Not a Prayer
Jasmine Hadad’s dad was a snack. A big, burly, handsome, snack that I wanted to sink my teeth into. I caught him looking at my cleavage as he let me into the house to wait for his daughter. Mr. Hadad didn’t know it yet, but I was officially a whore.
Well, okay, there’s no official seal you receive. It’s not like I was mailed my whore ID card. And it was a recent development in my life. But over the past several days I had banged my mother’s boyfriend, Christian Steel, multiple times for money. I had also given it up to Mr. Crenshaw, a lonely old teacher, at my school. Also for money. Two older guys had paid me for sex. That qualified me as a whore.
I understood the financial benefits of being a whore and so far I had enjoyed a secretive and fun stint as Peach Valley High School’s number one teenage prostitute. Maybe it was my mischievous smile, my sandy blonde hair or my killer body, but I commanded a high price. I also enjoyed earning all that money. I needed it for college.
My only problem was I only had two customers, which severely limited my ability to generate an income. Which brought me back to Mr. Hadad and his wandering eyes. He was technically happily married to Jasmine’s mom, a nice but homely woman who seemed like she was mismatched with Jasmine’s hunky Egyptian father.
“What can I do for you, Payton?” Mr. Hadad asked in his familiar accent as he stepped back from the door. “Would you like a drink or something?”
I knew he was looking at my round ass in my tight shorts as I brushed past him. The sound of the door shutting behind me was like a starting pistol at a track meet. I was off and I had to seduce Jasmine’s dad before she showed up and ruined everything.
“Sure,” I said. “How about a glass of milk?”
“You got it,” he said. I followed him into the kitchen and to the refrigerator as he took out the milk and poured two generous glasses of milk. I took mine from him, clinked glasses with him, and chugged it like I was really thirsty.
I’m not a big milk drinker, but I knew how to use it to my advantage. I let a little trickle of milk spill past my lips and down my chip. Cold drops of milk splashed against the tops of my breasts and rolled slowly down into my cleavage. I could feel him staring at me, no doubt picturing milk dripping from my bare breasts.
“You, ah, said you wanted to talk about something, Payton,” said Mr. Hadad, barely even sipping his milk as I continued to chug mine. I let the last of it trickle down my chin and drip against my tits as I finally lowered the glass from my lips.
“Mmm? Oh, yeah, right,” I said and set the glass back on the kitchen counter. “I, um, I was curious about your religion. I know you take it seriously, but I don’t really know much about it.”
He shifted uncomfortably and held out a paper napkin. I took it from him and dabbed at my cleavage as he tried his best not to stare.
“Are you certain your father is alright with you asking about this?” He asked, raising a heavy eyebrow as he looked at me uncertainly.
“He doesn’t mind if I find out about Islam from my best friend’s father,” I said. “Better from you than from some creeps on the Internet, right?”
“Yes, you are right,” he chuckled. “Well, Payton, I was just finishing my prayers when you arrived upon my doorstep. I pray five times a day, on my knees, and I must face the Holy Mosque in Mecca. Would you like to see where I pray?”
“Yeah, that would be awesome,” I said.
I followed him from the kitchen, back through the living room, and to the other side of the ground floor of his house. He brought me into a small office with an antique desk and a window overlooking
the orange trees in their backyard. The office was stuffed with bookshelves and artifacts that immediately made me think of Mr. Hadad. There was a signed baseball from the Giants in a glass box, a carved wooden mask that resembled a tiger’s face, a poster-sized framed photograph of the Nile River winding through Egypt, and several bullets that ranged in size from as small as a pencil eraser to as big as a vibrator.
Just inside the room there was a brightly colored rectangular rug woven with Arabic letters and an image of the crescent moon. Mr. Hadad folded at the knees and knelt on the rug without hesitation.
“When I pray, I prostrate myself before Allah,” said Mr. Hadad, looking at me with those serious eyes. “I go all the way down and make my prayer. Each of the five prayers is different throughout the day. The prayer I just made was Maghrib, my afternoon prayer, and…”
He was watching me as I knelt down beside him on the floor of his office. I leaned forward, my breasts straining my blouse as I bent at the waist in the same way I had seen Mr. Hadad do before.
“Like this?” I asked, bending all the way forward, my arms outstretched.
“Ah, yes, but men and women are not permitted to pray in the same area,” said Mr. Hadad.
“Never? Like what if you were in an escape room together with Jasmine and you couldn’t figure it out in time for prayer?”
“This is hypothetical. I do not like it. But I will answer. If trapped in escape room during prayer, even with my daughter, we would both make our prayers. This is better than not making prayers at all. But,” he held up a finger that seemed to scold, “I would never go into such a situation. I am also very good at clues. I would solve the room and escape in time.”
I noticed after he made his joke that his gaze returned to my creamy tits barely contained by my blouse. He stared for a beat too long and
our eyes met.
“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I do not let my daughter wear such clothing.”
“This?” I looked down at my low-cut top and my tight shorts. “Oh, this is nothing. It’s hot outside, you know?”
“I should not look, but my eyes are drawn in this direction,” he says. “I think your breasts might emerge from your shirt.”
“Oh, haha.” I knelt upright and played with the neck of my blouse. I stretched it open a little more to tease the edges of my areolas. I leaned towards Mr. Hadad and said, “I don’t mind if you look at them. Go ahead.”
“Payton,” he said, his tone wary. “This is very dangerous. You should not tease me like this.”
I turned around to face away from him, but looked back over the shoulder as I bent at my waist, pushing my round ass back in his direction. I felt my shorts ride up the backs of my thighs and snuggled tight against my mound.
“Is this how I pray?” I giggled as I asked Mr. Hadad.
He muttered a curse in Arabic and held his face in his hands. I rolled my hips from side to side, teasing him with the motion of my ass.
“What is this? What are you doing, Payton?” He muttered.
“Is this the right position?” I asked again and arched my back hard and pushing my ass towards him. My shorts were so snug against my pussy that I bet he could see the seam of my cunt lips. It was exciting to play so dangerously with my best friend’s hunky dad. He was a conservative Muslim man. He might have thrown me out of his house or banned me from ever visiting Jasmine.
Instead, Mr. Hadad let out a soft groan and looked away.
“Payton, your father would definitely not approve,” he murmured. “I take the Koran very seriously. Jasmine does not. She is a western
girl and you western girls are very, ah, silly. You tease the men, oh, Allah. You test them.”
“I’m not teasing,” I said in a pouty tone. “I’m being real, Mr. Hadad. I think you’re hot.”
He said something in Arabic and rolled his eyes towards the heavens. I was still not deterred. I pushed my ass towards him again, so close it was practically bumping against him.
“Go on, touch me,” I said. “Feel my ass.”
He let his gaze return to the roundness of my rear and watched, mesmerized, as I rocked my hips from side to side and arched my back with each full roll. I thought about pulling my shorts down a little and showing him my thong, but what he was seeing seemed to be enough. He reached a big hand towards my ass.
“Yesss,” I hissed. “Feel my ass. It’s alright.”
His hand moved slowly, as if he was fighting his urge to touch me the whole way. I almost felt bad for what I was doing to Mr. Hadad. Then I remembered the way he had flirted with me before. The way he had smiled, winked, and even bumped against me when I was over at the house. He wanted to touch me and he was finally going to get his wish. Once he took the bait, I could reel him in and set my price.
I tensed, watching his hand move so close it was almost touching me. I smiled and anticipated the moment he would become my new customer. I was so close to him that I wondered if he could smell the sex on me from my session with Mr. Crenshaw. Would he know he was getting sloppy seconds when he slid his cock into me? His fingertips brushed against the shapely mounds of my buttocks.
“Daaaaaaaddy? Are you home?” Jasmine shouted from across the house. Mr. Hadad’s hand flew away from my ass and he was standing up in an instant. I groaned with disappointment and climbed to my feet just as Jasmine walked into the office. “Daddy,
were you going to… oh! Payton, what are you doing in here with my dad?”
“I asked him about praying,” I said. I wondered if she saw the flush in my cheeks or the way my stiff nipples poked at my top. I felt ashamed for a second.
“Oh,” said Jasmine and she looked down at the prayer rug. “You’re such a weirdo, Payton. Hey, you want to sleep over Friday?”
“Ah, maybe this is not a good idea,” said Mr. Hadad and I glanced down and noticed his erection straining at his trousers. Looked pretty impressive. Despite all the embarrassment of my best friend nearly walking in on her dad feeling me up, I resolved to find out how big her dad’s cock was. I’d measure it with my pussy if I had to. Mmmmm. Or my throat.
“Yeah, a sleepover sounds great,” I said, winking at Mr. Hadad.
He groaned and walked out of the room, muttering something about his wife as he shuffled down the hall. Whatever he was saying, I knew he was thinking about me and my thick thighs and juicy ass.
“Oh, mom is at Auntie Adja’s,” said Jasmine. “She’ll be back on Saturday.”
He said something that sounded like “bad timing” and how I needed to go home before dinner and disappeared upstairs.
We went up to Jasmine’s bedroom. I could hear the shower running in the master bedroom next door and I wondered if Mr. Hadad was jerking off or just cleaning up because he felt dirty. It was funny to me. I knew he wanted to fuck me, he knew he wanted to fuck me, but he had that whole married dad thing holding him back. It was kind of cute, but it would fail as surely as my mom gave in when she met Christian Steel. Walking in on her cheating on my dad was what kicked off this whole thing. Well, that and Christian propositioning me the first time at the gym.
“So what are you doing here?” Jasmine asking, sitting down crosslegged on her bed. “I know you didn’t come to ask my dad about
prayers.”
She was the perfect cross between her father and her mother, with her mom’s rounded, heart-shaped face, big boobs and almondshaped green eyes. She had her father’s smaller nose and his heavy eyebrows. She kept her brows neatly sculpted and she was a master of makeup. Most of the time she wore a colorful hijab. She was home so she wasn’t wearing it at the moment and her silky dark hair flowed loosely around her shoulders. She tended to wear full length skirts for modesty, but she had been out with her mother and was wearing fairly tight jeans. I’m sure her father disapproved.
“Actually,” I said, sitting down on her bed, “remember what I told you about that guy from the gym?”
“Your mom’s secret boyfriend?” She asked. “Yeah, the one paying me for sex,” I said. “Well, I added another customer. A couple hours ago.”
“Oh my god,” she whispered and leaned closer. “Who was it?”
“Mr. Crenshaw,” I said. “The history teacher from our freshman year.”
“The guy whose wife died from cancer?” She stared at me with wide eyes glittering with excitement. “Isn’t he like, uh, a million years old?”
“He’s old, yeah,” I said. “And that was hot.”
“Like a grandpa,” she said, shaking her head with disbelief. “Where did you do it? What did you do? Tell me everything!”
She hugged a pillow against her chest and listened to all the details as I described how I had seduced him by asking for a ride, sucked his cock, and then let him fuck me wearing a condom. I even told her how he had pulled it off and cum all over my ass.
“And then I came straight here,” I said. “Because I was in the neighborhood.”
“Holy crap,” murmured Jasmine. “So you’re totally a hooker now.”
“I believe the term is sex worker,” I said and we both burst into giggles.
“I still can’t believe you banged Mr. Crenshaw,” she said, once she had recovered from laughing. “He’s so old. But I guess he’s sort of hot in that old military guy sort of way with the buzz cut. Did he make you, uh, you know?”
“Cum? Yeah, he did. A couple times.” I leaned past her and slid her laptop off the desk beside her bed. I opened up the web browser and typed in the address for my favorite porn site. It autocompleted in the browser. Clearly it was also one of Jasmine’s favorite sites.
“Uh, what are you doing?” She demanded.
I searched up “old man and teen” and picked one of the videos I had watched before. It wasn’t my favorite subject to get off to, but I had watched a few videos and I knew which ones were the best. The particular video I chose was a skinny blonde with a guy even older than Mr. Crenshaw. He had a huge dick and as I turned the laptop to Jasmine the teen was bobbing on it just like I had slurped on Mr. Crenshaw.
“It was like this,” I said.
“Oh god,” she muttered, watching the blonde sucking the old man’s hairy balls. “It’s so dirty.”
“Yeah, and that’s kind of hot,” I said. “Plus he paid me.”
“Is there any guy you wouldn’t fuck for money?” She asked.
I had to think about it, but I found one after a moment of consideration.
“Mr. Becker,” I said.
“Oh fuck, he is disgusting,” agreed Jasmine. “You had better not fuck him.”
Burt Becker was our mutual boss at the Chesapeake Hotel downtown. He was fat, slovenly, ate like a pig, and liked to make disgusting comments or even touch us inappropriately. He had this
ridiculous fake blond toupee that didn’t match up with the hair on the sides of his head and a gut like a beached whale. The thought of having sex with him, well, was revolting.
“I would never have sex with him,” I said.
“So no fat guys,” said Jasmine.
“No, if they’re cute and clean, I would do it,” I said. She widened her eyes in surprise and I shrugged my shoulders. “What? Fat guys need love too. Just not Burt Becker. He can go to hell for the time he tried to make me sit on his lap.”
“Alright, I’m getting my yearbook,” said Jasmine. “We are going to go through every teacher and faculty member at Peach Valley High and you are going to tell me if you’d fuck them.”
“Maybe save it for the sleepover,” I suggested. “That sounds like it might take all night.”
“Oh, no,” she said, already pulling the yearbook down from her shelf. “We’re doing this now. We’ll do all the seniors when you sleepover.”
Working Out the Kinks
“You’re late,” I said to Christian Steel as he sauntered into gym. He hadn’t even changed into his workout clothes. I was wearing my compression top and a tiny pair of running shorts and he was in a rumpled suit and tie. His sunglasses were up on his forehead and he had a stupid, perfect grin on his handsome face.
“You know what I love about you, Payton?” He said and pulled me into his arms.
“We’re not using the L-word, Christian,” I warned him.
“Okay, you know what I like about you? How much you look like your mother.” He leaned down and kissed me, earning a glance from a couple of the guys at workout machines. The kiss lingered, though
it didn’t go much past a lip lock. He lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “It’s especially hot to come to the gym to meet you after I just got done pounding your mom’s brains out.”
“I really don’t need to hear about it,” I said as Christian held me tight enough that I could feel his chiseled body under his rumpled suit.
“Maybe I like sharing,” he said and kissed me again, his tongue thrusting into my mouth this time. I let him have his overbearing kiss, his tongue faintly sweet in a way that made me wonder if I had tasted my mother on his lips. I shuddered in his embrace and he took my discomfort to be arousal. “I want you to clean my cock today.”
“In the shower?” I whispered. “We can go there,” he said. “But I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours.”
He slid his right hand up my body to my face and pushed two thick fingers into my mouth. I looked at him, my eyes watering a bit as he pushed his fingers to the back of my throat. People were staring all over the gym.
“You’re going to suck my cock clean,” he murmured. “Right after I fucked your mom’s tight pussy. You’re going to suck me until I shoot right in that pretty mouth.”
He fucked his fingers in and out of my mouth a few times before drawing them out completely. Saliva trailed from his glistening fingers to my lips.
“Double,” I said. He had paid me 600 dollars the first time I sucked his cock. I knew it was a lot of money, even for a high-end escort, but Christian was loaded.
“A thousand,” he growled. “And you suck my balls too.”
The idea of giving Christian a blowjob right after he fucked my mom wasn’t exactly appealing to me, but the money was a powerful incentive. A thousand dollars for one dirty blowjob? I could get
through it. Besides, everyone in the gym was staring right at us after Christian put his fingers in my mouth. My face was burning hot with embarrassment.
“Alright, fine,” I whispered. “But I’m not going behind the gym to suck your cock.”
“They have private showers for VIP members,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I didn’t even know about the VIP showers on the second floor. Christian took my hand and led me upstairs, along the balcony overlooking the gym, and to a small, cozy lounge with the vibe of an old world social club. There was wood paneling, book shelves, and even a grandfather clock. The chairs were real leather instead of the metal and cheap vinyl downstairs.
“I knew there was a running track up here but this is wild,” I said, looking at the furniture.
“The showers are through here,” he said, and led me through the lounge to a frosted door with “SPA” emblazoned on it in art deco lettering. Christian had to dig his gym card out of his wallet and press it to the scanner beside the door. It clicked open and we stepped into a white-tiled paradise. “VIP sauna is through there, but it’s all old fogeys who want to talk about their stock portfolios. Like they know anything. Come on, showers are through here.”
Christian selected one of a half-dozen frosted glass doors and opened it. Inside was a shower about the size of a handicapped restroom stall and elegantly finished in brass fixtures with white tiles. There was a small tiled bench on one side.
“Shouldn’t we take our clothes off first?” I asked.
“You can,” he said and dropped a towel onto the bench and sat down. “I’ve got a meeting in an hour, so I’m not getting wet. I just want to be clean.”
He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. I froze up, a hand touching my face almost in shock as Christian parted the flap of his
plaid boxers and pulled out the thick hose of his pink cock. It looked greasy and had smears of white on his shaft and gathered around his base. Even though there was a faint perfumed mustiness in the air from the shower, I could smell a deep undercurrent of sex clinging to his manhood.
“Well, come on you little slut,” he growled. “If you want the money, get those tits out. Let me see you, baby.”
I didn’t like the tone he was taking with me, but he’d paid me the thousand and I would rather swallow my irritation than give him back his money. I looked away from him as I gripped the underside of my compression top and peeled it up and over my soft teenage tits. My breasts flopped free, plump and yet perky, with my nipples still slightly puffy rather than fully erect. I tossed the top aside and stepped between Christian’s parted legs. He reached up with both hands, fondling my tits like they belonged to him. He squeezed and shaped my soft flesh and pinched my nipples hard enough that I had to suppress a hiss of discomfort.
“Oh, look at those fucking titties,” he murmured. “So much better than mommy’s. Yeah, bring them here. Put those in my face.
Mmmmmmm!”
He smothered himself in my breasts, kissing them and running his wet tongue over my nipples. He sucked one nipple and then the other, drawing almost my entire areola into his mouth and slurping loudly on them. Pain pulsed from my roughly-sucked buds down to my clit. His fingers tormented my spit-wet nipples.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” he laughed, admiring them as he leaned back.
“Alright, baby, get down there and clean up. Mommy made a mess on my dick. She let me bust in that tight pussy. You gonna do that some day?”
“I’m not on the pill,” I said.
“Heh, I’d take my chances,” he chuckled, but rested his arms and head on the back of the bench.
I slid down Christian’s washboard abs, my nipples rubbing against him and my soft breasts colliding with the stuff spear of his cock. I dragged my tits over his cock and he groaned. The smell of sex with thick on his cock. I could smell cum and pussy and sweat. It was a smell I didn’t mind after sex, but before sex? I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
“Yeah, that’s right,” laughed Christian, resting a hand on my head. “Get in there and have a good sniff, baby. That’s your mom’s pussy all over that dick. Imagine if she found out her sweet little girl was getting paid to give it a tongue bath.”
“She would probably kill you,” I said.
“Hmmm,” he grunted, pushing down on my head. “Shut up and get to work.”
I could have been reluctant about it. I could have given him tentative licks or tried to keep my tongue out of the slime clinging to his cock. I knew he would demand more eventually. I decided it was better to just go for it and get it over with.
Fighting back my disgust, I ran my tongue from his sweaty, salty balls all the way up the underside of his cum-smeared cock to his tip. I tasted everything and it made me want to spit. I used that, letting my mouth fill with saliva before engulfing the head of his cock in my mouth.
“Yeaaahh,” he groaned, pulling me down onto his hardness and forcing it to the back of my throat. “You love that sweet taste.”
“Mmmmmm,” I replied as I began to suck his cock. My spit washed the flavor of sex from his cock. I still tasted a hint of it in my mouth, I even swallowed some of it, but with each bob of my lips on his straining cock it grew easier. I sucked harder on his tip, my hand around the base of his cock and my fingers increasingly wet with spit.
The tiled shower room filled with the sound of my sucking and Christian’s deep, rumbling pleasure. He kept his hand on my head,
his breathing growing heavier and heavier as I work him with my mouth and my hand. His fingers tightened in my hair. His balls tightened under my fingertips.
“Ohhhh fuck yeah,” moaned Christian. “You want that cum, don’t you?”
“Mmmhmmmm,” I moaned around his cock, looking up at him as I continued to suck. My blowjob was unusually wet and sloppy to clean his cock and it had worked. I was to the point where I was enjoying sucking him. I even wanted to thrust a hand down my shorts to respond to the hot ache in my pussy.
“Tell daddy how bad you want that cum,” he commanded.
I popped my mouth from the head of his cock, stroking him against my lower lip as I looked up at him and pleaded, “Oh, daddy, you know I need that cum so bad. I want to taste it.”
“Yeah?” He held my hair in his fingers and kept me from lowering my mouth onto his cock. He grabbed it from me, his free hand around his root as he teased it against my lips. “If you really want that cum, you little slut, you’re going to deep throat that cock. Are you a big girl? You going to deepthroat that dick for daddy?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “Oh, yes, daddy! I’ll put your whole big dick down my throat how daddy likes.”
It wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed, even in the heat of the moment, but I was willing to do it for Christian because he always had cash for me, and I was hungry for his cock. He was nothing like my schlubby father, so I didn’t even mind calling him daddy.
“Yes you will, you little cumslut,” laughed Christian and he pushed down on the back of my head, pushing his cock into my mouth, over my tongue, and straight down my throat.
“GGGgrrrrgggklllkkk!” I gurgled as his cock invaded my throat and he pushed my head down more until my nose was pressed against his muscular abdomen. My throat muscles worked around his cock, massaging his shaft and squeezed against his cockhead wedged
deep in my throat like I’d swallowed a plum whole. I fought to keep from gagging, tears of discomfort welling in my eyes.
“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” groaned Christian, thrusting his hips and fucking even deeper into my throat. His balls mashed against my chin and I felt his cock twitch. His muscular chest heaved as he gasped, “That’s it! Oh, you good little slut, take it! Take my fucking cum!”
“GGNNGGGGKK!” I replied, my tongue working under his shaft. My throat spasmed around him and I very nearly gagged. Tears poured down my face as he bucked, sliding almost out and back in again. His cock twitched and throbbed and I felt thick liquid suddenly chocking my throat. Warmth slid down into my chest and my belly. I swallowed around Christian’s cock again and again as he spurted, filling my tummy with his cum. I almost gagged again when he pulled his cock out. I managed to just resist it and gave him another suck, my lips tightening around him and eliciting a groan and a few salty drops of his spunk.
Other than that little taste at the end, I never tasted his cum, which I guess was nice. He pulled his cock from my mouth trailing spit that hung from my lips in glistening strands. I looked up at him all bleary eyed and out of breath and he gave me this domineering smile that made me want to slap him in the face.
“Worth every penny,” he said and rubbed his filthy cock over my lips and chin. He stroked his slimy prick back and forth until it was mostly clean and then tucked it back into his boxers. He rested a hand on my cheek. “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t always be so rough.”
“You’re paying for it,” I rasped.
“Yeah, good point,” he chuckled. “I guess I can do whatever I want. Maybe someday I’ll put a blindfold on you and get you to eat your mom’s big juicy ass while I’m fucking you.”
“Not into it,” I said, my mind reeling in disgust.
“That’s what the fucking money is for,” he laughed.
He buckled his belt, stood up, and stepped past me without even saying goodbye. I got up from my knees and walked out to the sink to wash my face. A fat guy in a towel was standing by the sinks shaving. He looked over at me and said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I was just leaving,” I said, splashing water in my face and stumbling out of the VIP showers.
It only occurred to me after I left that I probably should have propositioned the guy in the towel. Some stranger that probably had oodles of money would have made for a good john.
I had to work harder at thinking like a prostitute.
Unexpected Profit
The weird part was, even after getting throat-fucked by Christian, all I could think about for the next few days was my best friend Jasmine’s hunky dad. I sat in the library at Peach Valley High School, daydreaming about Ayman Hadad. He was hunky in his own way and I knew he wanted me. I mean, I’d sort of known it for a couple years, but I was of legal age now and exploring my new career. He had touched me like he had never touched me before and I’d known how bad he wanted it.
I had seen Mr. Hadad in the backyard before doing yard work without his shirt. He wasn’t all chiseled like Christian, but he was big and strong, with a hunky dad bod. I wondered what his cock looked like. Almost definitely uncut and probably hair since his chest was so hairy. It would be different, for sure. Like no man I’d ever been with.
If I propositioned him, would he do it? Was it worth risking my friendship with Jasmine? Once I crossed that line with her dad there was no going back.
“Hey, space cadet, what’s up?” A very chubby redheaded girl wearing too much makeup plopped down at the study carol next to
mine.
“Oh, um, business opportunities,” I said, snapping out of my daydreaming. “What’s up, Becky?”
She held up her English Literature textbook for me and rolled her eyes. Mr. O’Toole’s English Lit class was a beast. Mr. O’Toole was extremely into English Literature to the point that he affected an English accent when teaching the class. He also assigned grueling homework. I’d had him second semester last year. Becky had put him off until this year.
“Good luck,” I said. “Which Shakespeare is he doing this time?”
“Julius Caesar,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “Did he wear the leaves on his head?”
“Yes,” laughed Becky. “He put on the laurel and read one of the monologues.”
I liked Mr. O’Toole’s dorky drama. He would never be a customer of mine, judging by his mannerisms and his interest in Broadway, but there was nothing wrong with that. He was funny and I learned quite a bit in his class.
“Oh, by the way,” said Becky, leaning closer, “I saw Vince and Audrey totally making out in the hallway today.”
I winced and said, “I don’t need an update every time my exboyfriend is making out with the hottest girl in school. They’re probably buttfucking every day after school. It’s none of my business.”
Becky stared at me with wide eyes and I realized I had been too loud and pretty much everyone in the library had heard me say something about buttfucking. I slid down in my chair and hid my face behind a folder.
So, I still wasn’t quite over Vince. He was a hunk and the fact that he was dating Audrey Griswold, the slut who had managed to get a
coach fired by fooling around with him, only made matters worse. He was dating a legendary slut.
“Sorry,” whispered Becky. “I know it’s a touchy subject.”
I heard footsteps approaching me from behind and I tensed up, ready to be chewed out by Mrs. Doris, the oldest of the school’s librarian ladies. Instead, I heard a stammering man’s voice.
“Um, Payton, are you, um, free this period?”
I looked up and was surprised to see it was Mr. Crenshaw standing behind me. He was a history teacher and a nice guy. He was graying and yet still handsome in that late-fifties skinny guy sort of way. Mr. Crenshaw was also my second customer. I had felt so sorry for him being lonely after his wife died that I had decided to offer my skills to him.
After being initially reluctant, he had accepted. That was a few days ago. Judging by his fidgety demeanor and the fact the couldn’t make eye contact, he was either wracked with guilt or interested in hiring me again.
I smiled sweetly as I gazed up at him.
“It’s just a study period for me, Mr. Crenshaw,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“Um, do you think we could have a talk in my classroom?” He asked. It took me a second to hop up from my chair and sling my book bag over my shoulder. I looked over at Becky and said, “See you in sixth period.”
“Yeah, see you then,” she said, nosing down into her history book.
Becky did a good job of pretending to be disinterested in me leaving with Mr. Crenshaw, but I knew Becky better than that. She was an incurable gossip and it would be only a matter of hours until Jasmine knew about this. Jasmine, unlike Becky, knew about my secret life. I hoped my trust in her wasn’t misplaced, because if she breathed
word of it to Becky, well, my life would be over. And not just the secret one.
I tried not to think about it too much as I followed Mr. Crenshaw out of the library and into the hall. It was between classes, so the halls were empty and echoed with our footsteps. I heard faint conversations and occasional bursts of muffled laughter from the classrooms we passed.
“So what did you need to talk about, Mr. Crenshaw?” I asked, my tone so dripping with sweetness that I would have been licking a lollipop if I’d had one to pop in my mouth.
“Oh, um, well,” he fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt. “It’s, um, it’s better if we discuss this in private.”
“Oh, is it?” I teased, biting my lower lip and causing him to go a darker shade of crimson.
We reached his room and he cast a wary glance down the hall in both directions before opening the door and ushering me inside. He made certain the door was closed and locked behind us before turning to face me.
“I need more sex,” he said and then immediately went red in the face. “I, um, I mean. After you came to my house, I, um, I realized that something was missing from my life and then, I couldn’t stop thinking about…”
His words trailed off as I walked over to him, pressed my hands to his skinny chest, leaned up on my toes, and planted a soft kiss to his lips.
“It’s alright, Mr. Crenshaw,” I said. I took his hands and pulled them to my hips. He seemed reluctant to touch me or even meet my gaze.
“It’s just… it’s wrong,” he whispered. “You’re a student here. You’re a teenager.”
“I’m a legal adult,” I said. “And you’re not my teacher right now. So you’re not even abusing your authority. Besides, I offered it to you, not the other way around.”
“R-right,” he said. “Well, I have some money.”
He pulled away from me and walked over to his desk. He reached inside and brought out a few folded bills. He pressed them into my hands.
“Sixty-three dollars,” he said. “It’s all the cash I have. I can bring you more if that would be needed. Oh, and I bought some condoms.”
“This is enough,” I decided and folded the money into the pocket of my jeans. “Did you want to do this here, right now or somewhere—“
“Here,” he said quickly. “Now. I need it now.”
“And what did you need me to do right now, Mr. Crenshaw?” I asked with a chuckle as I sauntered towards him.
“Oh, um, well, I’ve written it down on a piece of paper,” he said.
He slid the folded paper towards me across the surface of his desk. I picked it up, opened it, and read his neat block writing.
I WANT TO LICK YOUR PUSSY AND
I WANT TO HAVE SEX DOGGYSTYLE WITH YOU
I was sure glad he added “with you” so I knew he didn’t mean that latter part as a general statement. I had to pinch my lips together tightly to keep from laughing at Mr. Crenshaw’s dorky, earnest note. I nodded as I folded the note and slid it back to him.
“Alright,” I said, once I felt sure that I wouldn’t start cracking up.
“We can do that. It sounds nice.”
“What do I do?” He asked.
“Why don’t you have a seat,” I suggested. “I’ll take off my clothes and sit on your desk and you can do, well, what you wanted to do.”
He swallowed hard and nodded. He stared at me as I began to unbutton my top. He seemed to remember I had given him some
instructions and plopped down in the rolling chair behind desk. I worked my fingers down the buttons, revealing the fringed cups of my bra and my flat tummy. Mr. Crenshaw adjusted his glasses and stared at me with red-faced wonder. I unbuttoned my tight jeans and worked them down from my hips. I was wearing a pair of lavender ruched panties that did not really match my bra. Then again, I didn’t come to school thinking I would be taking off my clothes for my old history teacher.
“God, you are beautiful,” whispered Mr. Crenshaw.
“Awww, thank you,” I said, crossing my arms and squeezing my breasts between my biceps. “Did you want to take off the rest?”
“Y-yes,” said Mr. Crenshaw. “I think I’d like that very much.”
He pushed back from his desk far enough to give me room to stand in front of him. I turned my back to him and felt his big hands sliding from my hips up my back. I giggled as he stroked me. It almost felt like he was tickling me and reminded me of being a little girl and my father doing “X marks the spot” on my back. His fingers reached the back strap of my bra and he struggled with the clasp.
“Sorry, Payton,” he murmured.
“Take your time, Mr. Crenshaw,” I purred and looked at him over my shoulder. “You don’t have to dismiss me until the bell for the next period.”
He grunted in reply and finally managed to pinch the clasp properly. The tension eased on my breasts a moment later. I shifted my shoulders and let the cups slip free as I turned to face him. My bra practically fell into his hands as he reached up for my breasts. I gasped as his fingers stroked over the soft flesh of my creamy mounds and teased the sensitive buds of my nipples. He wet his lips and I leaned my tits lower, dangling them in his face. He gently molded my breasts in his hands and leaned up to breathe in my perfumed warmth.
“Oh, Payton,” he moaned against my cleavage. “You’re so beautiful. How did you pick me?”
“Sweetie, you’re paying for it,” I laughed and mussed his hair with my fingers. I was giving him a deep discount, but I didn’t want him to get a big head and think I was falling for him. “As long as you have money, I’m game to play with you.”
“Ohhhhhh,” he moaned, squeezing my tits against his face. He mashed his glasses askew against me as he planted moaning kisses all over my breasts. I cradled his head against my breasts, savoring his eagerness and gasping when his mouth latched to my left nipple.
“That’s right,” I whispered. “Suck my tits, Mr. Crenshaw. I know you love to look at them. You can suck them all you want.”
“Mmmmmmm,” he moaned around my nipple, his mouth warm and wet and sucking pretty hard. It felt nice and I stroked his head and watched him sucking. He popped his mouth free of my shuddering breast and moved to the other, tonguing my nipple before slurping it into his mouth.
As he sucked, I took his left hand and I pulled it to the front of my panties. He got the message and massaged my hot groove through the soft fabric. I moaned as he stroked my clit, drawing my nectar through my panties until his finger was sliding on my silky groove. He kept his other hand on my breasts, toying with one glistening nipple as he sucked the other. I rolled my hips and rubbed my pantycovered pussy against his fingers.
“Oh, Mr. Crenshaw, you’re getting me all worked up,” I moaned. “You feel how hot and wet I am? You want to taste me, don’t you?”
“More than anything,” he moaned against my reddened nipple.
I stepped back from him and turned around, pushing my peachy rear towards him. I had to guide his hands to my hips to persuade him to peel my panties off my round ass. It felt so strange looking out at that empty classroom as Mr. Crenshaw slid my damp panties down my thighs. Cool air licked at my steamy cunt and tickled the
clench of my asshole. This man I had smiled at in the hall for years was point-blank staring at my teenage ass and pussy.
I looked back at him over my shoulder and almost burst out laughing. Mr. Crenshaw was mesmerized by my ass. I wiggled my hips a little and watched his head tilt back and forth, staring at my pink holes and creamy cheeks. It was adorable.
“Go ahead, Mr. Crenshaw,” I giggled. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Oh, em, yes,” he said.
I reached a hand under my body, between my shapely thighs, running my fingers over the warm folds of my pussy. I spread them for Mr. Crenshaw. I parted my delicate cuntlips and revealed my glistening pink to him. My clit was throbbing and my pussy was soaking went.
“I’m ready for you, Mr. Crenshaw,” I moaned and arched my back to aim my hot cunt right at him. “Eat my teenage pussy.”
“Oh, Payton,” he moaned as he fell face-first on my pussy. He buried his nose in my crack and started licking me like he was trying to get to burrow to the center of my clit. He kept moaning and making loud kissing sounds back there, which actually felt nice, but his tongue was doing most of the work. When it wasn’t sliding all over my throbbing clit, it was driving into my slick pussy.
He knew how to slide his tongue deep and then pull it back, dragging it against my clit on the way and the way out. It was sort of like when I was with a guy and we tried a bunch of different positions until we found just the spot where his cock would press all my buttons with every stroke. Mr. Crenshaw was doing that with his tongue and my pussy was getting juicy as hell. Not that I had to worry about dripping all over the place. He kept slurp and sucking at my cuntlips and licking up my nectar. The guy really was starved for it. His wife must have been one hell of a lucky lady.
“That’s right,” I moaned, reaching back to cradle his head with one hand. “You like that teenage pussy. Nice and fresh, isn’t it?”
“Mmmmhnnnhnnnn!” He moaned, tongue beating my clit until I could feel that tightness building in my core. The old man was going to do it. He was definitely going to make me cum.
“Yessss, right there,” I hissed. “Oh, Mr. Crenshaw! Ohhhh fuck!”
Yeah, I admit it, old Mr. Crenshaw was probably the best guy I’d ever had go down on me. He had me cumming in all of about five minutes. And one of the hottest things he did is he kept teasing me like he was going to slide his tongue out of my pussy and lick my ass. That’s not really my thing, but he made me cum so hard and so quick, and he seemed afraid to ask, so I decided to invite him.
I let him finish making me cum first, grinding my pussy all over his lips and tongue as hot shudders of pleasure rolled through my core. My tits were all over his desk and my juicy ass was in his face. He was groaning and panting, licking up all of my cum. I finally released my hold on his head and he lifted his face. He started to say something to me, but I interrupted.
“Do you want to lick my ass?” I asked, reaching back to spread my cheeks wider. “Do you want to put your tongue on that little pink asshole?”
“Oh, god, yes,” he moaned.
“Stroke it, Mr. Crenshaw,” I moaned as he rimmed my clenched hole. “Jerk that cock while you eat my ass. Ohhhhh, yes, your tongue feels so good on my asshole. Ohhhhh, you’re such a good ass eater, aren’t you?”
“Nnnnnhhhhnnhnn,” he moaned, brow furrowed as his tongue licked insistently at my tender clench. I could tell he was getting close by how his chair was shaking and how red his face was getting. I widened my stance to hopefully keep him from squirting his cum all over my shoes and the backs of my legs. I would have been happy
letting him lick my tender hole until he jizzed all over the floor, but Mr. Crenshaw had made another request.
“You’re such a good ass eater, Mr. Crenshaw,” I moaned, reaching back and stroking his head as he tongued my tight rim. He was good. So good I wondered if he could make me cum just by licking me there. “But you want to fuck me, don’t you? Come on. You can do it. Fuck my little pussy.”
Okay, so, at that point I made a little mistake. Because we were both so into it that I didn’t even slow things down and put a condom on him. If rule number one of being a sex worker is get paid upfront then rule number two is always make the guy wear a condom. But the thought never even entered my mind as Mr. Crenshaw stood up and slid that hard cock bareback into my tight, slippery pussy.
“Ohhhh god,” he moaned. “You are exceptionally warm.”
That should have been a tipoff that he wasn’t wearing a condom, but I just went with it, moaning something like, “Oh, Mr. Crenshaw, fuck me with that hard cock.”
The classroom echoed with the sound his bony hips made slapping against my plush rear. Pat-pat-pat! A good steady spanking from the old man as his long, twitching cock glided easily in and out of my soaking cunt. He grabbed hold of my hips and pounded me into his desk. My tits were all mashed onto the cold desktop and I grabbed the far side, holding on tightly as he plundered my pussy with that cock.
Seeing all the school stuff in the classroom really weirded me out and turned me on at the same time. It was like I was being banged by Mr. Crenshaw as part of some demonstration for the class. If I squinted my eyes I could almost pretend all the empty desks were filled with people I knew at Peach Valley High. The curtains were pulled, but just outside I could hear cars and voices, so I knew there were people out there. And the clock: it was only a few minutes until the next period.
That thought was enough to send me suddenly over the edge. The thought of being caught in the middle of getting pounded from behind by Mr. Crenshaw. The thought of my entire world being upended when I was revealed to be a high school whore. Oh, god, it was so hot.
“Fuck mmeeeeeeee!” I whined, my face screwed up with pleasure and my pussy squeezing tight around Mr. Crenshaw’s throbbing cock.
“Ohhhhhh, Payton, I’m going to…”
“Ahhhhhh!” It was the only noise I could think to make.
Mr. Crenshaw, bless his heart, pulled out of me. His cock suddenly slid out of my pussy in the middle of my orgasm. I looked at him over my shoulder, about to cuss him out, when he thrust forward, his face all red as he slid his cock over my ass. I was looking right at it when it exploded and missed my eye by all of an inch, splashing a huge squirt of his cum right against my cheek and all in my hair. The rest of his load went all over my back.
“Oh, gosh,” he moaned, sagging back into his chair as the last of his energy left him.
I could feel his cum all over me. I flicked my gaze back to the clock.
“Mr. Crewnshaw, thank you for pulling out, but you have about sixty seconds to clean me up before people start walking into your classroom.”
“The door is locked,” he said, but his rush to stand and retrieve some moistened wipes from his desk betrayed his actual fear. Even if nobody could walk in, having a class waiting to get in and then the door opening to reveal me and a classroom that smelled like sex probably wasn’t a great outcome. His hands shook as he wiped me clean. I took one of the wipes to get his cum off my face and out of my hair. I did the best I could given the circumstances. He opened some windows and buried the cum-smeared wipes at the bottom of his trashcan.
“Thank you, Payton,” he said as I straightened my clothes.
Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
The wooden slipway and the cradle supports had caught fire and had been destroyed, and this I was told had caused the keel to break, so that the hull was now but a derelict mass of steelwork which could never be floated.
To advance through this jungle called for all the cool, disciplined courage of the Italian soldier (see page 293)
To face page 298
Had it not been for the satisfaction one felt in gazing on the ruins of a prospective addition to the Mercantile Navy of the enemy, this leviathan of wasted industry and material would have appeared quite tragic.
The companion-way used by the workmen was still in position, so we clambered up into the gloomy interior and had a walk round, our footsteps echoing mournfully along the cavernous emptiness of the decks.
Through a port-hole we got a very fine view of the Carso and the Italian and Austrian positions in between Monfalcone and Duino; whilst in the distance, some fifteen miles away, one could distinctly
see with the glasses the white buildings of Trieste, so near and yet so far!
There was evidently a big fight going on at that moment in the direction of a hill not far away from Monfalcone, known as No. 144, which had been frequently referred to in the communiqués, and you could see the bursting shells and hear the booming of the guns.
It was a panorama of soul-stirring interest, and one could have spent hours gazing on it; but time was flying and we had to be thinking of returning.
I had not attached much credence to the statement that the Austrians had established a sort of precedent as to time with regard to opening fire every day, but out of curiosity I glanced at my watch as we started back.
It may have been a mere coincidence, but it was just on eleven o’clock. Beyond, however, the dull booming of the guns in the direction of Hill No. 144, there was no sign yet of artillery activity anywhere near Monfalcone.
We had crossed the pontoon bridge and were making our way along the canal bank when there was the report of a gun not very far away in the enemy’s lines, and the screech of a shell passing over our heads proved beyond a doubt that the “Daily Strafe” was about to commence.
The shell burst on the outskirts of the town and in the direction in which we were going. My companion, who was walking on ahead, called out jocularly that we should be “just in time.”
From now the firing increased every minute, and it seemed to me that the sole objective of the Austrian gunners was the place where we had left our car.
We met several groups of soldiers as we went along, and I noticed that if a shell happened to be coming over just then, the majority of the men always stopped and crouched down against the protecting wall of the trench.
This prompted my asking my companion what he considered to be the best thing to do when under fire. “Take no notice of it,” was his laconic reply.
In Monfalcone the streets were nearly deserted, though whether in consequence of the shelling commencing or some other cause, I could not tell; anyhow, as there was nothing further to see that day we returned to Udine “in time for lunch.”
A couple of days later I was back again on the Carso. A big attack on the Austrian positions at Veliki Hribach, near Doberdo, having suddenly developed.
Difficulties had to be surmounted here which were totally different to any previously encountered, as the offensive was made through close-growing woodland.
An important sector of the Carso district to the north of Trieste consists of wooded country, and directly bars the Italian advance in that region. The ground in question was artificially planted by the Austrian Government some years ago under a scheme to reclaim the Carso and convert it into forest tracts.
Plantations of fir trees were laid out over a large area, and these are now grown into the woods, which present a very serious obstacle to the Italians.
Sheltered by the almost impenetrable cover which the dense growth of immature trees offers, the Austrians had constructed Torres-Vedras-like series of fortified positions among the trees along the ridges that intersect the district. In the Veliki Hribach stretch of woods alone no fewer than eleven formidable lines of trenches have been captured.
The trees are of too young growth to stop bullets; and hidden in their trenches the Austrians could sweep the approaches at ground level, lying low behind abattis and a mass of wire entanglements.
The whole aspect of the country here reminded me strangely of parts of the West Australian “bush,” with, of course, the exception that these are fir trees.
Still, there was so much resemblance that it would have been as easy to lose oneself here in the dense growth as it is in the “bush.”
To advance through this jungle called for all the cool disciplined courage of the Italian soldier. There was no opportunity for a wild headlong assault on the Austrian trenches; they had to be virtually “stalked,” as the cover afforded by the saplings was so illusory as to give practically no protection at all.
The wood in which I made my sketch had been “blazed” beforehand by a handful of the most daring spirits among the men; not by “barking” the trees, which would have taken too long, but by means of whitened stones dropped on the ground at intervals to indicate the direction the troops were to follow.
The capture of the Veliki Hribach position proved that the Italian soldier can be relied on under any circumstances, however trying.
The day following the offensive developed in the direction of Nova Vas, about a mile and a half east of Doberdo, on the heights of San Grado di Merna, and near Lokvica, with continued success for the Italians.
The fighting for the position at Nova Vas on September 15th in particular ended in so dramatic a fashion that it will long be remembered by all who witnessed it.
After a furious preparatory bombardment for hours by the Italian heavy guns, to which the Austrians replied vigorously, there was a sudden cessation of the Italian fire.
The crisis had come: the infantry were to attack. But while waiting word from elsewhere, there was a brief pause.
Next, suddenly, to the general amazement, within six minutes of the guns ceasing, one saw hundreds of men abandoning the Austrian front trenches. They held up their hands and waved handkerchiefs wildly in token of surrender.
Out they poured, like driven rats stampeded by terriers from a barn. They came racing across the stretch of “No man’s land”
between the opposing trenches, straight for the Italians, taking their chance amidst the Austrian shells, still falling briskly.
The spectacular effect of the grey-coated figures, without arms or accoutrements, running towards them, hands up, and frantically shouting “Kamerad! Kamerad!” was startlingly dramatic.
The Italian soldiers were so amazed at the sight that, regardless of the risk of exposing themselves, they showed themselves over their own parapets and stood gazing at what was taking place.
In all, 2,117 Austrian prisoners mere made that day, including 71 officers.
Torrential rain set in during the night, and the captured trenches were found to be in so complete a state of ruin and afforded so little shelter that the troops were brought back to their original positions.
After this offensive the weather showed unmistakable signs of breaking up; bitterly cold winds with heavy rains every day put a stop to all military movements of any importance. Although it is certain that no weather, however bad, will entirely arrest the activity of General Cadorna for even 24 hours, it was apparent, however, that the resumption of operations on anything like a big scale would have to be suspended bon gré mal gré till the early spring.
To spend the winter in Udine, therefore, presented no particular attraction for me, so I decided to return to London and there await events, in readiness to go back if necessary at a moment’s notice.
It was certainly with regret that I was leaving the Italian Front, for I had spent many glorious days with King Victor Emmanuel’s heroic soldiers, but my regret was softened by the thought that I should soon be returning to assist at the final victory.
INDEX
ADIGE, RIVER, 99, 100, 151
Ala, 100
Allessi, Rino, 200
Alpini, the, 41, 42, 43, 45, 49, 75, 85, 86, 105, 121-126, 138, 140, 184, 185
Altopiano, Tableland of, 157, 165
Aosta, Duke of, 238
Aquileia, 144, 145
Arci, Signor, 196
Arsiero, 152, 156, 157, 159, 163, 184
Asiago, 152, 168, 169, 178
Astico, valley of, 157
Austrians, the; withdraw across the Indrio, 37, 38; defence at Monte Nero, 40-43; advance in the Trentino, 151-156; advance in the Asiago region, 163; retire from Gorizia, 209-234; characteristics of, 262, 263, 269
Avostaunis, 121
BACCI, BACCIO, 64, 240, 246, 249
Baldassarre, Signor, 63
Barbarich, Colonel, 153, 276-283
Barzilai, Signor, 63
Barzini, Luigi, 27, 29, 64, 210, 217, 223, 232
Basset, Serge, 65
Bauderesque, M., 65
Beak, Vice-Consul, 20
Beaumont, M., 145
Bedolo, Gino Calza, 65, 66, 104, 119
Belcredi, M., 68
Belluno, 15, 103, 115, 117
Belvedere, 145
Benedetti, M., 163
Berchtold, Count, 3
Bersaglieri, the, 75, 231-238
Berthod, Dr., 33, 132
Bissolati, Leonida, 196, 203-222
Bitetti, M., 240-246
Bologna, 15
Bormio, 79, 80, 82, 92
Boulogne, 46
Brazzano, 133, 134
Brenta, River, 151
Brescia, 15, 64, 67, 68, 71, 72, 78, 97
Brioni, Monte, 78
CADORNA, GENERAL, 15, 37, 44, 97, 98, 135, 137, 149, 150, 152, 158, 163, 179, 183, 189, 237, 238, 255, 256, 281, 282,
283, 285, 295
Cadorre, 135
Cafarelli, General, 58, 132
Cantalupo Roberto, 189
Capello, General, 190, 196, 203-205
Caporetto, 37, 133, 136, 139
Caprili, 109
Carabinieri, the, 166, 175, 230, 231
Carnia, 135
Carniola, 140
Carrère, Jean, 64, 68
Carso, Operations on the, 134, 141, 143, 196, 196, 223, 239, 240, 255-266, 270, 271, 273, 275, 285, 291, 292
Castalleto, the, 184
Censorship, the Italian, 15, 66, 67, 71, 72, 126, 153, 154, 155, 185, 209, 276, 282
Cenzio, M., 157
Cervignano, 37, 133, 144, 286
Chamonix, 81
Chizzola, 101
Cimone, Mont., 157, 184, 185
Croda, Rosso, 116
Civiedale, 133, 143
Clericetti, Colonel, 156, 199, 209
Col dei Bos, 184
Col di Lana, 105, 106, 107, 108, 117
Colfreddo, 116
Cortina d’Ampezzo, 105, 115, 116, 117
Cormons, 37, 38, 39, 133, 134, 135, 136, 191, 200
Corrada, Monte, 44
Cosich, Monte, 259, 261
Cox, Harold 239
Cristallo, Monte, 103, 116, 197
Cure, Capel, 63
DAILY CHRONICLE, THE, 65
Daily Mail, The, 65
Daily News, The, 65
Daily Telegraph, The, 65
Desenzano, 78
Doberdo, 258, 260, 262, 263, 264, 266, 292, 293
Dolomites, The, 104, 115
Donohoe, Martin, 65
Duino, 291
ELIA, GENERAL, 16
FALZAREGO PASS, 105
Fiera di Primero, 103
Florence, 59, 60, 63
Fogazzaro, Antonio, 159
Fogliano, 258, 259
Folkestone, 4
Forcola, The, 81, 85, 86, 88, 89, 90, 92
Fraccaroli, Arnaldo, 64, 243, 246
Freikoffel, The, 118, 121
Friuli, Plain of, 20, 38, 132, 134
GALLIO, FOREST OF, 165, 166
Garda, Lake of, 73, 76, 77, 78, 151
Garibaldi, Peppino, 22
Gemona, 118, 126, 127, 131
Germany, Italy declares war on, 281
Gobi Desert, The, 270
Gorizia, Italian attack on, 44, 134, 150, 154, 190, 200, 203; capture of bridgehead, 199, 200; capture of city, 209-234, 237-240; the city after capture, 242-250, 255, 256, 270, 281, 284, 285
Gradisca, 44, 142, 144, 240, 256
Grado, 144, 145, 276
Grafenberg, 215, 216, 241, 242, 249
Giudicaria, Valley of, 73
IDRO, LAKE, 79
Illustrated London News, The, 1, 65
Indrio, River, 37
Ingram, Charles, 3, 4, 152
Interrotto, Monte, 167, 171
Isonzo, River, Operations on the, 42, 72, 74, 131-146, 186, 210215, 250, 251, 257, 270, 282
I A , T , impressions of, 38, 39, 50, 51, 76, 122, 123, 124, 258, 259, 269; crosses the Indrio, 37;
attacks Monte Nero, 40-43; storms Monte Cristallo, 116; counter-offensive in the Trentino, 183; begins attack on Gorizia, 189-192, 195; captures bridge-head, 199-205; captures city, 209-234
Italy, War Fever in, 3, 4; declares war on Austria, 9; declares war on Germany, 281, 284
JEFFRIES, J. M. N., 65, 119
KUK, MONTE, 134
LAMB, COLONEL, 54
Livinallongo Pass, 105
Lokvica, 293
London, Jack, 270
Lucinico, 210, 211
MACCHIO, BARON VON, 9
McClure, W. K., 65, 68
Marazzi, General, 200, 201, 214, 233
Marmolada, Monte, 104
Massey, W. T., 63
Medea, 37
Miceli, Giovanni, 64, 201
Milan, 79, 153
Molinari, Aldo, 64, 67, 119
Monfalcone, 44, 133, 189, 286-292
Montecroce, 118
Morning Post, The, 65
Mossa, 200, 201
NATHAN, LIEUTENANT, 136
Nero, Monte, 40, 41, 42, 43, 137, 138
Northcliffe, Lord, 239
Novara, 57
Nova Vas, 260, 293, 294
OPPACHIASELLA, 261, 271
Oyetti, Ugo, 216
PADUA, 15
Pal Grande, 118-125
Palmanova, 141, 142, 271, 286
Pal Piccolo, 118, 119
Paluzza, 118
Paris, 4, 6
Pavia, Mayor of, 237
Pilcante, 101
Piva, Gino, 64, 189
Plava, 44, 137
Podgora, 134, 197, 212, 216, 217, 241
Porro, General, 66
Pozzachio, Fort, 99
Prade, Georges, 65
QUARIN, MONT, 134
Quirino, Mont, 37
RANCIO, 123
Rateau, Jules, 65, 79, 86, 88, 92
Redipuglia, 259
Rheims, 288
Riva, 76, 77
Romans, 271
Rome, 9, 10, 11
Rombon, Monte, 140, 141
Ronchi, 286
Roveretto, 99, 101, 151
SABOTTINA, MONTE, 134, 190, 191, 192, 196, 197
Sagrado, 44, 240, 249, 256, 257, 258, 265, 271
San Daniele, Monte, 219
San Floriano, 204
San Gabriele, Mont, 44, 197, 211, 215, 219
San Grado di Merna, 293
San Michele, Mont, 143, 190, 197, 239, 240, 249, 250, 256, 273
San Pietro, 44
Santa Luccia, 44
San Marco, 44
Santa Maria, 44
Santo, Monte, 134, 211, 215, 219
Sdraussina, 249, 250
Savogna, 141, 249
Schluderbach, Valley of, 116, 117
Smith, Ernest, 65
Stelvio Pass, The, 73, 79, 81
Stivo, Hills, The, 101
Subida, 135
Svinjak, 140
TERNOVA, 133, 134
Terzo, 37, 133
Timau, Monte, 118, 121
Times, The, 65
Tofana, 116
Tolmezzo, 118
Tolmino, 38, 40, 136, 137, 141
Trent, 98
Trentino, the Operations in, 97, 114, 135, 151, 155, 183, 184, 189
Trieste, 255, 269, 290, 292
Turin, 7
Tyrol, Austrian, The, 89
UDINE, 15, 20, 21-33, 37, 39, 42, 43, 49, 50-59, 131, 133, 141, 146, 153, 154, 156, 186, 186, 187, 188, 190, 199, 205, 238, 242, 251, 266, 276, 277, 281, 282, 282, 286, 292
VAL SUGANA, 151
Valtellino, Valley of, 79
Vaucher, Robert, 65, 271, 276
Veliki, Hribach, 292, 293
Venadoro, 115, 117
Venetia, 114
Venice, 15, 16, 17, 23
Venzone, 118
Verona, 15, 72, 97, 98
Vicenza, 15, 103, 155, 156
Victor Emmanuel, King, 49, 50, 295
Vipulzano, 190, 197, 202
Vitry-le-Francois, 142
WARREN, WHITNEY, 239
Wells, H. G., 239
Weillschott, Captain, 153
Women carrying barbed wire, 118
ZEBIO, MONTE, 167
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.
Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added, when a predominant preference was found in the original book. Some missing (mdash) separators have been inserted in the Table of Contents.
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained
Table of Contents:
Pg xii: ‘Descenzano’ replaced by ‘Desenzano’.
Pg xiii: ‘305mn. guns’ replaced by ‘305mm. guns’.
Pg xvi: ‘The battlefiield’ replaced by ‘The battlefield’.
Pg xviii: ‘Francesco Guiseppi’ replaced by ‘Francesco Guiseppe’.
Pg xxiv: ‘298’ replaced by ‘270’.
Main text:
Pg 17: ‘of Venetain life’ replaced by ‘of Venetian life’
Pg 74: ‘unbelieveable that’ replaced by ‘unbelievable that’
Pg 80: ‘the aclivity was’ replaced by the ‘acclivity was’
Pg 89: ‘Brobdignagian cliff’ replaced by ‘Brobdingnagian cliff’
Pg 93: ‘Asti Spamanti’ replaced by ‘Asti Spumante’
Pg 116: ‘Falzarrego Pass’ replaced by ‘Falzarego Pass’.
Pg 120: ‘incessant fusilade’ replaced by ‘incessant fusillade’.
Pg 125: ‘constant fusilade’ replaced by ‘constant fusillade’.
Pg 126: ‘military tattoo’ replaced by ‘military tatoo’.
Pg 138: ‘retrogade direction’ replaced by ‘retrograde direction’.
Pg 139: ‘a spec of grit’ replaced by ‘a speck of grit’.
Pg 140: ‘Rombon and Svenjak’ replaced by ‘Rombon and Svinjak’.
Pg 149: ‘to develope it’ replaced by ‘to develop it’.
Pg 155: ‘the newpsaper line’ replaced by ‘the newspaper line’.
Pg 157: ‘of the Altepiano’ replaced by ‘of the Altopiano’.
Pg 157: ‘about if from’ replaced by ‘about it from’
Pg 165: ‘the Altepiano beyond’ replaced by ‘the Altopiano beyond’
Pg 207: ‘Francesco Guiseppi’ replaced by ‘Francesco Guiseppe’
Pg 222: ‘Signor Bisolati’ replaced by ‘Signor Bissolati’
Pg 233: ‘advisd use not’ replaced by ‘advised us not’
Pg 261: ‘Monte Cossich’ replaced by ‘Monte Cosich’.
Index:
Pg 297: ‘Altepiano, Tableland’ replaced by ‘Altopiano, Tableland’
Pg 297: ‘Bersagheri, the’ replaced by ‘Bersaglieri, the’
Pg 298: ‘Descenzano’ replaced by ‘Desenzano’
Pg 299: ‘Monte Cristello’ replaced by ‘Monte Cristallo’
Pg 300: ‘Svenjak’ replaced by ‘Svinjak’
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIX MONTHS ON THE ITALIAN FRONT ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
