Laura grabbed the actress’s wrists and bound them with her gown sash and tied them to the top of the bed, while I pulled her legs apart and tied each ankle to the other end, using her husband’s expensive neckties.
Then I was handed a huge double dildo – a rubber penis with identical heads on each end – and I was to abuse this beautiful creature with it. After I greased it up with Vaseline I inserted one end into her vagina and the other into her rectum, and not very gently, either. The treatment this woman wanted was rough and painful.
While I manipulated this monster, Laura slapped her around the face and breasts as she writhed with pleasure, making low moaning sounds.
During all this her husband stood leaning against a bureau calmly watching, popping amyl nitrates for himself and feeding her cocaine, which whacked her out of her head and sent her almost berserk.
Her husband was not allowed to touch the hired girls, although I have since found out he secretly auditions the very young ones when he goes on his talent-scouting sorties to brothels.
“Give it to her with the vibrators now, Xaviera,” Laura, the director, said, so I withdrew the double dildo and replaced it with two little rapidly whirring mechanical devices.
Her passion rose to a crescendo, and her husband could tell the climax was not far off, and in their twisted thinking the whole scene is justified as love if he completes it with her. He dropped his robe, climbed onto her convulsing body, and banged away for minutes until she climaxed, hysterically shrieking, “My God, my God, my God.”
It’s sick and it’s pathetic. Here’s this gorgeous-looking woman who should be in a sensitive, gentle love scene with someone tenderly kissing her all over, and instead she is hooked on this hideous depravity.
Furthermore, she is torn between her heterosexual duty to her husband and her increasing need for female domination, even though she is not yet a lesbian.
The couple paid me a substantial amount for my part, but really it was money I could live without, so I told Laura to forget about inviting me again.
But the scene left a lingering impression on me, and I figured maybe the actress needed the debasing to balance the heavy adulation she gets from her theater audiences and movie fans.
Who knows? All I know is she’s lucky she earns so much, because she spends big money for the freak scenes. Laura alone is paid $1,000 to stop by five times a week and give a convincing performance.
German George is another pathetic case who needs to be cruelly degraded before he can get his rocks off. He is a wealthy forty-five-year-old businessman who got his first taste of sex under the most extreme kind of conditions as a teen-age Jewish prisoner in a German concentration camp.
A tough woman guard, naked under a raincoat, ordered him behind the lavatories one night and forced him to perform cunnilingus.
To this day German George remembers vividly the fear mixed with reluctant excitement that he felt. And he has failed to overcome the trauma to the extent that he cannot have sex without re-creating the sights, sounds, and smells of that carnal moment.
I came in contact with German George when he called the house where I worked before I became a madam, requesting a girl who spoke fluent German, was reasonably strongly built, and could freak a man out. The madam assured him I was tailor-made for the part, and sent me to his apartment in a luxury high-rise building in the East Fifties.
German George, after greeting me politely at the door, wanted to get right down to brass tacks, and the first thing he did was lead me to a locked hall closet.
The slight, pale man fumbled with the locks, and from the way he acted, I thought he must be hiding the crown jewels. But as he pulled open the door with a grand gesture, I saw that the closet contained nothing else but six or seven original SS raincoats – and the smell of perishing rubber was so thick inside you could cut it with a knife.
This man wanted me to undress and put the raincoat on over my naked body and carry out a mock SS raid and a beating.
“Don’t forget to put on the belt,” he reminded me as he attached a swastika to the arm and handed me a toy gun.
The scene was to proceed with me going out of the bedroom while he arranged himself, naked, on the bed with his head toward the closed door.
Outside the door I had to bang with my fists, boom, boom, boom, and roar out in German: “Gestapo here! Open the door immediately!”
But there is no reply. So I kick the door open and burst in, to find him lying there with his penis in his hand. “Herr Cohen,” I demand in a menacing voice.
“No, no, I’m Mr. Smith,” he says meekly, pretending to tremble.
“Don’t lie to me, you’re a Jew – Verdammte Jude, schweinhund.” Bam, bam, I slam him on the face.
Little German George quivers all over, gets an erection, and is very excited. He starts waffling about the “bloody Jews” and how he hopes every last one of them gets what he deserves.
“Shut up, Jew,” I hiss, and to assure that he obeys, I sit on his face and force him to eat me. Then I get mad because he does it wrong, and take off my belt and spank him up until he is almost about to climax, but just then he calls a halt to activity.
“Let’s stop and do it all again,” he says. So we repeat the scene once again, and the third time, while I spank him hard, German George jerks off.
The poor man is happy and pleased to pay me, but this kind of thing also makes me sad, because I’m Jewish, too, and even though I was only a baby during World War II, I hate to be confronted with things like this.
Still another freak who got his hang-up in a war camp is the rabbi who can make it only with non-Jewish girls, and only after they paint him all over with swastikas.
Just as freaks each have their favorite scene, so they have their favorite atmosphere and conditions. For instance, full moons and gloomy or stormy weather is very big with the average freak. I often think they are as predictable as the little blue boy in those miniature European weather vanes. When the weather is lousy – out they come.
Perhaps people who dig suffering at any time consider it an added bonus when the weather is mean to them, too. Freaks are also very intrigued by umbrellas, which represent to them a potential weapon of chastisement.
Umbrellas are so important to many freaks that the biggest S-and-M supply store in Manhattan is a West Side umbrella shop where I purchased the contents of my “goodie bag.”
Every good master needs at the very minimum a good set of manacles, whips, rawhides, handcuffs, chains, paddles, and a dildo. Those who specialize exclusively in the scene have much more variety and perhaps more expensive, subtler instruments. I have one lovely slave who combs Europe searching for medieval leg irons and handcuffs that don’t leave any marks, and he always brings his own bondage accessories for his freak scenes.
Incidentally, this man recently visited my fellow countrywoman – a madam who ran a famous “torture house” in New Jersey until she was raided, and is now experimenting in Europe with a brand-new treat for masochists called “cell isolation.” In her house in The Hague, this woman has had a special cell built in which she locks her customers after she has clapped them in irons. Sometimes she strings their hands to the ceiling. I understand she is doing a roaring business.
A little slave customer of mine named Nicky took me to the umbrella store one gloomy freak day to equip myself for my slave scenes. Jonny Starr, the Negro manager of the store, who has since worked for me as a stud, slave, or master, showed me his collection of whips and paddles, all of which I tested out against my hand or Nicky’s ass. As I was making my choice I happened to glance at the store window, and standing there was a well-dressed man completely mesmerized.