The Berlin Sex Diary of Lady Eve Marlowe contains adult subject matter and is intended for readers 18+ only
24 February 1928
Before dawn…
I had no time to grab my underwear as Herr _____’s odd-looking manservant proceeded to escort me out of the hotel room. His strangeness made me shiver. Thinning hair the color of a raven’s nest, heavily-oiled eyelids ringed with black kohl, stained teeth and an unpleasant odor about him that reminded me of a burnt kettle.
He insisted I leave before the dawn broke, but not before pressing fifty marks into my hand.
“Come back tomorrow night, Fräulein,” he whispered in my ear, “and there will be more money for you.”
“I–I can’t. I have an engagement,” I lied, shivering, my courage failing at the thought of allowing this dark side of my soul to re-surface.
“Pity. Herr _______ has a friend who will pay you a hundred marks,” the man said, probing the inside of my palm with his bony finger, though he appeared well fed.
I didn’t say yes. I couldn’t stop the chill in me from prevailing and isolating my will. I confess I liked being spanked, but the monocled gentleman fostered a persistent yet natural tenderness with the paddle. What if his “friend” possessed a repulsive motive for spanking me, stripping me of my human dignity and my emotional contact with the man wielding the paddle?
Another daring thought skipped through my mind, titillating my wandering libido with a curiosity that made me accept the money along with a packet of what appeared to be erotic postcards the manservant slipped into my coat pocket.
What if his friend was the man in the black Fedora? What then? My pubic muscles clenched in a pleasant contraction, my sex obeying the will of my imagination.
“I assure you, Fräulein, if you come to our little party tomorrow night, you will not be disappointed.”
It was the monocled gentleman who spoke, his voice intriguing me with a blend of romance and drama reverberating in his tone.
I turned to see him adjusting the suspenders on his trousers then removing his monocle and winking at me. I couldn’t resist winking back. The atmosphere, texture of elegance and sophistication of this scenario all induced a sensual response in me I could not resist.
“Tell me more about your friend, mein Herr,” I said, questioning.
“The Count is a most fascinating man with an eye for beauty,” he said, tying his bowtie with Teutonic precision. “I remember the time he charmed that lovely girl at Versailles with the star-shaped black patch on her cheek.” He sighed. “Regrettable that she had to lose her head–”
The manservant coughed loudly, interrupting him, then ushered me out without another word. As the gold-trimmed double door closed behind me, I could hear him lamenting about the silly men in their tri-cornered hats accusing anyone wearing a lace ruffle of treason against the Republic.
What fantastical story was he spinning? No doubt a tale of gilded decadence to capture my imagination. I raised up my breasts, then wiggled my shoulders. I was more interested in the Count and whether or not he possessed the sensitivity to tame the hunger in me. A hunger that had its roots in what I knew was the act of submission.
If I returned tomorrow night, it wouldn’t be for a hundred marks or a thousand marks. It would be because of the delicious sensations a paddling or spanking aroused in me. I longed to again slide behind the blindfold to that cool, dark place where nothing existed but sensual pleasure and I surrendered to the tongue of fire licking my bare, quivering buttocks.
I held my head up high and strutted down the carpeted hallway with no regrets. A girl does what she has to do in these times and I did it. I offered myself up on a sacrificial pyre because I had no money and I was hungry.. I didn’t spread my legs and let him fuck me. I am a dancer, not a whore. When I let a man caress me, it will be with someone I love. Until then, I shall allow no man to penetrate my wayward soul.
I stepped out of the hotel revolving door and a cold wind blew up my skirt, revealing my bare red-streaked behind to the uniformed doorman. Daring to peek, he said something to me, but I turned away and started walking down the quiet tree-covered street. Faded, brittle brown leaves swirled around me, taunting me.
Did you notice his wicked smirk? His hand grabbing his crotch?
I refused to listen to the little voice admonishing me for succumbing to a gentleman’s fetish because I wanted to eat. A stronger need gnawed at me. I was alive with a sensuality that lay hidden inside me, a prickling of my skin when a man put his hands on my thigh or pinched my buttocks when I danced by his table, a kindling, a spark of something I’d always ignored. But not anymore.
My body hummed from the intensity of my need for a spanking.
