Sexual Innovations in the Underworld, 2 / 2

By Iolanthe Portmanteaux

I was certainly embarrassed when the principal squeezed my butt, but honestly it wasn’t that much of a surprise. The women in my dormitory had been doing the same thing to me for about a month now, but the principal was the first man who ever did it. It was a little too familiar, but I took it to mean you go, girl! or some similar encouragement.

On the way home, my guard/escort kept finding reasons for taking my arm, or putting his hand in the small of my back, or softly bumping into me and smiling. By the time I got home I was all hot and flustered. I wanted to take a cold shower, but instead the matron sent me off to see MacGregor and Talbot, as she always did after I changed grade.

I found MacGregor sitting alone. Instead of his usual smiling, sanguine demeanor, he was clearly distracted and upset. He looked up when I greeted him, and his eyes roved over my body from head to toe, and yes, they lingered long on my breasts and naked thighs. But rather than make comment on my appearance and development, he heaved a deep and heavy sigh. He stood up, and with a serious look, grasped me gently by my arms. He sat me firmly down on one of the stone seats, and told me, “Lass, I have bad news… bad news for us both: our old friend Talbot is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, he was killed in the arena. You remember, don’t you, that I warned him to change up his game? To not take his opponents for granted? I told him, over and over, didn’t I? But he didn’t listen, did he. He never varied his technique. He never worked to make himself better, he never tried to be harder to reach. And you can be sure: they reached him. They learned his ways. They conned his moves well enough and then some. Those boys, they caught on to his patterns; they studied his weak points. They tried a few small things on him at first, just to test him, but at last one day, they let loose and beat him. Oh lord, they beat him down and they beat him bad. And not in one fell swoop, either. They took him apart, piece by piece, in one match after another, and still he came back time after time with his old, shopworn moves. Even then, he wouldn’t listen to me. I think he lost his taste for the contest, for the battle. He lost the desire to always be better. He wouldn’t adapt. It was a sorrowful thing, girl, an unmercifully long thing, the beating that he took, and he suffered terribly the entire time. In the end, they let him bleed and twitch on the ground for an endless time before they finally cut his throat and let him die. I tried to jump in and end his pain myself, but they prevented me, and that hurt most of all..”

I cried out in horror, and tears sprang to my eyes.

“Yes, yes, give it a good cry, girl,” he said, and he took me in his arms. “Don’t hold back: let your tears flow for our good old Talbot. He was a warrior, a fighting man, to the last. Our boy went out fighting, fighting until the end.”

I found myself sobbing into MacGregor’s muscular chest. I hadn’t realized what a colossus he’d become. He was always strong, but now he was stronger, massive. He’d become a mass of solid muscle: taller, wider, more powerful than he used to be. He held me and told me soothing things as he stroked my hair and gently squeezed me. His hands ran down my back as he said, “There, there, now. He did well, our old Talbot, though, didn’t he? He gave his best, for as long as he could give it.” MacGregor’s hands drifted to my thighs, and then they slid under my skirt to my ass--

“Hey, hey!” I protested, and he immediately brought his hands up to the middle of my back.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he said. “I’m just looking for some comfort,” and his massive chest rose and fell with another huge breath. As I rode the wave of his muscular sigh, something stirred inside of me.

I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tight. “I need comfort, too,” I whispered, and immediately his hands dropped down and slid under my dress. He fondled my thighs and ass while I held him. Then we kissed, and he began to grope my breasts. I let it go on until I found myself saying, “Okay, that’s enough.”

We stood up. As he backed away, a little bent over, I could see from the tenting of his loincloth that he had an enormous erection. He saw me look at it, and said, “You know, those mad fellas with their goo have made this a lot bigger and harder, in case you’re interested.” He put his hand on the edge of the cloth, ready to show me.

“I think I’d better get back,” I told him, a little nervously.

“We’ll save it for next time then,” he said, the words catching in his throat. He walked off before I could reply.

My escort held my hand all the way back to my dormitory, and somehow the back of his hand and fingers kept touching my thigh.

All of this male attention was getting me pretty worked up, so when I got back to my room, I took off my dress and examined myself in the mirror. By now, I had a pretty respectable pair of breasts, as big as any girl’s in my class. Maybe even a little bigger. My ass had a nice shape. Of course it looked huge to me, but I knew how to adjust for the male perspective. Then I lay on the floor and rested my feet against the mirror so I could study myself. I knew things had changed down there, but I never dared to look before today. I inched my butt as close to the mirror as I could, and what I saw took my breath away. There was no trace whatsoever of my male genitalia. My balls were gone, completely gone. They’d been replaced by two smooth, hairless mounds that resembled a big pair of soft lips turned sideways. I wasn’t sure if the lips would part, but sure enough, at a gingerly touch from my fingers, they opened. Scarcely daring to breathe, I explored myself with my fingers. I’d seen anatomical diagrams of women’s genitals, and I’d seen some actual women up close and personal, but those experiences were nothing compared to examining my own pussy. I took a deep breath and for the first time, slid one of my fingers into my vagina. I gasped, and the next thing I knew, I was masturbating furiously, with my thumb on my clitoris, and my finger seeking out my G-spot. When I came, the orgasm shook me to the core. My body bucked and arched, and I couldn’t help but cry out. I gushed as I came, which was another surprise, and as I lay on the floor catching my breath, I suddenly and unexpectedly came again like a kind of aftershock. I looked at my startled face in the mirror. I could feel the wet pool cooling beneath my butt. I listened as acutely as I could, but it didn’t seem that anyone had heard either of my orgasmic cries. Or if they had heard, they weren’t reacting.

I smelled my fingers, and nodded in approval. They actually smelled pretty nice.

If the boys were curious about me in my previous grade, they were even more so in my new one. It seemed that they were always on the prowl. They were incessantly bumping into me so they could touch my ass or thighs, and I had to be constantly vigilant to keep my legs closed, because there was always at least one boy laser-focused on my thighs in the hope of glimpsing what lay between them. Some of the boys were quite daring, and actually groped my breast while pretending to reach for something behind me. Given my station, I wasn’t allowed to protest, but the teacher would scold them if she witnessed it happen.

This class was the most difficult socially, because the girls were uniformly cold to me. None of them spoke to me at all; none of them wanted anything to do with me. The boys didn’t speak with me either; they seemed to regard me as a doll or a toy that they weren’t quite allowed to play with.

That is, until one day when I arrived at school and all the students were wandering outside, or in the halls. No one was in their classroom, and the teachers were nowhere to be seen. I still have no idea what was going on that day. I couldn’t ask; no one would have answered me. Probably there was some emergency that called the adults away temporarily, and the students were excited by their little bit of freedom. A group of boys were laughing and joking together, and from the way they looked at me, they’d been waiting for me to arrive. After a quick exchange, one of the boys ran over and took my arm, saying, “Come here, maijao. We have to show you something.” I asked where the teacher was, and he said, “Oh, the teacher? Come on, I’ll bring you to her.”

He hurried me down the hall into a room that had no windows. I saw some of the girls watch us go, and there was strong disapproval in their faces.

Pretty quickly I understood what it was all about. The room was small, and contained only a table and some chairs. The teacher wasn’t there, of course. The boys pushed all the chairs into the corners of the room and set the table in the center. Then they gathered around me and lifted my dress off over my head. Then a rough groping frenzy began. Their hands were all over my breasts, my butt, between my legs. They lifted me onto the table and opened my legs and arms. I wanted to cry out, to call for help, but somehow I wasn’t able to. I wanted to resist, to push them off, to punch and kick, but my body remained passive and submissive. It was the damn goo -- it really had soaked into my brain. Crap! I thought. It’s a goddamn gangbang!

One boy positioned himself at the foot of the table and announced, “It was my idea, so I’m going first.” No one disagreed, but when he opened his robe, a boy on my right planted his mouth on my right breast. Seeing this, a boy on my left tried to suck on my left breast, but his head bumped the other boy’s. “Hey, get off!” the one on the right complained. “I was here first!”

“There’s room!” the left one protested. “Just don’t be greedy! Turn your head a little!”

“Get off the both of you!” shouted the one with his cock out. “I’m going first and everybody else has to back off!”

“Screw that!” another boy yelled, and started kissing me aggressively (and badly) on the mouth. In his juvenile enthusiasm and inexperience, he pushed his teeth against mine, and it hurt.

All the boys started yelling and pushing each other, even the ones who weren’t near the table. They began exchanging blows and shoving each other. At that point, the door was ripped open, and the principal stepped in. I saw a few curious faces behind him, who grew wide-eyed at a glimpse of my pussy and naked breasts.

“Quiet, all of you! Quiet down! SHUT UP!” the principal shouted, and with a “Give me that!” he snatched my dress from one of the boys.

“You know that you shouldn’t be doing this,” he scolded. “This is not how young men are supposed to behave. Why did you undress her? What is wrong with you?”

“But she’s a maijao,” the first boy protested. “She dishonored her people. Isn’t this what she’s for?”

“No,” he said. “She is a maijao, yes. She became one for dishonoring her people, but you must treat her as if she was born a maijao. She is here as a lesson to us all -- that we must honor our people and fight like men, even to the death.”

The boys looked deflated and greatly disappointed. The principal sent them back to their class. Once they were gone, he shut the door. I began to sit up, but he stopped me by putting his hand on my naked stomach. “No, stay there, girl,” he said. “Dumsane." At that word, I automatically reached down and held my ankles, leaving my legs wide open.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “they shouldn’t have taken your clothes. That was wrong. It was a terrible breach of etiquette, and I shall speak with them about it. In any case, today will be the last day of school for you. You were here to learn our language and to spend time with our children. It was a lesson for you and for them. Now, however, you’ve become a huge distraction to the boys and a problem for the girls. In a way, I can’t blame the boys, because you really have become quite lovely. And so, by way of goodbye, I will give you this.” With that, he covered my stomach and breasts with my dress. Then he threw open the front part of his robe, and moved toward me, cock in hand. Soon he was rubbing the head of his cock against me, and I became surprisingly wet. I gasped as he pushed his shaft inside me. “Shhh, shhh,” he said. “Very quiet.”

He slowly pumped for several minutes, and the feeling in me grew and grew. My breathing became ragged, and I gripped the edges of the table with my hands. I swallowed hard. He began breathing faster and pumping more desperately. His cock suddenly swelled up inside me and start pulsing. My back arched. I gritted my teeth and, panting, did my best to not cry out. His cock pulsed and throbbed for a surprisingly long time, and then, panting for breath, he pulled out of me.

Then came the biggest surprise of all: he cleaned his cock on the front of my dress. “You can put your dress back on and wait here for your escort. I will have him summoned now. Roh.”

At that last word, I was able to let go of my legs and sit up. I held my sperm-stained dress and hesitated before putting it on. I struggled to pull it over my head and down my body without getting his sperm on my face and all down the front of me. I recoiled at the sensation, and at the shame of wearing such a visible stain, but there was nothing else I could do. I sat on my heels, eyes on the floor, embarrassed. I felt utterly foolish. I knew in my head that none of this was my fault; that none of it was my doing, but in spite of that I still felt like a guilty idiot, and was quite sure that everyone who saw me would think the same.

I waited for about fifteen minutes, when the door finally opened and my escort appeared. He was smiling, as usual, but his smile disappeared when he saw the sperm drying on the front of my dress. He drew his lips tight and told me, “Come.” With a stern, serious look on his face, he led me from the building. A few people, teachers and students, were in the hall and saw us leaving. My escort looked each of them in the face, as if daring them to say something, anything. They must have been frightened of him, because they looked at the ground or looked away, and none of them dared make a sound.

As soon as we were out of sight of the school. He stopped and demanded, “Who did that to you?”

“The principal,” I told him.

He swore. “That is totally wrong! He had no right! It will not stand! Come with me now!” He also made some remarks using words I didn’t understand. I supposed that they were imprecations, but I couldn’t be sure. A lot of it was about the principal being an unsuitable person.

He led me down an alley, behind a building. At first I imagined he was going to secure me in a safe location while he returned to the school to kick the principal’s ass. But I could not have been more wrong. As he went on fuming and ranting, I came to understand that he was angry that he hadn’t been my first. He felt that this was owed him, as payment for such a lowly task as escorting a maijao to school.

Someone had left a carpet hanging over a cord, probably to air it out. He took the carpet and spread it on the ground. Then he put his hands on my hips and maneuvered me onto it. Then: ”Poroo,” and I found myself turning my back to him and bending over, straight-legged. He lifted my skirt and examined my pussy. I could feel it was still dirty with the principal’s spunk. Some of it was dripping down my inner thigh. I had nothing to clean myself with -- and, as disgusting as it already was, I was not about to use my dress as a rag to clean myself with.

I don’t know what sort of cloth he found, but I heard my escort wringing the water out of something that he then used to wipe me between my legs. He dipped the cloth again, and used the soaked, dripping, rag to wipe again. Oddly, he didn’t open the lips of my pussy. He only cleaned the outside of me, as if he didn’t dare do more. After he’d wrung out the cloth and dried my butt and thighs as well as he could, he whispered, ”Dumsane,” which made me turn, lie on the ground, and spread my legs again.

He knelt down and rolled up the front of my skirt so that the still-wet sperm was hidden inside layers of dry cloth.

Then he lifted his loincloth and looked down at me with a smile. I couldn’t help but return his smile. Somehow the goo that penetrated my brain had turned me into this: I was unable to resist him. I wanted to please him. I felt thankful and glad that he was far better endowed than the principal, and wondered if his oversized member was the result of a different goo, the one MacGregor said they’d used on him.

In fact, as the long, hard shaft of my escort’s cock slid inside me, it was a completely different experience. He watched my face and whispered, “Much better, eh?” The only response I could make was to groan with pleasure. He moved slowly, and when he pushed in, he penetrated me deeply. It felt like he was pressing impossibly far up inside me, into my belly. Each movement he made gave me paroxysms of pleasure. I couldn’t speak, even if I wanted to. I writhed and twisted beneath him, and he enjoyed watching me, impaled as I was on his spike.

My mind went utterly blank. I was an animal, an object, a feeling of pleasure wrapped around his shaft. After I don’t know how long, my excitement began to build. I gushed again, and he laughed in delight. Then he began ramming harder and a little faster. I cried out. He pushed deep and hard. He ground his hips into mine. I moaned. My mouth and eyes gaped. I panted, I gasped for breath.

Then his cock began to swell inside me. It was a slow expansion, pushing against the walls of my vagina. My head bent back and pressed hard against the ground.

Then came the explosion. It wasn’t an orgasm: it was wave upon wave of orgasms. Each one barely finished when a new one began. I was limp beneath him; I couldn’t take any more. He looked immensely pleased with himself, and slowly withdrew. I gave a tiny cry as the tip of his cock popped out of me, and his smile broadened even further.

But then he did that same strange thing that the principal had done: he unrolled the front of my skirt, and cleaned his penis on the front of it! He was careful to choose clean spots that the principal hadn’t used, and this left me with an enormous spot of cum stains, impossible to hide, on the front of my skirt!

”Roh,” he said, and I relaxed, letting go of my legs. He had to help me to my feet. I was pretty wobbly, and I walked funny most of the way back to my dormitory. He brought me to the door, but before he left, he slipped his hand under my skirt and squeezed my ass twice. I don’t think that means what I thought it meant, I told myself.

The matron took a look at my skirt and said, “You’ve been busy, haven’t you.” She stood up from her desk and walked over to a cabinet in the wall.

“I couldn’t resist them,” I told her.

“Of course you couldn’t,” she agreed. Then she stopped. “Did you say them, plural?”

“Yes, the school principal and then the soldier who escorts me,” I replied.

“Dear God,” the woman said. “We need to send you away.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, frightened.

“I mean that you need to belong to someone, now, as soon as possible, before every man in the city tries it on with you.” She filled a small glass with goo -- this one was orange in color. “Drink this now -- it will keep you from having a baby from either of those morons. It might make you feel strange for a few days, like when you’re on your period. It’s possible you might bleed a little, so don’t worry if that happens, but it won’t be as bad as your monthlies.”

I smiled at her. “Periods? Babies? Monthlies? I’m not going to have any of that.” I laughed.

“Oh, no?” she asked. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m a man!” I told her.

“Are you?” she retorted. “If you’re a man, then, why don’t you show me your great big penis?”

I turned red.

“You don’t have one, do you?”

“No,” I said in a low voice.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you?”

“No,” I repeated. “I don’t have a penis.”

“In fact, you have a little hole between your legs, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, my face crimson, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to have periods and babies.”

“Believe me, little girl,” she said, ruffling my hair, “You will have both. Do you think you’re the first person to go down this road? We have been doing this to men who will not fight, to men who dishonor themselves and their people, for time out of mind. Even the eldest among us cannot remember a time when life was not this way.”

I looked at her in silence, open mouthed. As extensive as my transformation had been, I had no idea that it had gone that far.

“You are a woman in every way,” she told me. “Except for one thing: you are not free: you are not your own, and you never will be. This is what it means to be maijao. Now, go, little girl, and have a lovely bath. Then put on a new clean dress and comb your beautiful hair, and then I will bring you myself to see your friend MacGregor. He should be pleased to keep you and care for you.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I am sure he will find someone to put his hand on your head and make you his own. You are a prize in many ways; the sun will not set today before you are wriggling on the lance of the man who has chosen you.”

As I lay in the hot bath, after washing my most intimate parts, after cleaning and conditioning my hair, which was now long and curly, I found the matron’s phrase had stuck in my head: you, wriggling on the lance of the man who has chosen you. In my mind’s eye, I could see myself, impaled on a long, hard penis, twisting and writhing, moaning and gushing. The image wouldn’t go away. I tried to picture MacGregor on the giving end of that cock, but the image wouldn’t come.

I dried and dressed myself. When I presented myself to the matron, she took a long staff in her hand, and held it upright as she walked me through the streets toward the arena. The people we passed, particularly the men, looked at me with interest. Some boys gaped at me, open mouthed, stupified. It was pretty embarrassing.

When we arrived at MacGregor’s dressing room, which was part of the arena, he looked at the staff in the matron’s hand, and seem to understand something by it. She nodded to him; he nodded back, and she left.

“Well, girl,” he said, with some nervousness, “this is your big day, isn’t it.”

“I guess so,” I told him. “I think you have a better idea of what’s going on here than I do. Why is that?”

He looked into my face for a moment, then said, “I’m a prisoner here as much as you. It may not seem that way from your point of view, but I have few choices in this life. Once a week I have to fight or die. Or fight and die. It’s no good complaining; it’s the fact. So I’ve adapted. This place suits me, sure, but I’m not truly free to do as I please. I’ve worked hard to understand this place, to get a grip on the language, to fit into their customs and practices. I don’t want to die as Talbot did, resisting, refusing to understand…”

“I get it,” I said.

“You’ve adapted,” he said. “You’ve changed. You’ve done more than Talbot ever did: you’ve survived.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I told him. “That goo literally got into my head.”

“I understand,” he said.

“No, you don’t!” I said. “That shit made me pliable, accepting, passive, submissive.”

“I know that,” he said. “And I’m sorry. The boys have explained it all to me; what they did to you, what’s expected of you.”

“So… what is expected of me now?”

He sighed. “Someone has to own you. That’s the way it is.”

“And is that someone you?”

“It could be,” he said. “I’d like that, but only if you liked the idea as well.” But, before I had a chance to answer, he added, “But it can’t happen. It would be the end of me, and if it was the end of me, it would be the end of you as well.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If I were to see you every day, if we were to make love morning and night, it would be a great conflict for me. At times I’d have to see you as old Henry, our anthropologist, and it would hurt my heart to see what they’ve done to you. That conflict, that sadness, would sit in my heart, and it would make me weak in the arena, and they would strike me down. I would die.”

“I think you’re exaggerating,” I told him.

“Look now,” he said. “One of the unspoken truths in the world of martial arts is that no one is the best. No one can be the best. Every time you fight, each time that you spar, you have to approach it with humility. The fact is, the best fighter can be beaten by the worst: there’s luck, there’s strategy, there’s cheating, there’s inattention and mistakes. A child with a gun can, with a single shot, take down an unbeatable master of kung-fu.

“One day, one of these fools will take me down. I know it; it’s a certainty. It’s also a point of honor for them: it burns them with a bitter flame to see me, a stranger, defeat them every time. The best I can do is hold off that day: to train myself to be better than yesterday, to learn their weapons and techniques. I can’t let myself be distracted with memories of the world above, and that’s the secret weapon they want to use against me: the deadly poison hidden in your soft, pink, feminine charms. I’d love you to distraction, but you would literally be the death of me.”

“So what are we going to do, then?” I asked him.

“I’ll tell you the first thing I’d like to do,” he said, removing his loincloth and revealing a long, hard, straight erection. “I’d like to stick you with my meat thermometer, and then we’ll talk about what comes next.”

I meant to gape at his face, but my eyes were locked on his naked member.

“Now, listen, lass: we both know I can say the words and you’ll be obliged to do as I like, but I want something to happen now that we both want. I want you, of your own free will, to let me fuck you hard and full: two consenting adults, rutting like animals.”

My mouth went dry.

“You know that every other man alive -- at least as far as we’re concerned -- won’t ask you. They’ll say the magic words, and will you or nill you, you’ll spread your legs and smile. Isn’t it so?”

“Yes,” I admitted in a quiet voice.

“So… will you let me inside you?”

I licked my lips. Like my mouth, they were suddenly very dry. “Yes,” I said.

“Then take off that damn silly dress.”

We both stripped, and he had me get down on all fours. Then he took a clear goo, which I’d never seen before, and coated his cock with it.

“What’s that one do?” I asked.

“Ah, you’ll see soon enough, girl,” he replied with a wink. I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming, but after he steadied my hips with one hand, and aimed his cock with the other, he pushed his enormous shaft directly into my butt.

“Oh, yes!” he cried.

“You bastard!” I shouted.

“Ah, say it again, you lovely creature, you!” he crooned, as he slid in and out of my ass. The clear goo was obviously a lubricant. I cried out each time he pushed a little deeper.

“Tell me, Henrietta,” MacGregor said, as he bounced his potent thighs off my soft, round ass, “Did you ever take it up the backside when you were an anthropologist?”

“Fuck you,” I said. “Of course not.”

At last, after a variety of tempos, after some slaps and spanks on my rump, MacGregor’s cock swelled to what seemed twice its size. My poor little butt-hole would have screamed if it had a voice, but then, before he came, MacGregor pulled out and sprayed his seed all over my back and my butt. He squeezed some of his sperm into my crack. “Oh, dear, isn’t that a lovely sight,” he said. “Oh, my lord and lady.”

Then he rolled over onto his back, groaning with satisfaction. I remained on all fours, glaring at him. When he saw my look, he laughed.

“Can I go clean myself?” I demanded.

“Of course you can,” he said. “While you’re with me, you’re free as a bird.”

I ran into the bathroom and wiped my behind. I washed off his sperm and examined my derriere and lower back in the mirror. I felt the backs of my legs and my inner thighs to make sure I’d cleaned off every trace.

“Ohhh, that was lovely,” he told me. “Thank you truly, lass. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“Who are you kidding?” I asked him. “You can do this every day of the week with the girls around here, can’t you?”

He raised himself on one elbow. “No, you’re wrong there. No, I can’t. For all the barbarity these folks have cultivated, they remain a set of the most fearful prudes.”

“Are you serious?” I asked him. “Just today I was nearly gang-raped. The man who saved me then raped me himself and wiped his dick on my skirt. The man who walked me home, the one who was supposedly protecting me, raped me again, and cleaned his dick on my skirt. And when I told the matron, she had a day-after goo all ready for me to drink.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, with a dismissive wave. “That’s just their way. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“WHAT!?” I shouted. “Then what on earth ARE you talking about?”

“Have you noticed that these poor sots never take their clothes off? They’ve got some taboo about being naked. That’s the first thing. And then, the only kind of sex they know is fucking, and THAT can only be done only in the missionary way.”

“And so?”

“And so, there is so much else. Other positions, for one thing. Do you know, I’ve never been able to get one of the girls to let me do her doggie style? For you, it was no big thing, but they just won’t do it. You know they’re submissive, but there are things they just will not do. No cowgirl, no reverse cowgirl…”

“Oh, my God,” I groaned. I wanted to cover my ears.

“There’s more,” he said. “They know NOTHING about oral sex: oral-genital, oral-anal..”

“Yuck, almighty!” I said. “Is that even a thing?”

“You’ve never kissed a girl’s butt-hole, Henry?” he asked.

“No!” I replied.

“Hmmph,” he responded. “In any case, it’s completely unknown here, along with anal sex, which I’ve been dying for, so thank you very much. Blow jobs are unknown, by the way, and the whole world of BDSM…”

“Beady what?” I asked.

“Oh my lord,” he said, “are you serious?” Then he fell quiet.

“Do you know what?” he said, after a few moments thought. “I think I see the way forward for you, and hopefully it will change things for me as well. You need someone to own you, to take you, and that someone can’t be me. But I do know a man, a friend. His name is Issyk. He’s a good man, you might say he’s a kind man, but in any case, I know that he’s good to his girls. I’ll introduce you to him, and you will immediately become his favorite.”

“Really,” I said. This proposal seemed flawed in every way possible. “How will that happen?”

“I’ll take you to him now, and you will give him the best blow job he’s ever had in his life. It will have to be the best, because no one in this place has ever had one to start with!”

“Why would I do that?” I asked.

“Because it will set you above the rest. And then, as time advances, you can add other tricks to your repertoire: you can let him fuck you up the ass. Then, later, you can have him go down on you, or watch you go down on another girl. You have to remember old Talbot: you have to keep it fresh; they can’t know what to expect. You have to always have something in reserve. If you rely on one old hobbyhorse, some folks will be bored, and others will imitate you. And maybe the imitators will do it better.”

I could see the sense in what he was saying. My survival depended on someone wanting to take care of me. And his wanting me depended on my pleasing him.

“There’s just one problem,” I told him. “I’m not as sexually inventive as you are.”

“But didn’t you study sexual practices in primitive tribes, back when you were an anthropologist?”

“Yes,” I admitted, “but nothing under that topic is fun in any sense of the word.”

“Hmm,” MacGregor mused. “I think I see the solution: I will write you a manual, in English, so these heathens can’t read it, and I will make it the most complete manual of sexual practices that I know of. No diagrams, just words, that explain the various sexual positions, the butt-fucking, the oral sex in its varieties, the girl-on-girl, the man-on-man -- although that may not help either of us -- the BDSM, oh lord -- I’m really going to go to town.”

“And I’ll have to do all that?” I asked him.

“Well, most of it,” he admitted. “You’ll need to keep things fresh. Yes, most of it, but for sure not the man-on-man, eh?”

And with that, he set off laughing and couldn’t stop for several minutes.

When he could talk again, he said, “I have the perfect title: Sexual Innovations in the Underworld.”

I rolled my eyes and told him, “If only you and I can read it, you could call it Grandma’s Favorite Pancake Recipes and it would be all the same.”

He frowned in disappointment. “We don’t need to degenerate into meaninglessness. It makes a great deal of difference. Suppose some other English-speaking fella ends up in your same predicament. Or, suppose in a far off future day when I’m gone, and you are old and full of sleep, some young person asks you to translate it for them. First off, you’ll have to explain that it has nothing to do with your grandmother or pancakes or cooking. But forever and after, it will be colored with that misunderstanding.”

“Okay,” I said, holding up my hands. “I surrender! Let it be as you said.”

We talked a little more about how to sell my supposed expertise. MacGregor grew very specific in probing my knowledge of the finer points of taking a man’s cock in my mouth, and several times offered to let me practice on him. At long last he gave up on that, and we went to find his friend Issyk. I knelt before him and introduced him to the brave new world of fellatio. MacGregor stood by, and when he showed Issyk how to put his hand on the back of my head to keep it still as he gently fucked my mouth, Issyk grew so excited and amazed, that he came almost immediately. He came so hard, and so copiously, I could barely keep up with my swallowing. I had thought that taking him in my throat would have been the selling point, but we never got that far. It’ll keep for a future day.

Then and there, Issyk put his hand on his head -- meaning that he claimed me for his own. He led me by the hand to his home and gave me a room right next to his own, ejecting his current favorite.

Then, his eyes wide and happy, he slipped his hand under my skirt and squeezed my butt not twice, but four times. Then he kept his hand there, and pulled me close, pressing my soft body into his toned, hard self. I let my hand rest on his cock, and that small gesture surprised him beyond degree.

I guess they don’t do that, either, down here, I realized. And then, just as MacGregor had said, I saw the way forward.