I’ve been reading a lot of Charles Bukowski lately, and his novels are filled to the brim with crude prose and detailed debauchery. He does not shy away from graphic language in his writing, which, in a way, has inspired me to post the first sexual affair I’ve written for Aristeia: A Dance with Fate.

The language is graphic and there is no romance, but I had to tell it like it is. I present to you, Hauptmann Wadel and the Whore:



It was round two for Hauptmann Wadel, and his piggish grunts were growing more animalistic upon each thrust. Sweat poured from his head down to his body, greasing his stomach and his erection. He slid back and forth on the whore’s hind side and the belt that was fastened around his neck and tied to the bed post rubbed loosely against his skin. It gradually tightened around his neck as he neared climax. His face was piebald with patchy redness, which heated his forehead with ecstasy. The whore could feel Hauptmann Wadel’s heartbeat through his erection. She thought his heart might burst upon orgasm. He dug his sausage fingers into her ass then plopped his heavy belly on the dip in her back, burying her face in the sheets. The belt cut off Hauptmann Wadel’s air, but he could not come. He wanted to hear the whore scream, that would do it, so he snatched her face out of the sheets and her moans filled the room. He grunted louder and his vision blurred. He let out a choked growl then finally breathed an asphyxiated howl and came inside her. He paused for a minute, his body twitching and his erection going limp inside her as he arched his head back and closed his eyes. He shoved the whore’s face back into the sheets then fell back towards the bed post and unfastened the belt from his neck. The whore’s ass was bruised from the consecutive sessions with Hauptmann Wadel and her hair was knotted into a tangled nest. Her back ached and her cunt burned, but she pretended to have enjoyed it. “That was amazing, daddy,” she said in her usual seductive French. Hauptmann Wadel coughed and spat on the hard wood floor. “I’m only paying for one session today,” he said as he scooped up his white underwear, “as your performance the first time was lacking passion. I didn’t even cum” – he did – “No need to worry, though, that’s something we can work on tomorrow.” The whore peered over her shoulder trying to hide her disappointment, but her frustration showed in the way she picked herself off the pillows. “Do cheer up – that face is dreadful,” said Hauptmann Wadel in French, before tossing five Reichsmarks on the bed and running his fat tongue over his front teeth.

A knock at the door ended their session prematurely, but Hauptmann Wadel savored the moment without immediately answering. He narrowed his eyes and blew the whore a kiss. “You won’t take any more men the rest of the night. Not until I return tomorrow.”

About Connor Wilkins

Quickly, quickly... take your seat. Our storyteller is about to begin. Shhhh. Listen... His pipes are fluting emotions of myth and fable, but don't be fooled by fantasia for there are truths hidden within his unworldly tellings. We're drifting now... back in time to a world only he remembers.
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