would whip me again, while he reached down and slipped his right hand between our bodies till he had a finger on… my spot…
Then he began to tickle it, while I gasped and started nervously, my face terribly red and tear-stained, closing my eyes and trying to shut out his flushed, stern face. My thigh muscles kept twitching and wanting to close my legs, but I knew I didn't dare, and his other hand was kneading and pinching one of my breasts all the time. Then his mouth closed over mine and his tongue went in deeply and rooted about till he ordered hoarsely, “Use your tongue, too, Lucille,” and I had to obey. All the time I felt his forefinger rubbing gently and slowly around the lips of my… spot… and it began to tingle and quiver…It was not unpleasant, but I had no sensation now of anything except my fright of him and my unbearable shame at this cruel, merciless act he was going to commit on my naked helpless body.
“What a soft little pussy,” he said thickly, kissing me very hard and almost making me lose my breath, while his hands tightened on my heaving breast. “But it isn't juicy enough for its first poke… Ah, well, I didn't expect you to want me the first time… In fact if you had, I'd have taken the whip to your backside to correct your being a sinful, naughty girl. But later on, you'll learn not only to submit but to want it, you obstinate, impertinent little minx.”
With this, he put his forefinger to his mouth and moistened it with his own saliva, then again put it back against my… spot… and started to rub the lips more quickly. This time the sensation was more vivid. I started to groan, but my inflamed bottom was making every movement of his torture.
I cringed, my flesh actually crawled and prickled with an intolerable repugnancy and distressed shame at this indecent manipulation of my naked flesh. I wanted to cry out to him, to beg him out of decency and mercy… I knew how useless, how dangerous it would be. So, my arms about his neck, eyes closed, my panting mouth yielded to him helplessly. My legs open, I quivered and waited in an atrocious suspense for him to do it-what he meant to do to me, praying it would not be too painful and not take too long. But Mr. Raleigh, as an artist, had a vivid imagination, alas for me, and he began to tell me how lovely my body was and what a pleasure it would give him, till I died of shame and my face was red to my hair roots. He told me he could feel the lips of my “pussy” swelling up and growing “juicy,” which meant I was instinctively being prepared by Nature to accept my poking and that I would even find pleasure the first time as he taught me. He made me call him Master and then tell him I was his to whip or poke whenever he desired, and he kissed my tears, tasting them and telling me I had fascinating appeal for him now because I was crying and in pain from the good strapping he had given my naughty, bare behind. He kept probing with his finger, inside the lips now, deeper and deeper till I suddenly cried out and stiffened; a twinge of pain had shot through me there. He laughed and said, “That's good, that proves you've been a good girl, and it's well for you, you have, too, Lucille. Now, are you all ready for your first poke from my cock? Tell me the way I want you to, using the words I just taught you.”
And, trembling, my face streaked with bitter tears, I had to stammer, “Yes… Master… my… my pussy… is… all ready… for… for your c-cock to… to poke it. Please do it to me now, Master, I want you to…” though all my flesh shrank to belie what I was saying in my shame and fear.
It seemed to me I had endured this torture for hours… I was exhausted, trembling, my bottom burned and throbbed furiously, and every movement of my muscles sent a spasm of fiery pain through my flesh. But now a greater anguish than ever possessed me-it was to be now.
I turned my face away and stifled back my sobs as I felt his fingers pry open the lips of… my spot… and then at once I felt the hard spear of his… thing… enter between them. The sensation was such as I had not expected or dreamed of… a curious feeling… the filmy thing he had put over the head of his thing… kept me from feeling how hot it was, which I knew from having had to hold it before. “Oh, oh, Mr. Raleigh, oh, please, oh, no, no,” I groaned, and my hands started to push at his shoulders.
“Be careful now, Lucille,” he warned sternly, his voice very hoarse and shuddering with his greed to have me. “You just hold me tight with those arms and don't fight me off or you'll suffer for it and you know where. A good whipping now on that lovely reddened backside of yours, my dear girl, would really make you scream.”
“Oh, don't, don't, I will, I'll obey you-M-Master,” I sobbed, and frantically hugged him with my arms.
At the same time, I felt him thrust deeper into me, spreading me apart there till I felt I could not bear it any longer-and then the savage twinge of pain I felt, so much greater than when his finger had pressed into me-made me try to close my legs and I cried out, “Oh, it hurts me there, it hurts me. Oh, please take it out. Oh, you're going to hurt me dreadfully. I know you are.”
“Yes, on that lovely backside, you timid little piece,” he snarled. “Are you going to spread those bare legs of yours wider and kiss me, or am I going to ring for the servants?”
Sobbing hopelessly, I tried to obey him, even though my entire body stiffened to resist the pain, the shame… the terrible wickedness of what he was going to do to me, who had never even kissed a strange man before. I put my trembling mouth to his, and felt his tongue drive hard into it-and at the same time, he threw himself against me violently.
I shrieked aloud, but his mouth covering mine as it did muffled the sound. It felt as if my body was being torn by the twisting of a dull knife inside my most intimate flesh. My bare legs tried desperately to close, but he had his left leg in between mine, and had thrown his right leg over my left, preventing any defense. My head flung back on the pillow, and I tried to shove him away with my hands, but he was furiously determined now, and thrust once more… I felt something give way with an… excruciating pain, and then I felt his… thing… plough deeper into my body till his belly was grinding against mine and his hands mashing down my heaving bare breasts. His mouth kept fused over mine to stop my cries from being heard, and then-
He began… to… to poke me… as he called it… drawing back his body, then thrusting himself back to me, and his spear thrust back into the hole it had made for itself with that tearing. I felt… moist… there… and I guessed that it was blood. But it hurt abominably; the laceration was a good deal, and his rubbing back and forth against it as he thrust back and forth into me made me writhe and twist and cry in my suffering. He only spoke to me to tell me fiercely to keep kissing him and holding on to him, and to put my free leg over his and try to arch myself up when I felt him thrusting into me… I was delirious, confused, in pain, and I hardly knew what I was doing… It was an eternity… this constant in and out movement in my lacerated, throbbing… spot. And then suddenly he cried out and crushed my mouth down with his and I felt a strange, vigorous throbbing… and then he lay panting, crushing me down. My spot… seemed to be thrust apart and choked up enormously… And then slowly I felt him rise off me and draw himself out of me… and get out of bed. I buried my face in my hands and wept disconsolately.
“There, now, Lucille, my dear, you didn't die after all. And as for the pain, I assure you there won't be any more… at least not in front,” he chuckled, and I trembled at the gloating, the cruelty in his voice, the thickened drawl of satisfaction to see me naked and conquered, and ashamed there before him. I couldn't bear to look at this man who had bought me, examined me naked before my own parents, then tied me up and whipped me cruelly, and finally made me do… what only a decent married woman is supposed to do with her own husband.
“Stop your crying, you silly fool, or I'll give you something really to cry about,” he ordered, and I managed somehow to control my sobs. “Now get up and go to the bathroom and take a shower. Then come back and I'll put your nightdress on you. Don't get scared at the blood. It's what every virgin has the first time her sweet pussy is poked. Here, I'll help you, my dear.”
Trembling, half fainting I managed to get out of bed, stark naked. I glanced down at my body… Blood smeared my upper thighs and the hair of… my spot. I tottered, but as he held me and led me to the bathroom, ordering me sternly to fend for myself, because I wasn't as badly off as I thought. And the shower did revive me, but my teeth were chattering with fright. I dried myself, and there was no more blood, but I felt wrenched and torn and sore, and that, with my bottom still hurting me, made me almost faint with feverishness. When I came out, he had my nightdress waiting, drew it over me, not without holding me to him and stroking my breasts and bottom and making me kiss him. Then he lifted me and put me back in bed, drew the sheets over me, and bade me goodnight… It was a night of terror for me, the slightest sound awakened my fitful nightmarish-ridden sleep with a start, for I feared it was he coming back to me again. But he did not return. At least, not again that night…
He entered my room the next morning. He could tell from my manner that I was in dread fear of him, and he seemed to enjoy that. He adopted toward me now a dominating attitude, that was both patronizing and condescending. Although he spoke to me in words of endearment, they were such one might use toward a child one has scolded.
When he remained in the room, he ordered me to get up and remove my nightdress. Remembering the events of the night before, I hesitated to appear nude before him. But, knowing what would happen if I gave him the least excuse to whip me, I slipped out of bed and pulled my nightdress off.
