Chapter 8: Miscelleny

Welcome to the Hotel Kaliphornika

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh yes, keep doing that. Harder, harder. Oh my God, oh my God that’s wonderful. Slower, slower. Yeaahhh, that’s it! I’m nearly there, I’m on the edge of cumming, keep me there, keep me there.”

Rosa panted with lust and I did as ordered. She was even more vocal than usual, having already experienced two screaming orgasms and was well on her way to a third. Fortunately the room was soundproofed else we would have kept our neighbours awake with her shrill cries, my bellowing, and the head board rhythmically banging against the wall, four beats to the bar...

Rosa started her signature guttural moaning as her next climax advertised its impending arrival, and I quickened the headboard banging rhythm to sixteen quarter beats to the bar.

“Yes yes yes, fucking yes! That’s it, that’s it. Now! Now! I’m cumming, I’m – AARRRRGGH!”

She shrieked as if in torment; fortunately I knew the signs and had moved my ear, even though blocked with a cotton wool bud, away from her mouth. Her body writhed, shuddered and shook; her back arched as the orgasm scythed through her. My own climax had been triggered by her internal and external gyrations and I flooded into her, catching the ebb of her orgasm in a shared seismic-sex-shock.

For several minutes we lay, arms, legs, and genitals intertwined, stunned by the simultaneous climax. Gradually our heart rate and breathing steadied to near normal and I reluctantly disengaged from her quim, ungluing myself from her sweat and love juice drenched body to lie alongside her.

Rosa leaned over me and reached for the drawer in the bedside cabinet. Usually I would be on the other side of the bed from the bedside cabinet and would not see Rosa rummaging in the drawer looking, I supposed, for whatever girly type things females require after being well and truly shagged. I was still in that post-coital stage where one’s surroundings have a golden hue and are slightly fuzzy, when I saw her withdrew a remote controller from the drawer and aim it at the light fitting above the bed.

“I’ll turn the recoding off now,” she said.

For a few heartbeats I didn’t fully take in what she had said. When I did I went apeshit. “Recording! You’ve been recording us having sex! What the...?”

“Not in vision, just the sound.” In no way did her reply mollify me.

“You’ve been recording the sound of us having...?”

“Not you, Philippe, I’ve been recording the sound of me having sex. All you hear on this tape is my voice; there will be some background grunts and bellows from my sex partner but no one will know it is you.”

“Why on earth do you want sounds of you having sex; have you got some sort of kink?”

“I have several sorts of kinks, Philippe, as you well know and fully enjoy going by the way you react, but no it is not any kinky behaviour but to get my husband back in the...”

“You’re married?”

“Of course I’m married. What do you think this is?” She waggled her left hand with a gold band on the third finger.

“I thought you were divorced or a widow.”

“I’ve been happily married for nearly ten years. I love my husband and he loves me.”

“You’ve got a bloody strange way of showing it, screwing the brains out of hotel guests.”

Rosa sighed. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. I must appear to be a complete slut to let men shag me and then record my enjoyment, but it’s the only way my husband can get hard enough to penetrate me. He’s impotent and has been since -- “ She paused “I’d best start at the beginning.” She got from the bed, put on a fluffy white bathrobe and then sat in a chair facing me. I sat up in bed and listened to something that could have come from the pen of a writer of sex stories.

Rosa had been married for nearly ten years. She and her husband, Raoul, loved each other like crazy. Raoul is a fireman and at least twice nightly Rosa enjoyed sliding up and down his fireman’s pole while Raoul’s hose pipe flooded into her burning-with-passion love hole. They had their first child, Emile, two years after their marriage and three years later they had Diane. It was a difficult birth. Diane was delivered by Caesarean section and Rosa nearly died during the operation. Doctors said it was a miracle she survived although she now can’t have any more children due to the amount of surgery she endured.

Raoul was traumatized by what happened and believed it was due to him impregnating her, and thus his fault, that Rosa nearly died in childbirth. He couldn’t get an erection from then on. Rosa told him she couldn’t have any more children so would never have to go through the trauma of childbirth again but it was so burned into Raoul’s mind that he was to blame for her near death it stopped any hope of penetrative sexual intercourse with Rosa dead in its tracks. They tried everything to arouse Raoul’s libido; psychiatrists, hypnotism, feeding him buckets of oysters, watching porn films, and Rosa dressing up as a tart/schoolgirl/nurse, Raoul even sent away for Spanish Fly but all to no avail, the one eyed, purple headed, bedroom snake remained dormant. Rosa would give Raoul blow jobs and hand jobs but his cock just wouldn’t stiffen sufficient enough to penetrate her.

Rosa was/is a woman who likes/needs plenty of physical loving and going without was doing her no good at all. She started drinking to ease the pain of not having a throbbing penis in her vagina and become a sodden slattern who couldn’t look after her husband, her kids or her house. It got so bad her mother-in-law had to come and take over the running of the household and childcare while Rosa moped around in a dressing gown all day long feeling sorry for herself. It was a bad time for her, Raoul, Emile, Diane, and Marianne, her long suffering mother-in–law.

Strange as it may seem it was Marianne who came up with the suggestion that Rosa should take a lover. Rosa wasn’t able to have children and as long as she didn’t fall in love with her lover or catch a sexual disease it would be alright. Raoul knew how much Rosa enjoyed sex and agreed it was the best solution for her mental health. Rosa did suggest he watch her having sex, it might arouse him enough to get it up, but Raoul didn’t like the idea. He had tried to satisfy Rosa by use of his fingers, tongue, and a John Holmes’ dildo but that means of stimulus only partially, eased her cravings. Rosa said it was like scratching an itch; when you stopped scratching, the itch returned twice as annoying as before. To get her juices flowing Rosa needed a rock hard cock throbbing in her quim, in fact she got off when any one of her orifices was stuffed with a rampant cock.

The sex partner Rosa chose for a night of lust had to fulfil certain criteria. He had to be unmarried, free from STDs, a member of the Foreign Legion, and look as if he knew his way around a vagina and associated female parts. Rosa worked at the Hotel Kaliphornika as a receptionist and had a ready supply of suitable candidates. With regular infusions of hot steaming dick Rosa stopped her drinking and reverted to her former self. Raoul was still impotent but she was back as a loving wife and mother, looking after her kids, house and husband. She and Raoul would kiss and cuddle, and occasionally Raoul would get a stiffy – only for brief moments – but Rosa lived in hope.

About a year earlier they were watching a late evening chat show on TV as an actress who worked in porn movies was demonstrating how she faked having an orgasm on camera. She must have been a good actress because as she was moaning and gasping Raoul suddenly developed a hard on. ‘She sounds just like you when you cum’ he said, and much to Rosa’s amazement and joy he unzipped and stuck a rampant, rock hard penis in her. It was just like old times. They enjoyed ten minutes of unadulterated pleasure. Raoul climaxed and Rosa followed suite just as he finished shooting his man juice into her. Unfortunately it was a one off and Raoul reverted to being limp and listless in the wedding tackle department.

I realised where the story was going and interrupted the flow. “So you decided to make recordings of you having an orgasm with your current lover?”

“Yes, but my orgasms are real. I don’t fake, well not often, and never with you or when my husband was giving me the real business.” Rosa said.

“How many times have you recorded me?”

“As many times as you have spent nights at the hotel; about seven or eight I would say.”

“But as I remember you’ve had more than seven or eight orgasms during that time, not that I was keeping score of course. Why make so many recordings, surely one would have done?”

She nodded her head “Yes, that’s true. But we have an eight year old son with an inquiring mind, inquisitive fingers, and a tape recorder. After sharing the tape with Raoul I wipe it clean. I don’t want Emile finding the tapes and listening in, it could stunt his growth.”

‘Rather the opposite I would have imagined’, but didn’t voice my thought.

“And does hearing you getting off with another man work for him? Does your husband respond by stuffing you with an erect penis when he hears you shrieking in orgasmic pleasure?”

“It has got better as time goes on. At first he got a hard on once a month but now, thanks mainly to you bringing me to the boil more often than the other guys I’ve used, we get it together nearly every week, and I have high hopes of having a another good session with him when he hears this latest recording.”

What she said triggered my next question. “Where do you hide your recorder? There doesn’t seem to be any obvious listening device.”

“I didn’t have to plant a listening device as several rooms in the hotel are wired for sound and vision. This room, one further along the corridor, and another one on the next floor; we call them the Rumpus Rooms. On the top floor there’s a suite known as Caligula’s Cavern where orgies and wife swapping parties are held, and all those rooms are recorded and the tapes used.”

“Used by whom?”

“By the owners of the hotel, a couple of astute businessmen. They invite their business competitors to meetings, ply them with alcohol and girls, then put them in one of the Rumpus Rooms for the night and let nature take its course. They discover a lot of business secrets that way, plus gather an incredible amount of future leverage.”

“By leverage you mean blackmail?” I said.

“I suppose it could be called that, but in business terms it is known as leverage.”

A terrible thought struck me. When I was with Rosa, unknowingly making a tape to combat her husband’s erectile dysfunction, the Chevalier would often be in a room along the corridor plucking Daisy, or Rosemary, or whichever young girl was on his menu for the night. Was he, unknowingly, making a tape for the delectation of who knows who or what?

“Is the Chevalier on any video tape?” I asked, a certain amount of anger apparent in my voice.

Rosa’s anger was even more apparent in her reply. “Certainly not! He is a legionnaire; it is only businessmen or politicians who are recorded. I’m disappointed and hurt that you think I would be party to blackmail, especially of legionnaires...”

“I’m sorry Rosa. Please forgive me. It was a terrible thing to say. I know that you, and the rest of the staff and management of the hotel, are extremely legionnaire friendly. I must still be in something of a state of shock after discovering I have been used to make tapes.”

“No, Philippe. It’s me that should apologise to you. I should never have recorded you without your permission. Please forgive me. I will understand if this is your final night with me. You’ll not want to spend any more time with me knowing how I took advantage of you.”

I wrapped my arms around her voluptuous body. I would be a fool to pass up on what had been a most delightful passage of arms, and legs and genitalia, when she was taking advantage of me.

“I enjoy being with you, and really enjoy what we do, Rosa. And if I can help your husband regain his mojo that will give me almost as much pleasure as shagging you senseless, something I intend doing right now. Shall you switch the recording machine back on?”

Rosa gave me a beaming smile, followed by a fulsome kiss. “No, Philippe my sweet, let’s see if I make less noise when I’m not being taped.”

She didn’t.

Unhappy Families

Camerone Day at Caserne (Barracks ) Lapasset, Castelnaudary, was celebrated just as enthusiastically as at Quartier Vienot in Aiubagne but without the wooden hand of Capitaine Danjou being displayed. The parade was attended by the great and the good of Castelnaudary, with local dignities; the town’s mayor, and the region’s elected National Assembly Deputy, sitting on the saluting dais along with senior Legion officers.

I was on parade carrying a FAMAS; this parade was the first time the Instruction Regiment had paraded carrying the weapon and as far as I could tell the legionnaires were as efficient in handling the new rifle on parade as they had been with the old stalwart MAS 49/56.

The Senior Legion Officer at Castelnaudary, Colonel Devine, gave the Camerone Recitation. The band played “La Marseillaise”, sung with gusto by all present including the guests, then the band played the marching song of the Instruction Regiment, sung with slightly less gusto as only the Instruction Regiment would know the words but I sang along with the words of the First Regiment’s marching song – for some reason BEPI never had a marching song; it was probably the same one as the now disbanded 1REP.

We marched off the parade ground to le Boudin. The Instruction Regiment had no pioneers on strength but a nine man party of Les Pionniers from Aubagne led the parade. One of Les Pionniers was Albrecht Zimmermann and I managed a word with him after the parade was dismissed. I knew Stefan Januszewski was no longer a Pionnier but Albrecht had kept in touch with him. He informed me that Stefan had left the legion at the end of his five year enlistment and married Stella, Estelle Charbonneau. Before leaving Poland Stefan had been training as a pastry chef in Lodz, he and Stella were now running a restaurant inRheims. The restaurant was doing well and if any of Stefan’s former comrades dropped by they could have a meal on the house. I was pleased Stefan and Stella had hooked up but wondered if she still preferred being ridden in tandem and if so who now was Stefan’s fellow cyclist? I gave Albrecht the news about Hans Krause and Elissa in Montpellier.

“I will have to drop in and see the old goat before I finish my service.” Albrecht said. He was now a sergent and was coming to the end of his enlistment. “I’ve a job lined up with the gendarmerie and a girl lined up to take care of me, both in Marseille,” he said. “I wish you luck for the rest of your service, Philippe, and I’m pleased to see you are a sergent-chef; you will probably make Adjutant before finishing your service.”

“I wish you all the best for your future as well, Albrecht, and as far promotion to adjutant I’ll be lucky to keep my present rank as I’m commanded by a pig’s orphan of an officer.” (A strange phrase and one I’d heard in Accrington when Mister Entwhistle was describing his foreman. I gathered it was not a compliment.)

Unfortunately, Les Pionniers were returning to Aubagne that same afternoon so I waved him goodbye and then went to the Officers’ Mess, where all SNCOs had been invited for drinks and intermingling. Officers and other ranks seldom met informally but Camerone Day is special and rigid lines of demarcation were relaxed for 24 hours.

The Officers’ Mess had a huge reception/dining room and it was milling with people, many of them civilians, females amongst them. I saw Masséna with two women. I was standing behind the trio and saw he had his arm around the waist of a dark haired girl while the blonde haired girl on his other side seemed to be flinching whenever his hip bumped into hers. There was something familiar about the dark haired female and I went for a closer look. As I drew alongside her she turned to face me. It was Chloe Roubaix.

Masséna saw me, took hold of my elbow and smirked. “Well, here you are at long last, Professor. Let me introduce you to my wife and her friend.” He turned towards Chloe “Chloe, my dear, this is one of my instructing staff, Sergent-chef Soissons, known as the Professor because of his insufferable air of superiority. And this young lady,” he grabbed the blonde by her arm, “is Amy Baptiste, a very good friend of my wife.”

Somehow I had kept my composure and my mouth from falling open. Chloe was just as cool and collected although I had seen an alarmed look shoot across her face when she saw who Masséna was introducing.

I gave a half bow to her “Madame Masséna, I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” I then turned to the blonde Amy “And yours also, Mam’selle Baptiste.” Both girls smiled at me and nodded in return.

“Now you’re here, Professor, you can make yourself useful and get a round of drinks. Put them on my tab. I’ll have a Courvoisier, my wife will have a Pinot Noir.” He cocked an eyebrow at Amy. “What would you like, my dear?”

“I’ll accompany the sergent to the bar and decide then,” Amy said and took my arm. I was in a state of shock as we headed towards the bar. Not because Chloe was married; I knew that was her aim in life, but because she was married to Lorenzo Masséna, a sadist, a bully, and a thief. I had no idea he was married although he had been in a friendlier mood for the last six months or so, presumably since taking Chloe Roubaix as his wife. She was far too good for the pig’s orphan!

“You and Chloe know each other.” It was a statement rather than a question Amy asked as we stood waiting for service at the bar.

“How do you...?”

“In my job I need to be able to read body language. It was obvious you knew each other, probably in the biblical sense.” She looked at me with an eyebrow raised questioningly. I gave an imperceptible nod. “And you had no idea she was married to your commanding officer, Capitaine Lorenzo Masséna?”

“I would never imagine in a thousand years that Chloe would marry a military man. She knows they have to go to wherever they are sent when ordered...”

“Masséna will be leaving the army in three years’ time. He is going into politics.”

The Mess sergent appeared in front of us and Amy ordered the drinks, having a Sauvignon Blanc for herself. “Put them on Capitaine Masséna’s tab,” she said.

The Mess Sergent glanced at me and I nodded, still dazed by the unexpected meeting of a former girlfriend.

I carried the tray of drinks back to the table, Amy still at my side, and placed them on the table where Masséna and Chloe were seated. A couple of civilians, one male, one female, had joined the table and they were in animated conversation with Masséna while Chloe stared into space. She glanced at me as I placed the tray on the table and then looked away, her face flushed.

Masséna stopped talking only long enough to give me more orders. “Get a Pernod and a Bloody Mary for my guests.” From the corner of my eye I saw Amy, standing behind Masséna, mouth ‘arrogant arsehole’, which perfectly matched what I was thinking. I was beginning to warm to Amy Baptiste even if she was a lesbian.

I trudged back to the bar. The Mess Sergeant came and took to my order. “On Masséna’s tab, Professor?” He inquired as he poured the absinthe and ordered the bar steward to make up the Bloody Mary.

I nodded. “Yes, he seems to be pushing the boat out.”

“He’s schmoozing the local National Assembly Deputy and his wife,” the Mess Sergent said, nodding towards the table where Masséna was still holding forth. “M’sieu and Madame Beaujolai. They are only seen together at functions like this. He has a nubile assistant who keeps his appointments and his genitalia in order, and she has a platoon of young legionnaires seeing to hers!”

I put the drinks on a tray, thanked the Mess Sergent and returned to the table. Amy and Chloe were sat next to each other and I saw they were holding hands under the table. Masséna had his arm around Chloe’s shoulders and at times it appeared he was squeezing her, not in an affectionate way but to exert pressure and pain. The two civilians had their attention fixed on Masséna although from time to time Madame Beaujolai would scan the room, licking her lips when spotting a young legionnaire. She had dismissed me with one contemptuous glance as being too old for her taste, although if she was a day under fifty I would have been most surprised. The drinks were swiftly consumed and I was sent to the bar for refills. Masséna was demonstrating to one and all where I stood in the hierarchy. I wondered if he knew Chloe and I had been an item and was showing her how low I was on the totem pole compared to him. Chloe seemed unaware of anything other than the glass of Pinot Noir in her hand but I could tell from the expression on Amy’s face she knew full well what was going on.

I had made the journey from table to bar several more times before the ‘party’ split up. Fulsome kisses on cheeks from Madame Beaujolai for Masséna, not so fulsome for Chloe and Amy and none at all for me. Handshakes from M’sieu Beaujolai for Masséna, kisses on cheeks to the girls and neither for me. I saw M’sieu Beaujolai pat Amy’s derriere before he walked away. Amy took no notice but Madame Beaujolai saw, and I reckon there would be ructions later in the Beaujolai household.

I was dismissed just as summarily by Masséna as when first recruited to fetch and carry the drinks. “Don’t be late in the morning, Soissons. We have to make up the time lost in today’s celebration.” He purposefully addressed me by my surname only, an action beyond impoliteness, bordering on insulting.

Amy slipped a business card into my hand as we shook hands. “Call me,” she whispered. Chloe gave me a half smile but no handshake or cheek kiss before Masséna hurried her away.