, very experienced belly dancer, an elegant,
exotic lady of Turkish extraction who had learned this dance in the old country
as a girl.  This older woman, now about 60, is an incredible specimen. She is
slim, lithe, with a marvelous body and more energetic than women half her age.
She has continued the lessons with Sara and Helen and two other ladies as an
advanced class in private lessons.  She has taught them things that the YWCA
classes did not- much more cosmopolitan things, and especially she has taught
them about the sexuality of the dance.  She believes that belly dancing is
inherently erotic, that it is meant to excite both the dancer and the watchers,
and that it is senseless and practically impossible- for the dancer not to have
sex after she is through dancing.  If she has no partner available, then
masturbation is expected and encouraged.  She believes that belly dancing
without orgasm following is absolute nonsense.  Sara, of course, has a young,
strong, very vigorous husband.  When she comes home from a lesson, he helps
relieve her of her excess energy and strong erotic feelings in the time honored
way.  Helen's husband is not always there and is not as sexually involved.  For
her, masturbation after a dance lesson has become almost a ritual.

Helen has been delighted with the lessons- they are real fun, marvelous
exercise, and they give her the most erotic feelings imaginable.  When she
began her lessons, she thought that they might put some thrills in her
otherwise hum-drum workaday existence.  Well, she thought, they certainly have
done that. Consider the basic movement in the belly dance- the thrusting
forward and backwards of the pelvis, an almost perfect parody of the female
movements in sexual intercourse.  Consider the source, too.  Belly dancing was
first done in the Harems of the Sultans on the Ottoman Empire, and the dancers
were always harem slaves, selected for having the perfect, voluptuous figure
that the dance demands- full breasts, firm, shapely legs and thighs, and a
delicious, magnificent bottom.  Helen's figure matches this description exactly.

And further, the slave is a Houri, a nubile female whose whole purpose is
pleasing her master, however he might wish to be pleased.  It is her
responsibility to arouse him, almost beyond control, so that he will then take
her, manfully, forcefully.

During the early lessons at the YWCA, the students dress in sweatpants and
shirts and tennis shoes, a ragpack looking group, not in the least pleasing in
appearance.  After the YWCA phase, the teacher suggested that Helen and Sara
and the ladies buy the appropriate costumes, the diaphanous, filmy materials,
designed to show more than they hide, so that beautiful breasts are apparent,
nipples are protuberant and obvious, and thighs and bottoms carnally displayed
as much as they are hid.  One Saturday afternoon, the girls made an excursion
to Greek Town to an obscure shop, and bought the costumes.  Later in the week
they met, each to see how the other looked dressed.  Helen looked very
attractive- but Sara was absolutely gorgeous.  Her pitch black hair, intense
brown eyes, full shapely mouth, and dark coloring gave her an Italian look,
almost like Sophia Loren.  She was sex personified in this costume, her
gorgeous body almost completely revealed and still hidden slightly.  She looked
the perfect Houri, the beautiful, nubile, voluptuous maiden that Moslems think
await them in Paradise, trained first to tease and then to satisfy, to give
perfect, exotic, never-ending sex in ways almost beyond the comprehension of
mortal man.

Helen put on a tape, and they danced- first together, and then,one for the
other, obviously both very stimulated.  Sara approached the end of her dance,
and in Harem manner, began to remove the few articles of clothing she wore.
First the pantaloons came off so she was dancing in her vest and underpants.
Helen removed her own pantaloons.  Sara unbuttoned the vest, showing Helen her
gorgeous breasts for the first time, utterly delicious looking love apples,
high and full and firm, with chocolate brown aureoles and nipples, fully erect,
almost demanding to be kissed.  Helen stared, transfixed.  Sara danced closer,
took down her underpants, wiggled free of them and danced, her legs spread, her
podex wiggling, her black pubic triangle in front of Helen's eyes.  She turned,
her gorgeous bare bottom weaving, the cute rosette now and then visible as the
cheeks parted, almost beckoning to Helen to come forward and kiss it.  Helen
stared, absolutely entranced, unable to take her glance away from the heavenly
sight of Sara, now turned again towards her, her legs slightly spread, her
unbelievable femininity clearly visible, juicy, lovable, as it moved forward
and back, offering itself for her kisses. Helen pulled off her few items of
clothes and knelt before this dancing nymph and moved forward, her face now
between the dancers legs.  And for the first time, she kissed that glorious
canny.  Her tongue found the erect clit.  She massaged it wetly.  Now the two
nude girls stand, the dancing stopped though the music goes on.  They kiss
deeply and wildly.  In an instant they are on the couch, in a position of 69,
each feasting on the sopping, squishy. delicious cunt of the other.  Both have
found the only logical, the only possible end of a true Harem belly dance when
no man is present.

And now, much later, after Helen was captured, her new master has decided that
Helen will do a public performance of the belly dance, before a small audience,
in his own home.  The guests have finished dinner and are relaxed, and Helen
has gone to don her costume.  She will be wearing a semi-transparent vest,
deeply cut to show her cleavage, and through which her nipples are easily
visible.  She is wearing the dancers pantaloons, again of a diaphanous material
through which her panties can be seen, again almost transparent, and through
which can be seen the shadow of her pubic triangle and the delightful cleavage
of her behind. She is wearing a boxfull of junk jewelry, assorted baubles and
bangles of glass, in bright colors, in vivid reds and greens and yellows and
blues.  She has on dazzling makeup, and a spray of perfume in strategic places.
The perfume itself is a special type, with a very sweet, aromatic scent.  It is
potent when she is still, but later when her wild movements have caused her
body to heat up, the perfume vaporizes further and the air takes on an
exciting, erotic aroma, almost like incense.  This arouses her, and she knows
that it excites the audience.  There will not be a flaccid cock in the room,
later on.

She hears the music begin- a tape of Turkish music, exotic and slow and
rhythmic and intense, music one can almost taste as well as hear.  She dances
in, her body throbbing in time with the music, her sexuality obvious, her
exhilaration clearly showing. Those present applaud, enjoying the private show.
Very soon, the tempo changes, the beat picks up and the pace of her movements
change.  Quickly her master signals her.  Her pantaloons are removed.  She
dances now, bare legged, her scrumptious bottom in constant motion, more
excited now and more exciting now than before.  The master signals again.  Her
vest flutters down.  She now stands bare breasted before the audience, her
nipples rigidly erect, her almost orgasmic feeling growing.  Will her panties
come off, next?  Of course they do.  Now she is nude, continuing the motions,
the parody.  She knows what to expect next.  She is wild with shameless
carnality, with arousal.  The sensual music is itself seductively hypnotic. The
aphrodisiac aromas, the mixture of her perfumes plus the wondrous scent of her
permeate the room.  In her mind she knows that never has she looked so exciting
as at this instant, never has she felt so much like a true wanton, never so
much like a woman.

When the dance is done before a private audience in the Harem, it concludes
with the nude dancer being given for the night to one or more of the guests.
Sometimes the person selected will take her, then and there, with the others
watching, cheering him on. She will already be fully ready.  No foreplay is
necessary. The male selected may or may not need further stimulation.  If so,
the dancer is fully trained, and will use her body in any way to excite him, to
prepare him to take her.  And when he takes her, he will take her however he
pleases, in any orifice in any way.  Will he want to spank her naked bottom
with a strop or a cane?  Then he will do so, without opposition from the Sultan
or any other person there.  He is the chosen guest and has been given the use
of the dancer, and use her he will, as he pleases.

There is another historical custom from the days of the Sultan.In those days, a
eunuch was present, usually carrying a bamboo cane.  If the Sultan decided that
the dancer's pace was too slow, or if there was a certain movement that he
wanted emphasized, a sign to the eunuch would tell him to slash the dancer
across her behind, a stroke guaranteed to bring results.  This might be
repeated a few times, or many if the Sultan was cruel.  Tonight, of course,
there is no eunuch and none would be needed.

This night, the audience is composed of the master, three othermen and a woman,
her master's friends.  She has not seen any of them before this evening.  Helen
dances on, now turning her back to the audience, bending far forward, and
slightly spreading her legs.  Her marvelous buttocks are only a foot away from
those watching, her squishy femininity fully in sight, her podex wiggling and
wobbling, the rosebud of her anus almost winking at those watching.  As she is
bent forward, her body so intimately exposed to those who watch, her own
feelings are of gigantic stimulation.  She knows that soon her master will give
her for the night to one or another of the guests- perhaps one of the men, or
perhaps to the woman, and she knows that she will do her part to please this
person.  She is playing out the part mentally of the harem slave, and it is as
much as her life would be worth to displease the Sultan if she really was a
slave.  And in a sense she is.  Since she has come under the control of this
master, she has been getting regular punishment- which she loves and hates at
the same time.  There is no question about it being truly painful to be turned
over, rump-up and stropped thoroughly with that leather or her master's hand-
it is not.  The spankings are not at all that hard.  But at the same time, she
adores the wild sexuality that she feels when spanked, knowing that her master
will then use her in strange, exotic ways or give her body for use by his
friends.  Yes, in a sense he has converted her from lady to whore, but never
has she felt as attached to or as involved with any man.  Yes, he totally is
boss and she would not willingly have him any other way. And she absolutely
revels in the joy she feels as her master shows off her beautiful body to
strangers and willingly shares her most intimate charms with others.

She dances on, her nude body writhing and turning.  At times her back is turned
to the audience, and they then are treated to the sight of the muscles working
in her beautiful thighs and ass, a particular delight in the eyes of her master
and provocative absolutely to any man.  Perhaps whomever gets her tonight will
want her that way, she thinks, and gives a special wiggle and spread-legged
bend forward that emphasizes that particular delight to the audience,
signifying perhaps that there is orgasmic joy to be had right here for a strong
man.  And who will the winner be, the one selected to conquer her, perhaps
right there in full view of all, on that pile of cushions?  Maybe it will be
the woman this time.  She is attractive enough, about 40, shapely, quite well
dressed, with a good, slim figure.  Helen dances a little bit, just for her,
and this is immediately obvious to all.  Yes, that one might just spread her
thighs and Helen would kneel between them cheerfully, gladly looking into and
then kissing and worshiping her delicious femininity. Perhaps it will be one of
the men.  One, seated in the center, attracts her especially.  He is tall and
sturdy, perhaps 50, salt and pepper grey in his hair, and a strong, powerful
look-- and obviously very aroused.  Now, she dances especially for him, facing
him, her thighs parted, her curly dark blonde triangle in full view, and as she
moves back and forth, her vulva opens and closes slightly, her pink clit now
erect and peeping out at him. The perfume is now at its fullest effect and the
sight of her nude body, obviously totally passionate, fully ready to be
conquered, has all of the audience incredibly excited.  They now want the dance
to end and to see Helen take up another challenge- the total satisfaction of
another person.

The master designates an individual who wins tonight's prize.  As she had
hoped, it is the stocky man with grey in his hair.  He seizes her immediately,
his hands rubbing across her back and down over her bottom, and as he grasps
each cheek of her rump in his huge hand and squeezes, he kisses her, a long,
wet kiss, his tongue plunging deep in her mouth.  And of course she responds to
his kiss, offering her hot tongue in a kind of duel, her nipples rubbing
against his shirt.  They are in full view of the others, but she does not care
at all who watches- in her mind she is a fully stimulated slave girl who will
do her utmost, her absolute utmost to satisfy this man, the man designated as
her lover for tonight by her master.  He bends slightly forward, taking a
nipple between his lips and gives it a hard, sucking kiss- almost too hard for
her comfort, but still tremendously stimulating.  He stands and his trousers
immediately drop to expose a monstrous erection, standing straight out, all but
pointing at her.  Helen drops to her knees as her master has taught her to do.
She greets this appendage with a large, wet kiss, massaging the head with her
slippery tongue.  The dance has done what it always does for her-left her
feeling almost orgasmic.  Now she wants to pay homage to this lovely huge cock,
to make it even more ready so that it will invade her body, give her
spectacular pleasure and then squirt its full tribute into her.  And she will
willingly do as she has been taught- she will relax totally, no matter where
this monstrous cock is put, and then participate in the pleasure
whole-heartedly, giving as much as she can, and cummmming with her new lover,
cummmming for him  again and again until he has had enough.

He takes her to the pile of cushions, and removes the rest of his clothing so
that he, like she, is nude.  She wonders if this new lover will want to spank
her first- there is master's leather strop, hanging on a hook on the wall.
Will he want to use this on her, to demonstrate his total control?  He does
not.  She drops back on the cushions, thighs spread, ready to be pleasured by
him.  He kneels before her, first giving her delicious, wet pussy a deep
tonguing kiss.  She responds wildly, raising her bottom up to meet him,
throwing her legs up and back so they rest on his shoulders.  He raises his
head, thrusts a finger into her wily, juicy nest, withdraws that finger and
searches for and finds another orifice for it, thrusting it deep into her
bottom. She gasps.  She knows that he will very quickly make her cum for the
first time this evening- that she had practically but not quite been there a
number of times during the dance, and this oral stimulation and anal
stimulation she cannot resist.  But not yet.  He moves his body forward so that
his rigid cock is at her outer portals.  She will get, will need, no further
foreplay. Slowly, deeply, thickly, forcefully his rigid rod enters until it's
entire depth is planted in her.  It feels simply marvelous- stretching her,
filling her with true masochistic joy to be impaled on this huge log of a cock
in the presence of this very, very interested audience.   He strokes back and
then forward again- totally in control, setting the pace that pleases him best.
And suddenly, after only a few strokes she throws her arms around his neck and
says for all to hear, ooooooh,oooooo 'mcummmmmmmmmmmmmmminnnng!!!!".  Her new
lover smiles, his macho feelings satisfied.  He has conquered this delicious
bitch.  He has caught her, fucked her, made her respond ecstatically and made
her surrender her orgasm to him.  He feels as if he is ten feet tall, a giant,
a hero.  And he is by no means through with her- a man of his experience and
stature and strength can do this for another hour, perhaps.  He continues the
slow pace.  Though she has just cum, her arousal has really not diminished at
all. Her new lover is fucking her masterfully, slow, deep powerful strokes, his
finger still imbedded in her anus, keeping time with the strokes of his cock.
Never has she enjoyed intercourse so much as this instant, but at the moment
she thinks how terrible it is to do this with people watching, how
embarrassing, how awful, how dangerous, how absolutely delicious.  And her
thought goes to her master, who has orchestrated this whole event,
choreographed it, and she loves him for understanding her so well, for
analyzing her needs for sensation and humiliation and having them satisfied.
Her head turns, she sees the audience watching, transfixed.  The woman is
obviously aroused, her legs now spread, her crotch pointed towards Helen,
though she has her panty-hose on.  They make eye contact.  The woman's lips
purse, making the sign of a kiss to Helen, and Helen makes the response, her
tongue emerging and making a licking motion.  Helen knows, just absolutely
knows, that when the others leave, that lady will remain, those panty hose will
come off, and Helen will be treated to a closer sight of those female delights
and that Helen's master will give her to a second lover tonight, and at the
thought, her body shakes and quivers as she goes through the throes of a second
orgasm.

Just for the record, where was Herbert all this time?  Well, heregarded it as a
marvelous opportunity for a bachelor trip through Europe with an aged colleague
of his- a widower of 67. The gentlemen spent four delightful weeks carefully
examining all the gothic cathedrals in France, dined at elegant and expensive
restaurants, sampled various interesting and exotic vintages, stayed at small
inns and castles other times, looked at the Chateaux on the Loire, went to
Chartres and studied the historical architecture plus a square mile or so of
fabled stained glass windows, excursioned to Brittany and saw Le Mont St
Michael, went to Notre Dame (and perhaps found the hunchback?) met two
delightful elderly English school teachers and took them to dinner, and for all
I know, even got lucky- I did not ask. When he returned, much refreshed and
rested and bubbling with a thousand stories, Herbert said that of course he
missed me while he was gone, but that there is much to be said for an
occasional separate vacation.  He thinks that it gives one a chance to study,
to think.  It cleans the mind and gives one a clearer perspective of what
things are all about.  Tyrone, hearing this somewhat later, laughingly agreed
absolutely.  Sara says that the separate vacation idea is fine for the wife,
but her husband is damn well never going to go without her.  I believe her.  It
seems that she thinks that she had better keep an eye on him.  So far as I am
concerned, midnight came and the carriage turned back into a pumpkin, as it
always seems to do.  King Tyrone was delegated to the history books.  He had
been commanding.  He had been interesting and fascinating in his way.  He had
shown a new path to explore that at the time seemed dangerous but fascinating.
Still, it was time to move on to new challenges.

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