lying stretched out with her dress all open and her nakedness bright in the full light. I realized suddenly how beautiful she was. Like the children you see running on the beach, their slim bodies looking like they had come fresh from God’s hands that moment. So lithe and supple and slender and fresh and perfect.
“God approves of us then… of our loving like this?”
“Of course, Lou.” My voice was husky and thick. And inside:
“I want so much to believe… I love God and Jesus and what is good… but this feels so good! I want it. Oh, I want it… want to have it… want it to be right so I can have it… I want it… want it. Ohhh!”
I moved my finger in her: “Remember how the Virgin Mary was pure, Lou?” I whispered: “Remember that she had a husband, but was pure! She loved her husband in that purity, Lou, and he loved her… loved her like this… as I am loving you! He put his fingers in her and the love grew and she loved it and gave herself up completely to it: to love… and to her husband, she thought, but it was really to God! And she got Jesus for it! For this, Lou! Mary got Jesus for giving herself up to love, to joy, to hands, to mouth… giving everything to love!”
My fingers probed and moved in her cunt. My thumb found the top of the slit and rubbed it gently. My mouth kissed the nape of her neck, her ears, her hair.
She jerked a little as I sucked at her nipple, and I realized it was far more sensitive than Gunilla’s and more delicate. And rather than the resiliency of Gunilla’s breast, there was an ineffable softness to Louise’s.
I moved my loins against her hand and instinctively she touched it-moved on my cock.
“Soon she will learn to play with your big stiff prick, Lars. soon… soon… “Think of Mary, Lou, and her love with Joseph! We are Mary and Joseph, Lou-the parents of God! And little Jesus, Lou. Think of Mary and Jesus-his loving her like this when he was small-his little fingers in her cunt, like I’m doing to you. And her loving him, Lou. Think of that! Would you like to love me like Mary did Jesus?” I felt the power growing and growing in me, raging against my mind and my caution, writhing to take over… with each word she became more and more helpless and I more and more gripped by uncontrollable excitement.
She couldn’t speak. She gasped and nodded. But I knew I had to stop. Any more and I might lose it. Lose everything with her. Might frighten her. Something told me I had reached just the last point… She’d had all she could take. And, curiously, I felt a great tenderness and concern for her. I wanted to violate her, yes. I was excited by the idea of making love to a child it was true, but I still loved her! I didn’t want to do anything brutal. I wanted to do indecent things to that purity, but I wanted her to enjoy it. I wanted to protect her, somehow, even while I intended to have her. It was strange. She needed time-progression by slower stages. It must be a joy to her.
She seemed in a trance. I lifted her in my arms. She was so light, so small. I carried her to her room and laid her on the bed. I put her teddy bear in her arms. Her eyes opened and she looked at me with her soul. “I must go now, Lou. But always remember that I love you. And that our love is holy.”
She smiled at me with a radiance that stopped my breath. We stared into each others eyes. I could see a great happiness in her. I kissed her and left. I went out hungry for a woman. I was a lion. I wanted meat.
Chapter Thirteen
The appetite was huge in me. I came into the hall looking both ways. For prey. Mother! But her room proved empty. So did Gunilla’s. As I stood at the window panting, I saw Annie cross the back lawn to her apartment over the garage. Annie, then! I remembered what Gunilla had said about how she became helpless if you talked obscenely. I remembered the scene with Father.
I ran down the stairs and across to the garage. The shut door at the bottom of her stairs sobered me. After all, this wasn’t a girl like Gunilla or Louise. This was a woman. I suddenly realized I was still a kid to her. Besides, I’d never even spoken to her. You can’t just go up to a grown woman and say you want to get fucked. Especially if you’re only fourteen.
Bu I had to have it! And I suddenly very much wanted it to be Annie. Every morning at breakfast she was so proper, so prim. Yet the peasant soul of her obviously wanted to be plowed. The peasant in her required being used. As Father has used her. Not asking, telling her. And her loving it. She was born to serve men. To serve me! To serve this lion raging in me.
I considered the bell. If I rang, she’d stick her head out the window and ask what I wanted. What could I say? That I’d come to get laid? Impossible. I tried the door. It was open. I went up the steps and opened the door at the top. I was in her living room. The servant-quarter quality of it drove something in me wild. Here it was my right to forage. Not by asking permission, but because of some privilege my blood knew.
The room was completely bourgeois. The middle-class furniture, the sentimental landscapes on the wall, the pair of cheap plaster Chinese dancers, the tinted photographs of her parents.
Annie was facing away from me, lifting the maid’s cap from her head. I was struck by how she wasn’t the usual peasant. Not big-boned and ruddy. Her arms were slender and her ass was small and trim. No, the provincial quality here was not of the barnyard, but of the village. She was like a merchant’s wife whose respectable black clothes somehow always manage to make you conscious of her body. And the flesh had the whiteness of nudity. Not the aristocratic, healthy whiteness of Mother, but the vaguely erotic white of flesh that never saw the sun. Flesh that showed itself clandestinely in locked rooms at night. It made me think of schoolgirl whores and shopgirl mistresses. I must force that pretense of propriety to confess its hidden lust.
She turned and saw me. It startled her. She gasped.
“Where did you… what are you doing here?” There was an edge to her voice.
“I thought I’d visit you, Annie.”
She frowned: “What do you want, Master Lars?” There was a hint of anger. My confidence vanished. I was scared. But there was still the immense desire to violate her in that prissy, bourgeois room. And something in me was challenged by her tone. Something wanted to say: “Shut up slut, and do what your betters tell you!”
“What do you want?” she repeated impatiently.
I remembered what Gunilla had said.
“Cunt.”
“What?”
“Cunt’s what I want, Annie.”
“Why you filthy little boy. I’m going to tell your mother what you said and she’ll wash your mouth out with soap. And your father will whip you within an inch of your life.” She was really mad. And I was terrified. What a mess. Gunilla was wrong. Or had she played a trick on me? Oh my God!
But I had to go on. Something in me refused to Jet her be so proper and indignant.
“Yes, Annie, I got to thinking about you. I decided you must have a really juicy pussy, so I thought I’d just come over and play with it.”
She was furious! Her face was red with anger. “I should slap your face,” she said. “You filthy-mouthed brat. A nasty child like you thinking you can talk to a respectable woman that way. It’s vile.” There was nothing left in me now but terror for what I had gotten into. I wanted to run. “And do you intend,” she continued, “to speak of my breasts also? Or maybe you call them tits like other vulgar gutter types?” With a flicker of hope I saw her hands come up slowly to cup her breasts as she spoke-and squeeze them a little! Maybe there was a way out, by pushing forward!
“Oh, yes, Annie. I always call them tits when I think of you. At breakfast I always think about licking Annie’s tits, never her breasts.” She sucked in her breath and her eyes widened.
“Why… why what do you think you’re saying? Master Lars, you must not talk to me like that. Please.” Her tone was hanging almost invisibly. “Remember you’re only a child. A little boy shouldn’t speak to a woman about her… about her…”
“Pussy. Is that the word you’re searching for, Annie? But you know it’s different with a master and a servant. You know that it’s right for a master to speak of his servant’s pussy if he wants to-whatever his age. You know that
