Tales from Old Shanghai 01

His cockhead nudges my sex and I open to him. Part around his swollen head as he pushes inwards and I am watching, he's watching, his hands on my thighs and this is something I have never done before. Two me inside me at the same time, in my sex and in my ass. I have had men in my mouth and in my sex, yes, but not like this.

"Uhhhh." He eases into me, working his cock into my sex slowly and I am tight on him, tight and slippery and he is moving slowly, taking his time, his cockhead and half his cock inside me now, easing in and out.

"Ohhh... ohhhh." I shudder, I sob, I lie there, with that cock in my ass and this second cock working its way up inside me and I am impossibly stretched and even in those books Hua and I read, I am sure I have not read about something like this and I am so full inside and it is so strange. Strange and shameful and exciting and I reach down with my fingers to caress his cock where he enters me, where I am stretched pinkly around his girth and I can see my clitoris.

Swollen, protruding and I brush myself with my thumb, shivering now with the pleasure and his cock is inside me all the way. He is pressed up against me where we join and I cannot even groan. I am limp, limp and helplessly impaled on two rigid cockshafts and the one whose cock is in my sex, he smiles down at me.

"She's taking both of us at once," he says. "The little whore's taking two cocks at once." He chuckles throatily. "And she likes it, don't you, you pretty little thing?"

"Yes," I moan, my thumb brushing my clitoris and he's watching my movements. "Yes, I like it."

I do. I have never imagined something like this, two of them inside me at once and it is excitement and shame and knowing that I am a whore that lets me admit to myself that I find this exciting. I am a whore, and there is no shame now. I do what I must do and if I must, why should I not enjoy this?

The man I am seated on, whose cock impales me ass, his hands cup my breasts, he toys with my nipples and he's groaning as I tighten myself on him, clamping down on his cock inside me, squeezing him, relaxing, squeezing and this tightens me on both cocks and that sensation, both of them inside me, separated only by those thin internal membranes, that double penetration sends pleasure rippling through me.

"Ohhhhhh," I moan, resting my head against the shoulder behind me. "Ohhhhhh."

"Oh yeah, you like that don't you," his voice breathes in my ear. "Tell me you like that."

"I do," I moan. "I do."

They use me, one after the other, taking turns with me and when one is done, I wait for the next. I lie on the couch, naked, one leg hanging off the edge, my foot on the floor and I wait, staring blankly at the ceiling. There will be another soon.

"Martin," someone says. "Why don't you fuck the whore, old chap. It's your turn."

I turn my head and Martin is standing there, looking at me, his face pale, his eyes wild. But his cock is hard, just like everyone else's. He takes a step towards me and like the others, he's naked. His eyes look at my naked body and he desires me, as they all do. He is going to take me, I know. Take me as his friends have all taken me and he moves to the couch, down onto the couch and he is between my legs, over me and he lies on me as they have all lain on me.

All but Martin.

"You're a whore, Chuntao," he breathes in my ear. "A whore, and I'm going too fuck you like a whore should be fucked."

"Fuck me however you want, Martin," I whisper back, my hands clutching at his back, my body arching beneath him, desperate to have him inside me once more. "Fuck me, Martin. Fuck me like you'd fuck a whore if that's what you want."

His beautiful blue eyes look down into mine as they have looked down into mine so many times, my legs are parted for him, as I have parted them so many times for him.

"I love you, Martin," I whisper, feeling him position himself to enter me and that is easy for half a dozen cocks have been there before him this evening, I am distended, open, easy and there are tears inmy eyes as I wait for him. "I love you," my lips say, my voice a faint whisper and he smiles.

He smiles down at me. "Whore," he whispers back and he thrusts himself into me hard. Hard and fast, ramming his cock into me and my head jerks back, my back arches, my feet bounce against his hips.

"Aahhhh." I cry out at his taking, at that sudden brutal penetration and his smile grows and he doesn't stop. He fucks me hard. Hard and fast and he's using me as many men have used me, but never Martin.

"I love you... I love you," I moan as he hammers his cock into me and I welcome him because it is Martin, because I love him and he is with me and I am willing to be a whore for him if that brings him back to me, even for a fleeting moment such as this.

"Whore," he grunts. "I bet you say that to every man who has you."

I sob, clinging to him and my heart breaks all over again, the tears flood down my cheeks, my lips part and I am about to plead with him, I am about to beg when another hand grips my hair, turns my head sideways. A cock fills my mouth as Martin takes me. That cock in my mouth thrusts once, twice, a third time and then it floods my mouth with semen.

Semen that I swallow as Martin looks down at me, watching. Watching as I gulp and swallow as that cock fills my mouth, as semen trickles out to coat my lips, to run down my chin and I swallow again, my tongue licking that cock clean automatically, without thought and Martin's eyes sparkle as he continues to use me, his cock plunging deep and hard and then he lifts me to me feet, walks me half across the room and there there are five of them watching me as I am bent forwards across the polished wood of the desk.

Five of them, and Martin and it is Martin who bends me forward, his hand on the back of my neck, pushing me down onto that hard desk top. It is Martin who's hands grip my hips, positioning me, plunging his cock into me sex. It is Martin who's cock fucks me and I close my eyes, my face wet with tears, remembering the love with which he first took me like this so many month ago, bent forward over the small table in his room in the French Concession.

Almost, almost I take myself back to that time and place where we loved each other so well, where there was only he and I, where he was mine and I was his. Only his. I remember, I sob, my sex dances wetly on his cock as he thrusts himself into me, I push myself back onto him as he takes me and I am moaning now, moaning with excitement, with longing, everything else but Martin forgotten.

Martin. My Martin, he is here, his cock is inside me, he is taking me and for a brief moment in time I am his again and after he is done he watches me as I do what a whore does.

"That's how you fuck a Chinese whore, Martin," one of his friends says, blowing cigarette smoke towards the ceiling as he watches the last of them taking me over the desk and I am bruised now, bruised and sore. "You don't tell her you love her. You don't ask her to marry you. You don't fall head over heels in love with her. You bend her face down over a desk and you fuck the ever-loving bejesus out of her any way you want too."

"Uhhh... uhhh... uhhhhhh," I groan, clutching at the task as that cock uses my sex, and even taken like this, humiliated and shamed, I gaze at Martin, my face straining as this friend of his plunges his cock into me and I love Martin. I love him and I reach towards him with one hand, the tears trickling down my cheeks, my eyes pleading with him as his friend reaches his culmination within me, his cock throbs, he groans, he holds himself high inside me and his cock pumps his semen into me.

I clutch at the desk. I groan as his cock throbs and pulses and spurts inside me, I push myself back on him, my sex milks him, squeezes him and I am well-trained now. I do all of this without conscious thought and his last groan is one of pleasure as my sex draws those last drops of semen from him and then his hands release me. His cock is withdrawn from me, there is that wet sound as he eases from me, for my sex is reluctant to release him. There is that wet flood down my inner thighs and I close my eyes, limp across that desk, willing them to leave. Just leave, and a sob escapes me.

A single sob.

"Chuntao?" Martin's voice whispers to me, he breathes my name and I hear his desolation and his pain. My eyes open and he's beside me, looking down at me. He's beside the desk on which I lie, naked and used. Naked and abused. His hand brushes my hair from my face as he used to do when we were together, a gentle caress. My heart breaks all over again at his touch, a sob escapes me, my eyes sparkle with tears and I had thought I was beyond this, but I am not.

"Martin," I whisper, and I look up, our eyes meet and if I had the strength I would stand. I would fall into his arms and cling to him but I have not that strength, not after this long evening.

"I love you," I breathe, and my lips move, I whisper those words again. "I love you, Martin."

"Chuntao," his lips say, and the pain and hurt on his face break my heart anew.

"Chuntao," he says again and his whisper is one long whisper of agony and I would rather die than hear that pain, that agony; that despair in his voice.

"I should have died," I whisper. "I should have died," but my words are whispered to Martin's back, he has turned away from me and I hear a single sob.

"Leave the little whore there and come along, Martin," one of his friends says. "Let's go the Jockey Club and have a few drinks." He chuckles. "Ridden our little filly for the evening, gentlemen. Not a bad little filly either."

His hand slaps my butt, squeezes. "Until next time, Chuntao," he says. And then, leaning over me, his lips brush my ear. "And stay away from Martin, you little whore, or I'll make sure you're sold to the cheapest whorehouse in Hongkew where you'll be fucked to death by syphilitic coolies for ten cents a time."

"She is pretty," one of them grunts, adjusting his clothes and they're all looking at me. All except Martin who has his back to me now. "I think I'll talk to Mrs. Innes about fucking this one again."

"Might come with you, old chap," another says. "Little whore seems to like taking two cocks at once. Maybe we could try for three."

They laugh, and there laughter fills my ears as they leave the room. Martin leaves with them. He doesn't look back. My tears flow silently, the door closes behind them and all I can see is the vase on the window sill. The vase that holds that single branch cut from a peach tree. A branch cut from its tree as I have been cut from my family, as I have been cut from Martin. The peach blossoms are so beautiful but left alone they will wither and die and be discarded after their beauty has wilted.

Chuntao. Spring Peach.

The spring peach, the peach blossom in spring, it is a beautiful flower, to be desired for its perfect beauty, as men have desired me. A beautiful flower to be bought, as men have bought me. A beautiful flower to be enjoyed, as men have enjoyed me. As Martin has enjoyed me. As Martin's father has enjoyed me and as he and his friends will enjoy me again. As Martin's friends have now enjoyed me.

Again and again.

As I know I will be enjoyed by other men now, for I saw Martin's face and there is no hope of succour for me there, not now, not after this. None, and lying face down over that desk, I know now he will never return for me, he will never take me away from here and there is no safety for me anywhere. There is no escape. Nowhere to flee. No choice.

No hope.

Martin was my only hope and that hope has been destroyed.

After my bloom has faded, after I cease to desired, after my usefulness is at an end, I know that I too will be cast aside, as one casts aside a delicate peach blossom that has wilted and faded. I will be replaced, forgotten, a new flower will bloom and take my place and I will no longer be of any value or use.

Of what value or use to anyone is a fallen leaf?

Of what use to anyone is a wilting flower?

Such is the fate of a Spring Peach

Consumed and discarded.

Such is my fate now.

I lie over that desk and I weep bitter tears until Mrs. Innes comes for me, leading me to my room and her face is anguished. She shares my pain, thinking that my tears are cause by the men's use of my body but it is not that. It is not how they used me. It is that rape of my soul. That attack on my love for Martin and his love for me. They have done their best to kill that love. That look on Martin's face, the agony there, I know that they have not killed that love for me. Instead they have inflicted pain and anguish beyond words on him and I weep for the agony I have caused him.

Mrs Innes does her best to comfort me and I know that while she does her best to protect us, to look after us, she is, after all, a servant of the rich and powerful and she too must do as she is bid. I know that some of Martin's friends, they will come back to use me again and Mrs Innes will take their money, for their fathers have influence and power and they cannot be gainsaid. Should I protest, should I refuse, my days here would be numbered and I would out on the Shanghai streets, easy prey for the Triads, the pimps, for anyone who wanted me. We both know that.

I am a commodity, a beautiful girl in a city where beautiful girls with no protector, no guardian, those girls are there for the taking and there is nothing to do but acquiesce to my life here, for while what has just happened to me is bad, what would happen to me if I was cast out from under Mrs. Innes' protection would be far far worse. Here at least, there is a chance of escape. Out there on the streets of Shanghai, there would be no escape for me. None whatsoever. My fate would be sealed.

Perhaps I could survive as a taxi dancer but without a protector, that would be unlikely. I am not a girl from the farms or from a peasant family. I would not survive a day against those girls from that background, I would be forced into a life of prostitution harsher by far than I have experienced here with Mrs. Innes. Martin's friend's threat to have me sent to a Hongkew whorehouse is one he would have no trouble implementing, I know.

We girls, we know of those places, we whisper fearfully of them, for left to survive on our own as we have been, it would be all too easy to end up there. That is truly a fate worse than death, a girl whom coolies pay ten cents to use, taken endlessly and there is no respite for one condemned to such a life. The only end to such a life is death.

Weeping on my bed in my room as Mrs Innes runs my bath, I know that Martin's friends must have planned this. They planned to do this to me before his eyes, they knew he loved me and perhaps they knew that I loved him. Perhaps they feared that our love was strong enough to survive what had happened. They feared our love enough to plan this, to do this to me and to Martin and my heart is shattered, broken, hammered into splinters and what hurts most is not that they used me.

What hurts most is that look on Martin's face; that look of pain and betrayal for he knows I am a whore. He knows I take any man who pays my price, his own eyes have witnessed this now. He has seen me taken by others before his eyes, he has seen me as the whore than I now am and he has abandoned me to my fate.

This is what his friends intended and I know, I know they have achieved their goal. Never again will Martin come for me, not even as a whore to be used in her room. They have won, I have lost, and in losing, I have inflicted such pain on Martin that I want to die and I know he can never forgive me.

I cannot forgive myself.

Better if I had died. Better by far, for then at least our love would have remained pure and unsullied, a many-splendored thing; tragic, yet beautiful and cherished to the end and when he remembered me, it would as his beautiful lost love, not as a whore taken by man after man and my tears are bitter, for it is my own actions that have condemned me to this sad fate.

"How could they all be such assholes," Tien-Chien hisses, drawing me away from the past, into the present. "That's.... that's just horrible. So horrible." Her hand clutches at mine and she weeps for me as I once wept for myself. "How could they do that to you? How could they?"

I shrug, feeling that loss of my beloved one as if it was yesterday, seeing his face in that painting, Martin's face, my Martin, smiling, his face filled with love and with joy.

"It was a different time, Tien-Chien," I say. "His parents, they were actually remarkably tolerant allowing him to bring me to their house to start with. They weren't happy about it, they didn't support him but they were open to meeting me and considering it. They might even have accepted me as a daughter-in-law. Such things were unusual, but they did happen now and then and that they permitted him to invite me to their house to meet than at all, they were prepared to consider me."

I think back. "Yes, there was one Chinese girl I knew, she did marry an Englishman. His family accepted her. He was ostracized by most of their friends, but they were happy."

Tien-Chien weeps for me. I place my arm around her shoulder, hug her gently.

"They didn't reject me out of hand because I was Chinese, they rejected me because I was a whore, Tien-Chien. It was one thing for their son to marry a Chinese girl from the same school that their daughter attended. A Chinese girl from a good family. They didn't like that, but they didn't put their feet down and say no immediately, not like most did. They were prepared to consider it and that was more than most would do."

"It was another thing completely for their son to marry a Chinese whore, Tien-Chien, and that was what I was by then. There was no denying that. It wasn't as if it was a rumour. His father and half a dozen of his father's friends, they'd been with me, they knew what I was. I knew what I was. His friends knew as well, they wanted to make that obvious to him. They wanted to save him from me. They wanted to save him from the clutches of a Chinese whore."

I pause, wipe my own cheeks dry, sip at my jasmine tea, regaining my composure. "Let me continue now, Tien-Chien, because if I stop, I don't know if I will have the courage to resume this tale."

"Yes, Grandmother," she says, and now her hand clutches at mine as mine once clutched Hua's.

My good friend, Hua. My friend though thick and thin in those long ago days and I wish I knew what had happened to her, but she too is lost now, forever vanished in the mists of the past. Her too, I mourn and how I hope she found the happiness and peace we both yearned for in those last months of our friendship. In those last months as we suffered together, side by side, always friends.

She was there for me, always, as I was there for her. It was Hua's strength that kept me going in those first weeks and months after I lost Martin. Without Hua, without my friend, I would have been one more body on the Shanghai streets. One more body thrown in the death carts and tipped into an unmarked grave.

She left with her Englishman, she saw her chance and I was strong enough to encourage her to take it, for such chances came rarely to girls like us in those long-ago days. How I hope the dice rolled her way, but I do not think that it did, for she would have written to me after the war if she had survived those years. She would have tried to find me, as I tried to find her, but neither of us ever did.

I can hope the dice rolled her way, but I will never know.

"There's a new gentleman for you, Chuntao," Mrs. Innes says, tapping on my door. There's always a new gentleman. I am known now. I am popular, in demand. I command a high price and foreign men will pay for me. They pay well, but no money can replace my lost love. No money can fill the bottomless hole in my heart.