KING JAKOB (Part 5)


By KATZMAREK (C)


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This work is fiction. It remains the property of the author and
may not be used for profit without the author's express
permission in writing. It contains sex, so if this offends etc...


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Part 5


Jakob Herzberg woke and dressed Sunday morning wondering what the day was going to bring. He had accepted the invitation of the enigmatic Gretchen, the Governor's typist, to have afternoon tea. The woman was a widow of a Military Officer who had been killed some 14 years previously. She was also under the protection of the Governor himself.


Jakob decided he didn't particularly like the new Governor and especially his irritating private secretary, the weasel. The Governor was truculent and authoritarian, his secretary mean-spirited and petty. He suspected that before long he would be in conflict with the Samoan Council of Chiefs. That powerful body of native opinion could turn the Governor's rule into chaos in no time.


The previous Governor, Westermann, had allowed the Samoans to pretty much please themselves. He was a man genuinely interested in their welfare. There was little that went on in the Islands that he wasn't aware of. That was the kind of man he was, people told him things and he listened, he didn't judge. Although outwardly he appeared an easy-going drunk, in reality he was a shrewd judge of character and a diplomat.


The Samoans are not German and this idylic South Pacific island chain not a suburb of Koenigsburg. The islands provide all the Samoan's needs, they have little interest in capitalism and the work ethic. Theirs is a heirarchical society, steeped in ancient traditions and sometimes overlaid with missionary Christianity. Governors must work through the Chiefly system rather than their subjects. To do otherwise would seriously undermine the Chiefs' 'mana' and cause revolt.


Germany was granted the right to colonise the islands after a period of civil war. Rival clans fought a proxy conflict sponsored by French, German, British and American interests. In the ensuing stand-off and horse-trading that occured after the killing, Germany came out the winner. Samoa was actually split in two. The Eastern group of islands were given to the United States Navy, however the Western group was considered the real prize.


In mockery of the big power's shenanigans, the islands themselves wreaked their own vengence. Not long after the settlement, an enormous hurricane blew up over Savai'i wrecking many of the ships assembled to watch over the event. The wrecks of German, French and American naval vessels could still be seen dotted around the reefs of Apia's harbour.


Church on Sunday was the major social occasion for the settlers. It was a chance for everyone to get together to talk business, share gossip, discuss politics and spy on their neighbours. The Lutheran Church in Apia was the busiest, that was after all where the Governors traditionally went. Every settler longed to have the ear of the Governor. Jakob always attended for just that purpose. He did his best business with the Germans and the Germans frequented the Lutheran Church. He liked the choral singing in any case. The complex harmonies of the psalm-singing Samoan choir brought back memories of home.


He drove down to the white church as usual. The well-groomed lawn was already studded with groups of neighbours probably discussing the Governor's latest reforms. The Governor himself held court on the steps with a coiterie of sycophants. Jakob recognised some of the colony's most notorious crawlers listening attentatively to von Goeltz's latest prognostications.


Gretchen was there, overdressed as usual and furiously fanning herself. She stood to one side of the Governor's party scanning the crowd. Her eyes fell on Jakob, then looked away with no hint of recognition. As usual his manager and a couple of clients zeroed in on him and he was forced to pay them attention. By the time he entered the chapel, Gretchen was already seated in the row with the Governor.


Afterwards he left quickly. The Germans would engage him well into the afternoon if he stopped and talked. Some 'little thing in the Balkans' had grabbed everyone's attention. Apparently Bulgaria, Serbia, Montenegro, Romania and Greece had declared war on Turkey. The Germans wanted to know what Russia would do. Jakob however, didn't know and didn't care. By 1912, Jakob had already had enough of European squabbles.


On the hill behind Apia was the Marconi cable station. Normally if one needed to send a telegram, you had to visit the office of the Post and Telegraph on the waterfront. Naturally it was closed Sundays and Jakob often took the opportunity to visit the operator in the station high on the hill. That way, he could sometimes bribe him to send messages, 'ex officio.' Also, if anyone was up to date about world affairs then the operator was the man to see.


"The 'Davids' are doing well against the Turk!" the operator told him, "the Greeks have kicked them out of most of Albania."


"Where the hell is Albania?" Jakob asked.


"Here!" the operator pointed on the large wall map. "The Governor's asked for verification of your diplomatic status," the man continued, "I thought you'd like to know. Apparently, he can't find any record of your accreditation from St Petersburg. Sloppy file-keeper, old man Westermann." he grinned.


"I thought he might," Jakob told him, "and the reply?"


"You want me to send it?"


"Yes, but to this address. Send the reply to von Goeltz. Oh, and here is another message, same recipient."


"You cunning bastard!" the operator said grinning broadly at Jakob, "it'll cost you, this one!"


"100 marks!"


"200!"


"Cheat!"


"Liar!"


"150!"


"200, and don't tell me you can't afford it. How's your new yacht coming along?"


"I'll drop you off it into the Mariana trench, you rogue!" Jakob told him, "You see that I won't. 200 then, but if you try and screw me..."


"Me? Screw you?" he laughed, "maybe you can toss me some of those fine young serving maids of yours. Then there's that cute little filly of a wife..."


"Don't push your luck Stadler. You get your own harem, you can afford it." Jakob dumped a wad of notes on the man's desk.


"Aye, thanks to you, dear Count Jakob." Jakob recoiled at the sound of his real name. It sounded frightening to his ears after all this time of living under an alias. Rounding on the operator, he glared, his hand twitched. Stadler put up his arms in mock surrender.


"Settle down, Count. I won't say anything. Why spoil a beneficial business arrangement?"


"Just... send those messages and stop pissing around!" Jakob spat, spun around and stalked out.


He didn't really like the Marconi operator, but saw in him someone with as great an eye for larceny as himself. Their's was a cosy arrangement and he could rely on Josef Stadler to keep his side of the bargain. Providing he kept paying him.


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Jakob arrived at the Governor's House promptly at three. The Samoan duty Policeman escorted him to Gretchen's rooms at the back, then retreated with a snappy salute. Clearly the Governor was having a great deal of influence over the conduct of the Police force. At the guard's hip was a brand new Mannlicher semi-automatic pistol, a hugely expensive weapon for a Policeman. Jakob had never seen one before, nor indeed seen a Policeman armed with anything more than a club. It disturbed him.


Gretchen's apartment was spacious, the furniture minimal. A low square table was set in the middle upon which was a plate of fresh pastries and cakes. A bowl of fruit was nearby containing guava, oranges and slices of pineapple and coconut. 


The hostess blew through the swing doors into the parlour like a Southerly gale, smiled politely and extended her hand. Jakob took it and touched his lips to her rings. Gretchen pulled her hand back as if stung, regaining her composure with difficulty.


"French habit!" she sneered, rubbing her hand.


"I'm sorry Madam," Jakob told her, "I thought..."


"Quite alright," she replied, "I guess we must all be open to... new ideas, different forms of etiquette. Please, take a chair." Jakob sat in the proffered chair within easy reach of the delicacies on the table. A Chinese maid entered with the tea cups and pot, deposited it on the table, curtsied and left. Gretchen picked up the tea pot and began to pour them a beverage.


"How do you like it, Count Feodor?" she asked.


"Just black, ah, Gretchen," he told her.


"Of course; Russian!" she smiled, "and a cane field of sugar I suppose?"


"Naturally!" Jakob told her.


Gretchen wore a khaki shirt that ballooned out over her ample bust. Her 'short' flappy trousers ended well below her knees in the style known to the English as 'Bombay bloomers'. With her round frame it gave her a rather comical appearance. Upon a hatstand near the door was a pith helmet around which was a long blue ribbon. Clearly the lady had finally adjusted her style of dress to the climate.


There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation while tea was poured. Gretchen sat back in her chair, a look of nervousness in her eyes. Jakob didn't associate the lady with any lack of confidence. Her discomfort surprised him.


"I understand you have purchased a yacht, Herr Count," she said hastily, "some thirty odd metres, I understand. Where do you intend to go in it?"


"The other Pacific Islands, China perhaps," he told her, "maybe Africa..."


"Slendid!" she gushed, "such exciting adventures you will have no doubt. You will take your family?"


"Perhaps," he replied, non-comittally.


"Yes, but surely a trial for any refined wife. No, I think you will take yourself and yourself alone, Count Feodor. A family would be... ah... an incumberance, surely?"


"Perhaps."


"I think you are being diplomatic," she smiled, "you have no intention of taking you wife, be honest!" Jakob just grinned. "Ah, you won't be drawn. I take you for a man of action," she continued, "a good diet, I can tell!" Gretchen then wafted away on a long monologue about the merits of healthy eating. Jakob tried unsuccessfully to remain engaged, but found his thoughts drifted more and more towards the woman's bosom.


"But I've been doing all the talking," Jakob was jolted from his observations, "please, tell me about your life in these islands?"


An hour passed before Jakob was aware of it. He'd explained about Island life. Gretchen interrupted with questions in the way many Germans have. If he said he had a bathing pool, she'd want to know the length, depth and the temperature of the water. He found this was a peculiarly German habit. He felt like he'd been interrogated. He stretched, took out his watch, and announced he must return home.


"Ah, but I have something to show you before you leave," she told him, "come over to my bureau a minute." 


In the corner of the room was a roll-top desk finished in dark mahogany and rosewood. She beckoned Jakob to sit on the bentwood chair placed in front of it. Gretchen retrieved a similar chair and sat beside him. Opening the cabinet she took a large sketch folder out of the drawer underneath.


"I have a confession to make," she said, "do you paint, Count?" Jakob shook his head. "Ah, the pleasure of art, Count Feodor, particularly the study of nature. Do you study nature, Count Feodor?"


"In a way," he answered ruefully.


"Ah," she coughed, "I see. Perhaps you may be interested in these?"


She opened the folder to show him some fine drawings of native shrubs and flowers. Jakob recognised a few local fauna.


"You have a fine eye and technique," he told her genuinely.


"I thought you'd be impressed," she told him, "I could tell you were a man of refined, ah, tastes."


After a few pages the artwork moved on to some animals, boars, dogs, birds and a stallion.


"Magnificent animal," she explained, "pure Arab bloodstock, fine beast, so raw, so exciting." She paused for a moment, staring at the picture. "Do you like horses, Count?"


"Sure," he told her, half-heartedly.


"Perhaps, then, this may interest you?" The next picture was of an African girl, perhaps in her late teens. She was dressed in a wrap-round skirt, her chest adorned with necklaces over her naked breasts. "A native Princess from East Africa," she explained, "see the development around her upper arms and legs? Strong and nimble," she told him, "like the Gazelle."


Jakob focussed on her magnificent set of teats, and shifted slightly in his chair. The next page was of a youth, similarly naked except for a loin cloth. "Splendid conformation," Gretchen enthused, "so beastly, brutal... don't you, ah, agree?"


Gretchen had casually put her hand on Jakob's knee. Jakob could hear her breathing quicken. She stared fixedly at the drawing of the African, studying every rude detail. Her leg touched his, no accidental contact because she pressed against him deliberately. Jakob's mouth was dry, the tension in the air crackled in his ears.


"I musn't keep you," she said eventually, "perhaps you might visit again, soon?" She stared at him, her eyes full of intent. Jakob heard himself agreeing and dumbly allowed himself to be escorted to the door. He had enough wits to thank the lady before heading back to his car.


Arriving home, he sent a servant off to fetch Asmira. When she hurried into his presence, he told her to come and led her up the stairs to the bedroom.


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A few days later, he went to visit the cable station. Stadler was ready with the reply to his message, including a copy of the one for von Goeltz. He took the papers and hurried to his car. He stopped on the Western beach, sat under a palm tree and read.


'my dear son-in-law stop i have spoken to a few friends in the foreign ministry stop relax stop regards westermann end of message.' Jakob grinned and put the telegram in his pocket. The second was addressed to the Governor, von Goeltz. It was from Department A, Imperial Foreign Ministry, Berlin. 'politovsky great assistance to ifm stop under protection dept a stop do not molest end of message.'


Jakob scratched his head. He understood that 'Department A' had something to do with overseas intelligence operations. Obviously Westermann had got him classified as a retired spy living under an assumed name. Things couldn't have worked out better, he was elated.


It wasn't long before he received an invitation from the Governor for a meeting. Jakob swaggered into the atrium of Government House.


"You're late... three minutes," sniffed the weasel.


"Oh so what, you snivelling little rat," Jakob snapped back and brushed past him into the office. He could just catch Gretchen's loud cough as she pretended to concentrate on her typing. The weasel fell into his chair as though pole-axed.


"Politovsky?" the Governor growled, "you apparently have friends in Berlin, important friends in the foreign ministry?" Jakob sat down in the spare chair, uninvited. It was time, he decided, for the Count to start throwing some weight around. The Governor could barely control his temper. He twitched his nose as if encountering a bad smell.


"Count!" he practically shouted, "you have special protection. I do not like you and your kind, I must tell you. Skulking, slippery, fops sneaking around reading other people's mail... hiding in bushes... snooping. I don't like any of it, Politovsky, but I have been ordered to look after you and that I must do. I regret I must see more of you than I would like. You may go. Tell that little toad Schapinski I want to see him on your way out. Goodbye."


Passing back through the atrium, Jakob yelled at the weasel.


"Schapinski, the boss wants his boots cleaned!" Gretchen coughed even louder, the weasel gave him an evil look before scurrying in to see his chief. Jakob heard Gretchen's hearty laugh as he left.


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Settler society in Samoa was small and incestuous. If they didn't know the detail, at least they were aware very soon that there was something special about Count Politovsky. The Governor had conferred a special status upon him on orders from Berlin. Jakob revelled in his sudden notoriety. At least, he concluded, providing he remained in Samoa he was under the protection of the German Government. Even if word about his continued liberty filtered back to St Petersburg, he could rely on the Governor to ensure he would not be touched.


A new boldness pervaded him. People in the street were just a little more friendlier. Victims of his past business practices came to him to claim 'bygones were bygones.' No-one wanted to offend a person of 'special status.'


The newspapers were full of stories of enemy agents and foreign spies. Scandal after scandal resounded through the likes of 'The Times' of London, the 'Deutsch Beobachter' of Berlin and 'Novo Rossiya' of Moscow. Suddenly in Samoa they had their very own 'person of special status'. Rumours abounded.


In June the 'Borodino' arrived from it's builders in Sidney Australia. Practically the whole of Apia came down to welcome the yacht into the harbour. It came in, sails set in a freshening breeze, the German merchant flag fluttering from the mainmast. It was a magnificent sight as it turned
towards it's mooring, dropping the mainsail as it went. Those around Jakob gasped in admiration.


The shore ferry took a large guest party out in several trips. Jakob's Chinese servants were kept busy serving drinks till late in the night. The Governor was conspicuous by his absence, as was the weasel Schapinski. Gretchen, however, appeared, wanting to know every detail of the vessel. She stayed until midnight, catching one of the last ferries back to shore. Jakob spent the night on the schooner, having indulged in too much red wine.


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The day dawned clear and bright, but Jakob missed most of it. Instead, he awoke around noon, his head pounding with a hangover. His sole remaining servant, the ubiquitous Yu, provided him with an evil concoction he called, 'the dog's hair.' It had little effect and Jakob spent half the afternoon brooding on the half deck under the awning. Around three, a skiff bumped against the stern ladder, there was one person aboard.


"Cooeee," came a female voice, "Count Politovsky?" A khaki-clad figure legged over the rail and stood commandingly on the fantail. "Count Politovsky, are you there? It's Gretchen." Jakob pulled his straw boater close over his eyes and feigned sleep. He listened to her footsteps along the deck, past the small wheelhouse, and heard them stop by the ports of the main cabin. "Tired after last night," she commented, "an excellent vintage, my dear Count Feodor."


Yu bent over his master and said quietly,


"A lady is here to see you," a hint of conspiracy in his tone.


"Throw her overboard," Jakob told him, "no wait!" he called him back as he made towards the woman. "Better yet, bring her some of that shit you gave me. That 'Dog's hair'."


Yu scuttled off to fetch some of his disgusting brew.


"I hoped I'd find you out of your bunk," Gretchen said breezily, "such a lovely day, a fine day to be on the water."


"Is it?" Jakob said grumpily.


"I heard talk you were a spy," she gushed, "such adventures you must have had! Some say you sabotaged the Russian fleet at Tsushima on orders from Berlin. Is that true? It scarcely seems possible!"


"Single-handed!" he told her, "with a spanner I adjusted all the gunsights out by 10 degrees."


"Really?" she enthused, "oh, but surely you're mocking me!"


"What need had there of sabotage when you had the Tsar, Samsonov and Grigorovich?"


"Quite," she replied, not understanding.


"Not a fucking brain among them," Jakob continued, "and Rhozdventsky himself was as crazy as a fly-bitten ass..."


"I see."


"No you don't, Gretchen, how could you? What would you know of lumbering in the middle of the Atlantic, piled high with coal, coal in the mess deck, coal in the gun turrets, the passageways. Everywhere, coal, coal, coal. You lived in it, breathed it, bathed in coal dust until you were as black as an African. Everybody as sick as dogs, scared shitless. The ships overloaded and rolling like logs. Sea coming in through the embrasures because the fucking dockyard fabricated the shields short by two feet. Two months drilling holes through the armour on the main gun turrets because the fucking designers forgot they needed sights! 'Orel' breaking down every hour because some fucking Anarchist tipped iron filings into the bearing cases of the main engines. 


Not one man in 100, Gretchen, had ever set foot on so much as a dinghy in a mountain stream. And there we were, off to fight probably the greatest admiral of his time, commanding one of the most powerful fleets. 4000 men drowned, Gretchen, or were blown to pieces in a place most of them had never heard of. For why? For the vanity of a stupid Tsar and a bunch of greedy aristocratic bastards with an eye on Korean timber concessions."


"Oh my!" Gretchen said in a quiet voice as Jakob subsided, "I didn't know you were so... passionate!" she twittered.


Yu returned with his 'Dog's hair'. He set it beside Gretchen who bolted it in one gulp. Jakob was impressed.


"It... must have been terrible," the lady continued.


"Madam, you don't know even the half of it," Jakob told her.


"Perhaps you could explain?" She sat herself in a vacant deck chair. Jakob shook his head.


"Did you know a man could still be flogged in the Russian fleet? Officially no, but on the lower deck, NCOs are Gods. They do what they like. On the 'Suvurov' a man was beaten to death and tossed out of a gun port. No enquiry, no-one on the bridge cared."


"I guess excessive disciplining can be..." Gretchen started to say.


"Not discipline, Gretchen, it's because he was Jewish... He was a neighbour of mine, a good man, a patriotic Russian." Gretchen was silent, thinking. "A pig named Zuzov flogged me with a short knotted rope they still call 'starters'. They soak them in piss so the cuts get infected."


"Zuzov? Why? But..." Gretchen's mouth worked ineffectually. 


"Who knows why? He didn't need a reason. 2 minutes late for duty? Forgot some useless item of kit? Perhaps I didn't put away the knives and forks correctly in the mess? I don't remember. Here..." Jakob bent forward and lifted his shirt. Across his back was a series of evil looking scars. Gretchen sucked in her breath, tentatively touched a fingertip to one as if satisfying herself they were real.


"You're Jewish?" she asked, more a statement of fact than a question. Jakob nodded slowly. "You were never an Officer?" He nodded again.


"Gunner's mate Jakob Herzberg, Madam. Late of His Russian Majesty's Navy, since retired and living in paradise."


"You were never a spy?"


"No. I supplied the former Governor with booze and free, unrepayable loans, Madam. I married his spoilt little daughter whom he couldn't afford, gave her a fake title and a real mansion within which to play house. All I asked of her was for her to open her legs from time to time and to look the other way while I repopulate Apia with half-breeds."


"Oh my. Oh my, my!" Gretchen responded, furiously fanning herself. "Such a rogue... I. I'm speechless! No shame, I... have never met anyone like you before."


"I bet you have, Gretchen," Jakob told her, chuckling, "disguised as Gentlemen and Officers. At least on the lower deck they were honest bastards."


"Is there no place anymore for nobility of spirit, idealism?"


"Dead, Madam. Or will shortly die. First the idealists, the poor, then the spiritual nobility. All that will be left will be the profiteers and the hypocrites. It's always been the same."


"So depressing..."


"Aye Madam, it is! The world is set to blow up, mark my words! Like express trains heading for the same set of switches... boom! I don't see anyone coming out of it with any honour."


"But you will be safe, out here," she told him, accusingly.


"Hopefully! Germany can't defend this place, she hasn't the fleet or the inclination. With any luck, we'll be forgotten and left alone. If not, I will take my yacht and find somewhere to hide until they've finished shooting each other."


"You're nothing but a coward!" 


"Who or what will my death serve, Gretchen? What did your husband die for? So the Kaiser can lord it over a bunch of Africans? And a few men make a lot of money?"


She was silent for a moment, as if stunned. Gradually, her mouth worked and she spoke.


"He didn't die," Gretchen said in a weak voice. A tear escaped down her face. She blew her nose loudly into an enormous handkerchef. "He...he," she faltered, "he left his post... Ran off with an African girl... to the Belgian Congo. I understand he's some kind of trader..."


Jakob put his head back and laughed uncontrollably.


"He's dead to me..." the woman continued, miserably.


"I'm sorry Gretchen," Jakob said after he'd brought himself under control, "it seems we have a great deal in common."


"I've never told anyone," she went on, "even von Goeltz. A friend of his told me the story. His Regiment made up his heroic death, because... because, it was such a dishonour to the unit, I... Please, don't tell anyone?"


"We must keep confidences, Madam. Otherwise we'd be just like the rest of them," he laughed. Gretchen smiled weakly. Jakob took her hand and shook it to seal the bargain. When he tried to retrieve it, however, she held on like a drowning person.


"Yu!" he shouted, staring fixedly into Gretchen's eyes, "take the lady's boat to shore and have the rest of the day off."


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They both watched Yu paddling enthusiastically in the little skiff towards the beach. They stood by the side rail of the half-deck, Gretchen's hand lightly brushing his as it held the thin steel piping. Jakob looked down at her bust, neatly resting on the top rail. Gretchen stared fixedly to shore, as if studying the grains of sand on the beach.


"Would you care to go below?" he murmured, "I have some pineapple juice..." Wordless, she nodded briefly and followed after him to the companionway. She doffed her pith helmet and ducked under the low hatch.


They sat down in the spacious main cabin. Jakob squeezed beside her on one of the long sofas. Gretchen looked around her, studying every detail. 


"Through there?" she nodded.


"Cabins, rope and sail lockers, forward bunkroom..."


"I see, and back there?"


"Galley, more lockers, stores. And down to the engine room, generator, steam winch..."


"Ah," she said, "very roomy," she added, studying her pineapple juice.


"Yes, Madam, lots of room, Nearly 30 metres long, beam..."


Gretchen loudly sighed.


"I don't really wish to know the dimensions of your yacht, Count, er, Mr Herzberg."


"I didn't think so," he told her reaching across to her chest. Smoothing his hand lightly over massive bust, "perhaps you would like to get more, ah, comfortable?"


"I don't really do this sort of thing..." she told him, distractedly, "I sometimes... get lonely, you understand? I... haven't been alone with a gentleman, since... since..."


"Quite alright, Gretchen, I understand," Jakob told her, undoing the top buttons of her shirt. She took a large gulp of juice, swirled it in her mouth briefly before swallowing it. Jakob stretched an arm over her shoulders and leaned against her. He continued undoing her buttons, Gretchen studiously ignored the action.


"You're a good man, Jakob," she told him, patting him on the leg, "despite your... ah, morals." Her hand remained on his leg, slightly rubbing his right thigh. "I can see why so many young women are so taken with you," she added in a husky voice. "You have many fine... ah...qualities..."


Jakob undid the last of her buttons and parted the halves of her light brown shirt. Her massive teats were held in an equally massive bra, strengthened with whale bone, no doubt. Gretchen leaned forward so Jakob could peel her shirt from her shoulders. She shivered slightly even though the atmosphere was heavy in the confines of the cabin.


Gretchen was short, her body below her bust a wobbling mass of flesh. Her tummy flowed over the belt of her trousers, her thighs loose and in similar proportions. She wasn't, what one might call, a French postcard of a woman, but nevertheless there was something that appealed to Jakob. Her body was warm and comfortable, soft like a favourite sofa. 


The fittings at the back of her bra would make a locksmith proud. Experienced, as Jakob was, with the intricacies of ladies' lingerie Gretchen's equipment entirely defeated him. She leaned forward, waiting patiently, until Jakob finally gave up.


"A Gunner's mate," she said quietly, "does not know a muzzle-loader when he sees one?" She grinned maliciously at Jakob's discomfort. When she leaned back, Jakob could see a whalebone device between her bra cups fixed in place by a metal snap like a door latch. Gretchen looked away as Jakob flicked the 'latch' up and was rewarded when the bra fell away. Her mammaries tumbled out, sagging to either side of her navel. Jakob was astonished at their size. Perhaps, he thought, she'd a surfeit of red meat?


He ran his fingers exploratively over her chest, feeling the soft texture, the warm and sticky feel of her breasts. Everything was in proportion, her brown nipples poked out like ship's rivets, hard and responsive.


Gretchen's fingers probed higher up his thigh and came to rest over his growing bulge. For a large woman, she was surprisingly gentle, her fingers groping him softly, teasing him to hardness. She continued to look away as if in a dream. Her eyes scanned the head above them fixing on the electric light. She turned to an open porthole and stared as if searching for witnesses. Jakob took one of her nipples in his mouth and she took a large trembling breath in response. 


Jakob took a moment to shed his shirt. All the time she continued to squeeze and stroke him through his trousers. He stood, the head a mere 3 inches above his height, and turned to face her standing between her neatly folded knees. Kneeling, he placed his hands squarely on her teats, kneading and feeling their weight.


"There's talk you have mistresses?" she said in a dreamy voice.


"It's true," he replied.


"That you have, ah, a Black and a Chinawoman?"


"Tamil, actually, and Qing Li's from Shanghai."


"And they please you?" she asked, looking into his face.


"Very much so."


"And your German wife? She pleases you also?"


"Every day," he told her, his hands digging into her thighs, easing her knees apart.


"But you still want more? Uh... you are not satisfied?"


"I enjoy a challenge, adventures," he explained, reaching under her tummy, searching for her mound.


"Adventures, I see. Oh... a man of many adventures... uh. I've had few adventures," she added, her voice still dreamy.


Jakob struggled with her trousers. Gretchen sat up briefly to allow him to pull them down over her thighs. She briefly clutched at her panties, then permitted them to follow her short trousers. Instinctively a hand guarded her black hairy sex.


"Men don't have... ah... adventures with me," she continued sadly.


Jakob bent down and nibbled her thighs. He kissed the back of her hand before easing it aside. He then dipped his tongue through her forest of crinkly hair. It had a powerful aroma of woman.


"No! I don't wish..." she gasped, "this is wrong... oh. I can't..." However she ran her fingers through Jakob's hair as his tongue sought her pussy. Jakob assumed it was a token refusal, not to be taken seriously. He ignored her and continued to probe with his tongue and lips. He gently lifted her legs, spreading her knees wider. Gretchen was surprisingly flexible for a woman of her proportions, he thought. "Don't... Oh God... No," she continued to protest.


Jakob stood and slid his trousers down with one movement. Gretchen sprawled panting like one of her 'beastly' animals on heat.


"I shouldn't have encouraged you to think..." she went on. Her hand moved back to the 'guard' position. She spied briefly Jakob holding his stiff cock out in front of her face. She looked away hurriedly. Jakob noticed her 'guard' hand moving slightly, her fingers slyly busy between her legs.
Grinning, he once again ignored her protests and continued to work on her thighs and breasts.


He stood and heaved her over onto her front so she was kneeling on the floor with her big arse towards him. Gretchen's chest flowed over the sofa. Her hand pushed between her legs, cupping and concealing her pussy from his lust. He butted himself against her fingers, stroking and kneading her arse cheeks. Knocking as if on the door of some forbidden temple. Gretchen was making a hard task of it, he thought to himself.


Laughing, he stabbed his cock at her fingers, trying to out-flank them, feints, bluffs, direct assault, all the strategy of a military campaign. Eventually he slid his fingers under hers and right into the heat of her vagina. He pushed in to the second knuckle, wriggled and probed, then slid it rapidly in and out.


Her body shivered and shook, she gasped and moaned and wriggled her arse at the intrusion. Her resistance fell away, her hand dropped and Jakob quickly replaced his finger with his cock. He pushed his entire length inside with one heave, which made Gretchen gasp in surprise. She buried her face in the sofa as Jakob thrust steadly and powerfully against her. Gretchen's whole body wobbled and flowed like the tide in time to Jakob's strokes.


He gradually built up speed. She pushed back at him in rhythm, he shunted her so hard her head was being thrust into the cushion. She grunted or squealed with each pounding.


"No!... oh, please stop!" she yelled with such urgency that Jakob pulled quickly out of her. She turned over, "please, on here!" she pleaded, pointing to her chest. Jakob finally understood, birth control had never entered his head. She watched him attentatively as Jakob stroked his sperm out of his cock. Her fingers rapidly worked on herself as he splashed his juice over her big tits and tummy. Gretchen humped her fingers until she too, heaved to an orgasm.


"I'm sorry," she said afterwards, "I can't have your baby. The scandal... I"


"Quite alright," he assured her, "I didn't think."


"Men aren't expected to," she said, no hint of irony. "They say," she said coyly, "that it is very beneficial to the skin."


"Do they?" he asked.


"Yes, and very neutricious..."


"You," he said grinning broadly, "you and your bloody diets!"


She grinned along with him, then looked over towards Apia.


KATZMAREK (C)