George Reginald Baccus

The Confessions of Nemesis Hunt

CHAPTER I

Jean and I and a Miss Latouche, a new arrival and an obvious tart, all had rooms in the same house. Our bedrooms adjoined on the ground floor, Miss Latouche was upstairs; as far as I could see, the family all slept in the kitchen.

We arrived at Kingstown Monday morning and went straight to the rooms for breakfast. I was bewildered with delight at the thought of a long day with Jean, but to my disgust he went out directly after the meal and did not return till five minutes late for the 4:30 meal (dinner) much the worse for liquor. He had met a lot of friends, he said. Dinner over, he went to bed in a drunken sleep, out of which we had to shake him when theatre time came.

"You mustn't worry, Kid," said Miss Latouche, "you'll find actors are all very much the same, very selfish."

At the theatre Restall took me aside. "I gather from the actress's book that you are living at the same rooms as Jean Messel. I think you're a little fool, that's all!"

I was too much in love to worry and after the theatre that night Jean more than made up for the desertion. A pleasant little supper was followed by the speedy disappearance of Miss Latouche to bed, and half an hour's indelicate fondling in front of the fire was followed by bed for us two also. It is of little use for me to attempt to describe what followed.

First fucks are bound to be much the same, all the world over. It was simply animal and brutal. He had me twice without uncunting as the vulgar put it; it was a paroxysm of gluttonous lust. How I enjoyed the contact of his naked body with mine, I cannot describe. The warm flood of his sperm within me was maddeningly joyous! He was largely built and hurt me not a little at first, but even in the pain there was pleasure. After the second fuck was completed. Jean got up and found a real "fucksome drink" as he called it-a bottle of nicely wanned Burgundy.

It's Gladys again interrupting. "I'm sorry to stop you, dearest," she apologized, "but when you start talking of fucksome drinks, you're in the presence of one who knows. This is the best drink for two persons, take one quart bottle of champagne and four eggs. Divide bottle into four large glasses, break egg in each, and drink, then fuck!"

To continue: Jean and I bathed in the warmth of each other's loving flesh, while the fingers of the clock ran round. He swore to me that he would be true, sure indeed that he had been true since he knew me, qualifying that under cross-examination, with the admission that he had allowed girls to play with it in their mouths but he didn't consider that much. And I believe that many men are of his way of thinking. Bar the actual fuck, they think that no other sexual intimacy counts as an act of infidelity.

We were too tired or too careless to make any bones about respectability that night at any rate, so after another battle of love, we fell asleep where we were, naked and gripped together, with Jean's penis still sweltering in the grip of my cunt muscles.

I shall never forget the awakening. I was in the midst of a dream that I was the cook in an expedition to the Polar regions and that the sailors had insisted on taking my clothing from me and were fucking me one by one on the ice, till I complained of the cold, so the Captain slapped my naked body all over-when my eyes struggled to open and I realized that I had been the victim of a very real slap indeed.

Above us two naked culprits, towered the landlady, virtuous wrath flaming from her eyes- and oh, it was cold, cold ashes in the grate and a cold blast of air from the wide open window.

"Get up, ye low bitch, ye disgrace on yer sex, ye fornicating cow of an Englishwoman, get up and let me turn yez naked as ye are, in the Streets, aye, even as Adam and Eve."

I couldn't help laughing through all my shame and discomfort at the comparison, but at that moment, Jean awoke also and detached himself from me-I may mention that there was an audible pop as his penis left its snug sleeping place.

We both burbled our expostulations, but in vain. "Out yez go!" was the cry, and her brother, a great lumbering heft of an Irishman, burst through the door to lend force to the argument.

"Patrick, heft them forth," said the indignant one, and Patrick actually laid hands on my naked body. Jean made a spring as if to tear him from me but one thrust from the giant's arm was enough to propel him reeling back against the sideboard. He fell rather foolishly in his nakedness into the coal scuttle and I couldn't help but smile, terrible though the position was, when I noticed the effect of the coals upon his bare bottom…

But the situation was altering. It was not every day that Brother Pat had a beautiful naked young girl in his two hands, and the effect on him was magical. Glancing over his shoulder as if apprehensive of an attack in the rear from the semi-blackened Jean, he shouted for Shamus and Shamus rolled up, another uncouth lad, only about 19 I should say; but quite enough to keep Jean a prisoner.

I realized that I was helpless. "Turn the hussy out naked into the strate," shrieked the landlady once more-but Patrick's fingers were feeling the lower part of my body. Patrick had me gripped to his stomach and something swelling in Patrick's trousers made him hesitate.

"Ye hear what she's saying," the giant whispered.

I was mute.

"But ef ye'll jes be kind to me…"

I knew what was coming, knew too that resistance was useless. But Jean blustered:

"We are a married couple, and we'll have the law on you!" he threatened.

"And I'll put the law on you," was the ready retort of the landlady, "don't I know that ye are married to another woman, eh, Mister Messel, and it'll serve the hussy right if Patrick does jest as he loikes wid her."

Brother Shamus gave the clue. "Let's fuck the lass and let her go free," he grunted in anticipation of a coarse scene, "eh, Mary?"

"You boys can do what yer loike, I'll nay say ye nay," said the landlady.

"I'm dying with cold!" I protested.

"Well, come into the kitchen," was the answer to that.

And into the kitchen we were marched-or rather the giant Irishman carried me, while his brother, pinioning Jean's arms behind him, followed, the landlady bringing up the rear, carrying our rugs which she piled before the great fire.

It must have been a strange scene. I lay helpless on the pile of rugs; of course, resistance was useless but I am ashamed to say I felt a little pleasurable curiosity. I took the hot whiskey the landlady gave me and never moved as the great clown of a youth pawed my body and limbs all over under pretence of warming me. The landlady balanced herself on the edge of a table, her old eyes eager with lust.

The brother had tied Jean up with a couple of thongs and he sat helpless on a chair.

There was an awkward pause, for Patrick was a little shy. I surmise the idea of fucking me had been a sudden thought, the possibility of realization had scarcely occurred to him. I lay before him a flesh dish fit for a king, while the dotard fool fumbled with his trousers. What a thing was presented when Patrick's trousers at last slipped from their fastenings. It slapped up against his belly, a good ten inches of it, and thicker round than my wrist-and so healthy looking and clean. He dropped on his knees and placed his huge hands on my waist. The coarse touch of his clothes irritated me and I struggled away, but fighting was useless; he shifted his hands, pulled my legs apart and the next moment that mighty instrument was touching my clitoris. With one hand he held me down and with the other he guided the tip of his penis into me.

For a moment the pain was intense; it was so big, but once it was in, rapture overcame me. The affair was not long, a stroke or two and the prick was in to the hilt. I seemed almost split in two, but the pleasure was extraordinary. Then he "came", in fact the outpourings were simultaneous, and I chanced to look at Jean. To my amazement his prick was stiff. I didn't know so much then as I do now about the excitement that contemplation of another's acts of fornication could excite in a man.

I have been with a good many men in my time and I know something of the feeling of the spunk-jets within one. But never have I had such a dousing. It overflowed and my legs were covered with the strong, sticky liquid. Patrick shuffled to his feet and buttoned his member back into his trousers. I fainted away!

When I came to, I was in bed with the landlady by my side. I don't think the lust had quite left her eyes, but she was apologetic. "'Twas a mad, mad thing to do," she crooned, "but I was that wild at finding yez naked, and tied like dogs yez were, but I'd have let my wickedness go ungainsayed, I wud. Know yez not that ony soul can cum intil yer room of a morning and by St. Patrick, had it been the praste, its the police he would ha called, and me wid nivir a lodger in the house agin, if not put to jail. Sure too, it wasna such a bad thing for a coleen likes of ye to be mated with Patrick Henessey, the biggest man of all the town, sure there's mony an eye after him."

"Oh, I daresay," I admitted feebly, "we were wrong and perhaps the punishment was not so bad, but think of the scandal if it were found out."

"Found out," she cried, "not one word shall be breathed outside this house; and to shame your blushes, Shamus and Patrick will be in the country for the rest of the week; my darter will come and see to things for yez."

I think Jean was inclined to bluster and talk of moving elsewhere, but I was terrified of a scandal and a move would have necessitated all sorts of explanations. Probably the arrival of the daughter satisfied him, for she was a delicate sample of a cuddlesome, bonny Irish girl, of whom the old hag of a mother was justly proud, and explained that she kept her away in the country owing to the fear that the young sparks of Dublin would "cross" her.

"A virgin she is!" she exclaimed with some pride, as if the article was a rarity. "Not even the praste has touched her yet."

"The priest!" I said, amazed at the suggestion.

"Arrah, of course, who but the praste is better to take the coleen's maidenhead? Shure niver a sowl crossed me afore I was wed to my own man but the howly father, and a red-headed child did I bear to his reverence."

I concealed my astonishment at the time, but I subsequently learned that the priests had a pretty fair run of the fair frequenters at confession. I wonder they had missed our little maid, Kathleen. About seventeen she was, full fledged and full figured for her age, with firm round breasts, a marble pillar of a neck, luscious lips, and great loving eyes.

The week slipped quickly by and I was very happy. Jean was sweet to me and never alluded to the awkward affair in the kitchen. He made no more pretence and with the landlady's full consent, brazenly slept with me. What halcyon nights those were. I was in perfect state of animal health and my body incessantly ready for lustful caresses. Jean did his very best; he trained for it, abjured whiskey and drank lots of Burgundy. His cock, of course, was not often in that state of erection as I could wish but it was seldom that he could not oblige me in some way.

Our day's programme was fairly regular. The landlady brought a cup of tea at 8:45. This consumed, I let my hand slide over Jean's body till I discovered the state of his penis. If it wasn't stiff, a little delicate manipulation of the finger tips soon settled that; sometimes I had to dive my head beneath the bedclothes and press my lips to its reluctant tip-that always did the trick AT ONCE-the dear thing shot up in-stanter, his hands gripped me and in a moment his warm belly was pressed on mine-we always slept stark naked. That fuck-the first-was always generally very quick.

After that we bathed and played about with each other till after breakfast, which we took in dressing gowns. We had fine appetites for that and the meal gave us an appetite for more fucking. This (the second fuck) was always more elaborate. We tried various ways, nature had given him a long flexible tongue, which he could run far into my quivering vagina. But this second seance generally ended in legitimate fashion.

So much for the morning. I went with Jean to the theatre, we looked at our letters, etc., and then I left him with the boys to play billiards or to drink, or to do what he liked. During that time, as often as not, I went for walks by myself or sometimes with one of the girls-but I was not too popular in the company. I was, frankly, too pretty, and my affair with Jean to say nothing of the obvious attention paid me by Restall, created a great deal of jealousy.

We dined at 2:30, smoked and chatted till four as a rule, a pleasant time of laziness and gossip, and then went to "lie down" till theatre time. That same lying down meant something else of course. I always took off nearly everything, and Jean undressed to his shirt. Then we had an hour's improper caressing, an hour's improper talk, and a long, long, fuck. Then I generally got on top of Jean, for I was afraid the burden of his weight might tire me for the theatre-no amount of fucking ever could.

At 6:30 we were called for tea and at 7:15 we were generally in the theatre. Sometimes a little love-making happened during the show. Jean had a dressing room to himself-and a long wait. I used to slip in and talk to him. Of course he could do nothing to me because of my tights, but I loved him enough to forgo my share of the pleasure and minister to his needs by sucking him-though, gentle readers, that is no inconsiderable pleasure for a girl who is wicked-natured, and who is fond of man.

And now we come to the night. We always had three fucks before finally going to sleep. It didn't hurt me, I was as strong as a tigress and could have obliged ten men a day, had I not been so fond of Jean.

I was honestly, gaily (if wickedly) happy! Till the Saturday night of the week. Jean had a very bad throat, it was obviously impossible for him to sing and he gave his understudy a chance.

It was not till we were half way through the first act that I remembered that I had given the landlady a ticket at the theatre that night and consequently Jean was left all alone with the bewitchingly pretty little daughter. That fact gave me a pang, but I dismissed the suspicion as unworthy.

I saw the old landlady sitting in front alone, the daughter was obviously at home, and I think it was in turning my head to look at her once more that I tripped on a brace in making my exit, in Act II, and fell heavily, turning my foot; further work was of course out of the question for me. They put me in a cab and bundled me home.

I unlocked the front door with my key and slipped in. The sitting room was empty, but there was a streak of light under the bedroom door. I turned the handle softly and went in.

It had happened! They were in there, naked as the first inhabitants of the Garden of Eden and hard at it, so engrossed, that for a moment they did not see me.

Jean was working for all he was worth, and the little Irish bitch had him gripped as in a vice. So beautiful did the girl look, what I could see of her, that I forgot to be angry. Then feeling rather foolish and as I noticed how engrossed they were-they were obviously nearing the end, judging by the panting breaths-I slipped out of the room and made a great clatter in the dining room.

Presently the girl came out; she looked very sheepishly at me. "Mister Messel had not been so well," she mumbled, "and I've been making a poultice for his poor throat."

A nice sort of poultice I thought to myself, a sort of flesh poultice, that a good many men would like.

I made no answer and the girl went into the kitchen.

"Is that you, Nemmy?" came in Jean's tones.

"Yes!" and I went in.

"Why are you home so early?"

"I slipped and hurt myself."

"I am sorry."

"And so am I, rather," I said, "I'd rather not have known what I do now; I'd rather have been able to trust you. Couldn't you be true to me- after all our love, this week too?"

"I've done nothing!"

"Don't talk nonsense. I came into the room a moment ago but you were so full of your dirt that you didn't see me. Isn't one woman enough for you? You ought to be so glad to have a girl like me for your own, that no other woman could possibly attract you."

He made lame excuses, far the best being that he took it as a form of revenge for what happened to me at the beginning of the week.

It was not till after supper, when I had my ankle bandaged and was resting more comfortably and was more, kindly disposed towards the world, that he made candid confessions. It was the old story-that attraction of virginity-"not even the priest had crossed her" and there was a flood of blood on the bed to prove it; Jean had the pluck to slice his arm with a razor to account for that.

Under the influence of several drinks and a good deal of affectionate fumbling, I listened to the beast's proud story of how he made the girl consent.

It was simply a question of money and only a promise at that; which he probably would never have fulfilled if I had not kept him to it-she had her new dress.

I suppose I ought not to have blamed him, the girl was too beautiful to have been left alone near any man.

In the morning she made an opportunity to speak to me alone and confessed (of course she guessed that I knew) begging me not to tell. She kissed my hands when I promised not to, and somehow or other I felt sorry for her. She was so very pretty.

I was glad to leave Ireland, the week had been a trying one. We slipped into a regular routine of touring life, a little monotonous but always enjoyable to me. I loved my work at the theatre and of course I loved my intercourse with Jean. We got on smoothly enough, save when he got drunk, and he had not a very strong head. But I forgave him a lot because he was so true to me, and I was always true to him.

"Always, Nemmy?" interrupts the irrepressible typewriter.

Well-all but once. This is a very serious confession, but it has to come out, and my readers must take it and say no more about it, for it concerns people who must not be chatted frivolously about.

We were playing at Liverpool and in the audience was a very august personage, who of course, must be nameless. The party came to the theatre late. As luck would have it, I was playing a principal part that night and I was rattling through in particularly good form. The theatre was crammed, everything merry and bright, and everyone complimented me on my appearance.

I noticed that I came in for a lot of attention from the box whose occupants were supposed to be incognito-it was quite a fusillade of opera glasses, and when the curtain fell for the last time I saw two of the said occupants standing in the wings. Restall touched my shoulder as I was leaving the stage. "I want you to come out to supper with me tonight, child," he said, "with…" and he whispered, "but of course you must forget it afterwards."

I was a little doubtful and told Jean. "Go! I should think you ought to go," was his decision, "you don't get a chance of hobnobbing with folk like that every day. Put on your nicest things, I'll wait up." 12

Restall fetched me from my room. "You haven't told any of the girls?" he queried.

"Not one."

"That's a good little girl. Now this is a great compliment. He thinks a lot of you, and has sent some very complimentary messages."

The august party occupied a suite of rooms in a big hotel, entrance to which was gained through a private door in a side street. Restall and I were met in an anteroom by two young-old men, who were more or less 'hail fellow well met' with Restall, and very polite to me.

We had sherry and in a moment or two a door opened and the august personage appeared, and made himself promptly very pleasant. He spoke English with a great deal of difficulty and seemed very pleased that I spoke French. I was very nervous and frankly glad when a lady joined us.

Who she was, I did not know, but she was English and pleasant and pretty, though obviously verging on middle age. Her complexion was still fresh and the extreme decolletage of her dress showed to their fullest advantage a pair of breasts, firm, round, and upstanding…The nipples were barely concealed, and she wore no shoulder straps. It was one of those dresses which kept up with 'tact and luck', and necessitated shaving under the armpits. She soon made me feel at home.

Supper was bright and decorous; Restall was amusing and I was content to look nice. I suppose I succeeded for the Hereditary Grand Duke of… (you see readers, it was quite whom you expected) never took his eyes off me, and if I know anything about glances, those eyes were in telegraphic communication with a stiffly standing prick underneath to the table cloth.

Supper over, Madame took me into an adjoining room, a cosy sort of room with subdued lights and delicate perfumes. She sank with a swish of her skirts into a corner of a luxurious divan, and lay there, showing her stockings to the garters, while she lazily lit a cigarette. I tumbled to the game in a minute when she began to pump me about my morals.

From "I suppose actresses have a great many admirers?" came a delicately graded series of questions, and more than one hint that there was expensive jewellery in the air of this particular room, for any pretty, if improper little girl, who chose to go the right way about earning it. At last I surprised her by my bluntness.

"I quite understand," I said. "His Highness wants me, and your job is to find out whether I'll let him…well…I will."

"You are a little angel to save me so much trouble," she cooed, delightedly rising to her feet and crossing to me. "His Highness is mad for you and my life has been a burden I can tell you. Thank Heaven, this party is arranged at last. No one will ever know, and His Highness you may be sure, will not be mean."

"It isn't that…" I began.

"No, no, I dare say not, my dear; but valuable presents of jewellery are always acceptable to the most moral of us, and especially when they come from Royal Dukes…"