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Making Ends Meet Videll Dais2


MAKING ENDS MEET By Videll Dais Part 2 The lovers rested as they were:
Marcia bent low over the table, head in her folded arms, her buttocks
backed up tight into Harding's thighs. She felt exhausted and had no
immediate urge to move, though her thighs trembled and her legs felt like
rubber with the strain of holding the same position for so long. Slowly,
her breathing calmed and her heartbeat settled to somewhere near normal.
She felt wonderful, but at the same time, she felt an overwhelming sense of
shame and burning guilt. She had been so easy; had acted no better than a
common whore. Questions buzzed in her confused mind. What if Harding had
done her some damage, hurt the baby? What if Tom found out? She had never
before been unfaithful, would never have even dared contemplate such an
act. Yet, here she was, all trembling and wet, with another man's penis
buried inside her, his sperm seeping from her grateful innards. My God,
what on earth had she done? Softly, she began to cry. Ha, she weeps with
pleasure, Harding thought and smiled. He leaned over his sweating
conquest; felt tiny aftershocks of pleasure quiver her curvaceous body as
he soaked his still tumescent penis in her warm juices. He fondled each of
her delicious breasts, raising the sensitive nipples into hard stubs
against his palms, stroked any other part of her willing flesh he could
reach without having to move. He glanced over to a picture on the wall
opposite. Beneath it, almost invisible, was a small black smudge, a hole in the plasterboard. He detected a slight movement at the peephole, pulled
a face and shook his head at the hidden watcher. He glanced back at his
supine victim, checking Marcia hadn't noticed anything. But he needn't
have worried. She was oblivious to everything right now, bathing in the
blissful satisfaction good sex always brings. After a while, he
reluctantly slid his semi-limp cock from Marcia's slippery niche. "Come,"
he said, helping her to stand. "Sit in the chair. Rest. I'll fix you a
fresh drink. Something cold?" Marcia nodded, stood up shakily. She
quickly wiped the tears from her red eyes, pushed dank hair back from her
flushed cheeks with the back of her hand. Her dress dropped to her knees,
loosely draping her nakedness. She felt sperm leaking from her still
tingling quim, running down the insides of her thighs. "Can...Can I use
the bathroom Mr. Harding - please?" She asked meekly, clearing her throat.
"I need to... to freshen up." "Of course, my dear," Harding said, pulling
up his trousers. "Go ahead. It's through there." He indicated a door off
to the left. Harding prepared ice tea, listened for the wench busy in the
bathroom. A cupboard door over in a corner near the cooker opened a crack.
"I want her now, Robert. It's my turn," a tense voice whispered harshly
from the dark interior. "Now, you here me?" Harding looked around,
nervously flicked an anxious glance from bathroom door to cupboard and back
again. "Wait," he said, keeping his voice low. "Just be patient. I'll
have to get her ready again or she could raise a fuss and ruin everything.
You'll know when to come in." "Just hurry it up, Robert." Silently, the
cupboard door closed. Harding faced the worktop, went on with preparing
the drinks. He heard Marcia come back in from the bathroom, turned and
gave her the refreshed glass. "Thank you, Mr. Harding," Marcia, seated,
took the offered drink. Embarrassed, blushing, she kept her gaze downcast
as she gratefully sipped at it. Harding did likewise, noting that she had
rinsed her face and brushed her hair. She looked so young, so radiantly
lovely. The shafting had done her a power of good; make no mistake about
that. By God, she was a natural. His ministrations had awoken something
in her she would be hard pressed to control or live long without in the
future. One thing's for sure, it could only get better. He felt fresh
stirrings of arousal in his trousers, which he hadn't bothered to fasten
properly. After a minute or two of uncomfortable silence, he put his drink
to one side and took Marcia's tea from her delicate hand. She looked up at
him, wide-eyed, perplexed. "Take your dress off, Mrs. Gray," he said, in
a no-nonsense tone. "I want you naked. I want to admire your gorgeous
body some more." "Mr. Harding, no. Please, I thought..." "Hush, child, no
fuss now," Harding said, taking her arm, pulling her from the chair. "What
we just did was only a foretaste, a dalliance along the path to a much
brighter heaven you ain't even dreamed of yet. We have a long ways to go.
I mean to teach you the true meaning of pleasure, my dear. Now, come on,
take off that dress." "The time, Mr. Harding. It's getting so late. I
have to..." "There's plenty of time. It ain't even two, yet," Harding
said. "Now, stop that silly whimpering. Get undressed." Still weak and
trembling, Marcia bit her bottom lip, her thoughts in chaos, her emotions a
broth of confusion. She'd just let a stranger make passionate love to her,
fuck her good and hard and, though she didn't properly understand how or
why it had happened, she'd loved every dirty minute of it. But - what was
going on now? She couldn't allow him to do it again, couldn't allow him to
take further liberties; she wanted it to stop, wanted to get out of here,
wanted to get her mind and body in sync again. Even as she thought 'no'
she hesitantly reached for the hem of her dress and began to raise it up
the smooth, pale columns of her firm thighs. Impatiently, Harding came
forward, took the material in his hands and pulled it roughly over Marcia's
head, messing her hair. He threw the dress on the floor. Marcia,
surprised, nervous now, self-consciously folded her arms across her
breasts. Harding went behind her, unfastened her bra again, then hooked his
fingers in the elastic of her panties and, without ceremony, slid them
down. "Step out of them," he said, coming around in front of her. "Now, we
don't want any silly shyness Let's get rid of this." Marcia gasped as he
pushed her arms aside and pulled the bra away from her breasts, leaving the
swollen globes bare, up-tilted, the nipples hard, pink and sharp. "That's
better," Harding, said, his breathing already short, dark eyes greedy,
wildly roaming her womanly curves. The rounded swell of her pregnant
belly, not yet too heavy, excited him greatly, added much to her feminine
allure. "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I bet your husband sees you
like this every goddamn day and don't take a blind bit of notice, eh? Am I
right? Does he?" Marcia lowered her eyes, shyly nodded. "Thought so.
Damn fool," Harding said, contemptuously. "Insensitive idiots do not
deserve such beauty, such perfection. Up on the table, now. Come on.
Quickly." "What?" Marcia looked bewildered. "I said, get on the table."
Marcia glanced over her shoulder, reached behind, put her hands on the cool
wood, and then slid her bottom onto the table. "That's it," Harding
smiled, undoing his shirt, quickly stepping out of his trousers. Naked
except for his socks, completely unabashed, he stood in front of her, his
semi-erect penis red and angry-looking, like a weapon of war ready to do
battle. "Sit like that a moment," he said, gesturing with his hands.
"Good. Spread your me your cunt. Lean back. Yes, that's it.
A little wider. I want to see everything, your cunt, asshole, everything,
all your lovely charms." This was another new experience and - surprisingly
- not an entirely unpleasant one, either. Harding really did think she was
beautiful. Tom had never wanted to look at her - not like this, especially
not down there. Marcia, blushing bright crimson, felt the tingling warmth
bubbling again in her loins, leaned back on her arms and eased her legs
wider apart. She glanced up into the intense staring eyes of the butcher,
felt her nipples tighten under his stare. Fascinated, unable to resist the
urge, she allowed her gaze to fall to the huge penis so proudly and
blatantly displayed in front of her. "That's it," Harding muttered, "take
a look at my cock, big and hard and wanting to fuck you. Look at it." It
was visibly growing before Marcia's veiled eyes, swelling, filling with
need and hot blood. Her eyelids fluttered and she bit her lip as Harding
placed his hands gently under her knees, lifted her legs, slowly bent them
up and back, opening her wider. My God, she was allowing this to happen,
she wanted it to happen. Her heart began to throb in her breast. "You are
a true delight, young lady," Harding said, an expression of deep
concentration fixing his face. He deliberately licked one of his fingers,
then reached between her spread legs and delicately traced the puffy, moist
crease of her sex, slipped it down to her anus, then back again to the gape
of her cunt. He gently circled the pink rubbery nub of her protruding
clit. "Oh!" Marcia twitched as though an electric shock had jolted her.
"Shush, girl. Relax," Harding said. His finger slowly parted her swollen
labia, momentarily dipped into the moist warmth, lingered there. He
lightly teased the swelling bud of her clitoris before slipping two
fingers, then three, deeply into her seeping cunt. He smiled as Marcia
gasped and her thighs quivered with little nervous spasms. "I know. You
want some more. You want to come again." Marcia closed her eyes. Each
gentle touch sent tremors surging through her belly and breasts. She
groaned. Her mouth gaped and her chin sagged on her heaving chest. Her
disheveled hair tumbled around her face as her breasts, belly, hips and
bottom began to move, roll lazily, and gyrate wantonly against the probing
fingers. Already, she felt on fire, another knot of orgasmic tension
bunching in her belly. It was like her body didn't belong to her anymore,
was part of someone else, part of a stranger's body. She was putty in his
hands. My God, what wonders summer heat, crude words and a crafty touch
can do for a woman's libido. Harding smiled as Marcia moved on his
fingers, smiled at her rapidly growing taste, her enthusiasm for his
techniques. Tantalizingly, he wriggled his digits deep in her warm
viscosity, felt the inner muscles of her slick quim clench tightly as he
slyly introduced another greased finger smoothly into the tight wrinkle of
her anus. "D'you like that?" He whispered, pressing his palm over the
curve of her mound, diligently manipulating his fingers, busily working her
hot flesh into sopping dough. His eyelids drooped and his mouth hung slack
beneath his moustache as he watched the magic take dramatic effect. "Feel
my finger in your ass? There, does it make you feel good?" Marcia drew her
legs back further, gasped and groaned a meaningless reply as she
immediately shuddered to another orgasm.


Harding, though bursting to place his painfully rigid cock where his
fingers had been, nonetheless waited patiently for Marcia's spasms to
abate. When he was satisfied she had calmed enough, he took a deep breath
and exercised remarkable restraint by taking a step away from her beckoning
flesh. Calmly, he issued instructions, moved on to the next part of his
devious plan. "Now, lie back. stretch yourself out and rest easy.
Pretend I'm your doctor, that I'm taking care of your health and
well-being. That's all you gotta do." Realizing her ordeal was far from
over; Marcia did as she was told. She lay back, got as comfortable as
possible on the hard unyielding surface. The table wasn't quite long
enough for her to lay full length. She let her legs dangle over one end.
"My, my," Harding said, standing over her, his eyes gloating. "What a
picture. A feast fit for a starving man." For some strange reason Marcia
thought Harding's chest, covered with a mat of wiry black hair like that,
was absolutely fascinating. She had never seen so much hair on a man.
Tom's chest wasn't like that at all. His was smooth, clean, not really
manly, reminded her more of a young boy. She couldn't take her eyes from
the butcher's cock, right there, as aroused as ever, long, thick and
veined, the purple plum of the head quivering against his belly, ready to
do her more mischief. For a man his age, he sure had some vim. Thoughts
rushed excitedly through her brain, a confusing mixture of part anxiety,
part curiosity and part shame. Her main concern, though, was what else he
intended to do her before he let her go. "Now, little lady, raise your
arms over your head," Harding said, moving around the table. "That's it."
He took her hands; pulled them up higher, making her tight-nipple breasts stand proud from her heaving chest. He eyed the firm globes, held both her
hands together in just one of his big paws. From somewhere, he produced a
soft sash cord and proceeded to tie each of her wrists to a leg of the
table. Worried, Marcia made to struggle. "What are you doing, Mr.
Harding?" "Keep still," Harding snapped, then more softly, said, "Just
relax. We're gonna have ourselves some fun and games. Now, there's
nothing to fret about. Trust me. You'll enjoy it." When each of her
wrists were securely fastened, he leaned over one of the chairs, took a
black silk scarf from under the cushion and proceeded to tie it over
Marcia's eyes. "Mr. Harding..." Marcia weakly protested, as he gently
blindfolded her. "... I don't think I like this ... Sir? You're scaring
me..." Harding didn't answer, ignored the girl's stifled pleas, finished
tying the blindfold. When it was done, he stood back to admire his
handiwork, admire the way she blindly turned her head this way and that,
moved certain parts of her body in expectant agitation. He took hold of
his stiff cock, slowly massaged it. God, she looked so helpless now, so
sexy. It was as much as he could do to stop himself from plunging his
length into her lovely cunt, fucking her right there and then, but that
would come soon enough. One had to savor such a moment as this, indulge
all senses to the limit and not rush one single pleasure. He turned to the
spy hole in the wall, put a finger to his lips signaling silence and made a
beckoning motion with his hand. "Mr. Harding-?" Marcia could hear his
breathing, feel slight movements around her. What was the man doing? The
blindfold was causing her some anxiety despite Harding's reassurances. She
tested the bonds holding her wrists. There was no give at all. She was
totally helpless, at the complete mercy of a man she hardly even knew. She
shivered. "-Mr. Harding? ... Are you there? ... I'm getting scared, Mr.
Harding. My little girl? She ... she's out from school at three-thirty
... Sir? Can you hear me?" "I hear you, my little beauty," Harding
whispered. "Don't you worry your pretty head about a thing. Just relax.
Let me do all the work here." He stood at the edge of the table, above her
head. His smile was more a leer as he lowered his mouth to one of Marcia's
nipples. He took the rigid bud between his wet lips, sucked on it gently,
nipped at it with his teeth. Marcia felt the wet mouth, the stiff bristles
of his mustache, and flinched. She opened her mouth, gulped in a quick
excited breath. Harding seemed to be sucking her tender nipple all the way
down his throat while irritating the other by pinching and raking it with
his fingernails. Already, she had forgotten her initial anxiety at being
helplessly bound and blindfolded. The novelty of her situation was turning
out to be extra stimulating. Being blind made her concentrate, focus all
her attention on her breasts, on Harding's eager ministering; the darkness
definitely added something, seemed to intensify the electric tingles
spreading from the hard, aching tips of her swollen breasts throughout her
body. My God, she could hardly believe how sexy she felt, how this man seemed to have such a remarkable measure of what made her hot. Vital nerve
endings came instantly alive in her pelvic area and, lower down; she felt
heat and blood suffuse her sex. Without thinking, she drew her knees up,
placed her feet on the table and let her thighs sag apart. She surrendered
herself to the burning sensations and let out a long, low moan. Harding
kept sucking and nibbling, while his other hand played over the taut mound
of her free breast, squeezing the globe tightly, almost painfully, shaping
the pliable flesh, molding it to his palm. From behind, a delicate hand
stole between his thighs, gently fluttered around the weighty sack of his
stones, probed the cleft of his buttocks and anus, while another reached
round in front and teasingly fingered his bursting erection. It felt so
good; he almost lost concentration on Marcia's beautiful breasts. He knew
he couldn't afford to do that. He couldn't afford to do anything that
might spoil the treats yet to be had. The girl was at ease now, going with
it, letting herself be carried away on a slow-building tide of lust. Just
a little longer and she would be ripe, ready for the fresh delights he had
planned, delights the likes of which she had never before tasted and which,
he was sure, would drive her mad with passion. Harding tried to think of
other, less distracting, things as the knowing fingers enveloped his
rampant stalk, gave it little squeezes first, before rubbing its entire
throbbing length in a velvet-smooth, rhythmic motion. He looked over
Marcia's jutting nipples, the gentle swell of her heaving belly; saw the
unconscious splay of her thighs. Yes, he thought, that's it young lady,
you're nearly there. Marcia moaned again. Beads of sweat covered her
skin; her breathing was ragged. Her lips were open, moist, her cheeks
suffused to a deep, pink hue. She began to move her hips, a slow rocking
motion from side to side while pressing her legs tightly together, hoping
for some relief from the maddening itch of lust between them. Much to her
shame, all she wanted, all she could think about right then was the
butcher's rigid member spearing her again, thrusting deeply into her
dripping sex. "M-Mr. Harding..." she whispered, "... please...?" "What
is it, my lovely?" Harding said, close to her ear. He tugged on the erect
stubs of her nipples with just his thumbs and forefingers. "P-Please ...
touch me..." "I am." Harding gave each nipple a twist. "No. Oh ... I
mean ... down there." Marcia felt her cheeks burn and strained her arms
against her bonds. "I understand what you need, darlin'," Harding
whispered. He straightened up, put his hands under Marcia's arms and eased
her further up the table towards him until her head hung over the edge. He
looked down at Marcia's pink, slack mouth; let the hand holding his stiff
cock guide it to the girl's lips. The hand was clever. Just two fingers
held on to the fat head, playing the pulsing knob tantalizingly back and
forth across the soft lips. Harding gasped, wanted desperately to thrust
it all the way in to the back of the willing throat, but the hand between
his thighs, cupping his wrinkled testicles would not allow him this
freedom. "Stick out ... your pretty ... tongue," he told Marcia. Marcia
did not hesitate to obey. She thrust her tongue wetly out as far as she
could, at the same time raising her mouth to the instrument of her desire,
trying to catch it, to suck it in. The fingers holding Harding's stalk
allowed only the merest of licks before teasingly moving it beyond reach,
repeated this action several times. The sensation was exquisite,
excruciatingly so. Harding squeezed his eyes shut, shuddered with need.
The tension made his whole frame rigid and trembling. Whether the girl was
ready or not, he had to give in, had to give his hidden companion, his
secret partner in lust, permission. He opened his eyes and turned to the
smiling face watching him. He nodded, pushing his hips forwards. Marcia
instinctively felt the huge beast nudge nearer, opened her lips wider. The
fingers held him back a tortuous fraction longer, then allowed Harding to
slip his instrument fully into the girl's warm mouth. Harding gasped,
eased in deep, felt Marcia begin her delightful sucking and almost came.
Somehow, he found the will to hold on. Carefully, he arched over the
girl's naked body, placed his hands on the soft insides of her thighs and
pressed them wide apart. He looked down at her pretty, engorged sex, saw
how dilated, how moist and inviting she was. Her vulva reminded him of a
juicy, split peach. He slid his hands down the smooth flesh of her
quivering thighs and spread his fingers either side of her fleshy mound.
He gasped again, gave an involuntary jerk as Marcia's tongue whirled
expertly around his sensitive stem. Hold on, he thought, must hold on.
Using just his fingertips, he gently peeled open the delicate petals of
Marcia's labia, carefully stretching them wide so the bud of her clitoris
and the weeping, pink interior of her cunt clearly showed. He looked up,
nodded and smiled at his patiently waiting companion. A naked Rosemary
Harding smiled back, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She stooped and
skillfully applied a long, lingering kiss to Marcia's gaping sex, her lips
closing in a hot, cushioning O around the ruby clit. Harding, avidly
watching his wife's busy tongue, groaned and came in Marcia's mouth,
spurting his pent-up lust in thick, creamy globules down her gurgling
throat. Rose and he had chosen their naive victim a long time ago, had
planned slyly and carefully for just such a delicious surrender, such a
complete conquest. There were many exciting and unknown avenues yet to be
explored, but everything had worked out close to perfect. Now, the games
could truly begin. To Be Continued...


The next story, Anna the Maid's Tale, is a chapter from 666, a project
that may or may not become a novel. The story is set during the dark days
of 1939/45 when Hitler's bombers were in the process of blitzing a lone,
struggling England. Thousands of kids were evacuated from the cities and
moved to the relative safety of the countryside where other less obvious
dangers awaited them.


By Videll Dais

Chapter 3 Anna the maid's tale
My life so far has not been an entirely happy one. When my father died
on the Normandy beaches I was coming up to eleven. My sister, Katy, was a
year younger. Whereas Katy was slight of form and had the long blonde hair
I always wanted I, on the other hand, was of a more curvaceous build (more
womanly, mother would oft say), my hair quite dark, almost black. Apart
from our obvious physical differences, in other ways we were very alike and
exceptionally close, even more so since father had passed on. mother found
it really hard bringing us up alone. I think that's why she let Mr. Hobbs
move in with us so soon after father's passing. My sister and I protested
vehemently, but mother said there was a terrible war on, the world was a
cruel, lonely place to be alone in, and we really needed him. Besides, she
said, he was a good man and would look after us just like father used to
do. I never believed that for one second and it wasn't long before my fears
were realized in the worst way possible. Mr. Hobbs did not treat mother well. We would hear strange noises coming from their room at night. My
mother often used to cry out as though in pain. Katy and me would get very
upset listening to it and cry a lot. One night I went into their room to
tell Mr. Hobbs to stop hurting mother. I was shocked to find mother completely naked, face down over the edge of the bed. Mr. Hobbs was
naked, too, and standing close behind her, his hands holding her hips,
vigorously rocking her back and forth. I yelled at him to stop and mother screamed at me to get out of her room. I didn't understand what was going
on and cried for most of the night. Later, she explained to me that men had certain needs that a wife was duty bound to take care of and that I
wasn't to worry or take any notice. No matter how it may have appeared to
my innocent eyes, Mr. Hobbs wasn't, in fact, hurting her but actually made
her feel really good, very excited, and that's why she cried out sometimes.
It was all big mystery to me. For a while, I remained baffled by it all.
Mr. Hobbs turned out to be a lazy oaf. He made mother take a job cleaning
five days a week at Berkley House while he stayed at home complaining of
ill health and 'to look after us girls' as he put it. In reality, all he
did was drink, sleep and make my sister and I do all the chores. mother wasn't too happy with the situation, but had little choice in the matter if
we were to keep food on the table. For reasons I could never quite fathom,
Katy's attitude to our new 'stepfather' quickly changed from open hostility
to something resembling...well, fondness. Within a period of just a few
short weeks she actually became defensive of him, was always doing little
favors, and secretly laughing and joking around with him. Though we were
close and normally would never have disagreed, Katy and I began to argue
over Mr. Hobbs. If I said he was horrible, she would say I was wrong and
that she found him rather nice and fun to be around. "You're being very
snobbish, Anna," she would say. "Mummy likes him. You just have to give
him a chance." I was dumbstruck as well as baffled. Often I was forced to
chide her for being over familiar with him, but she never took any notice
and continued her outrageous behavior regardless. I used to get quite
angry with her at times. One morning, I heard giggling as I was passing
the kitchen door. I looked in and saw Katy sitting astride Mr. Hobbs'
knees, her legs widespread. He was whispering in her ear, grinning, his
hand slowly moving about under her nightdress, which had bunched high up on
her bare thighs. She was wriggling her bottom and seemed to be enjoying
herself. It was obvious she was not wearing any knickers. How could she
allow that awful man to touch her like that? Totally shocked, I slipped
away without being noticed. We never kept any secrets from each other and,
later, I told her what I had witnessed in the kitchen that morning. I
asked her what he had been doing to her. "Nothing," she'd replied,
blushing furiously and avoiding eye contact. "He was just playing a silly
tickling game with me that's all. It was fun." I thought my sister was
lying to me but did not challenge her. I preferred instead to wait and see
what developed. I worried for Katy and the way things were going. I was
tempted to voice my fears to mother, but I knew she would be upset. She
had enough on her plate all ready and I had no wish to cause her further
unnecessary angst. In retrospect, this was possibly the most stupid
decision I could ever have made. Things took a decided turn for the worst
three months before my twelfth birthday. Katy and I came home from school
just after 3:30. As usual, mother was at work and Mr. Hobbs was in the
lounge, feet up, reading a book. He told Katy to go tidy her room and me
to make him some tea after which I was to prepare dinner. I did as I was
told and within ten minutes took Mr. Hobbs in a steaming cup of tea.
"Thank you, Anna," he said, as I handed the cup to him. I turned to go
back to the kitchen. "Wait, Anna. Don't rush off just yet. Come here. I
want to talk to you." Again, I stood in front of him. "What is it, Mr.
Hobbs?" "You don't seem to like me," Mr. Hobbs said. "I wondered why."
Not expecting to be asked such a forthright question, I was immediately
stuck for words, could feel my cheeks flush hotly. "You can tell me, Anna.
There's no need to be afraid." Mr. Hobbs leaned forwards, elbows on his
knees, big hands cupped around the teacup. His gray eyes were as dark as a
stormy sea and seemed to stare right through me. "Katy and I have lots of
fun and get on together very well, but you seem to have a chip on your
shoulder. You are taciturn, bad tempered for most of the time, and very
standoffish. Why is that? Why don't you like me?" "Because," I blurted
out, "I don't think you should be playing those strange games with Katy and
you keep hurting mummy." Much to my surprise, Mr. Hobbs laughed. "I
suppose," he said, "you're referring to the other night when you
unexpectedly entered our room." "Yes. It was horrible." Chuckling, Mr.
Hobbs placed his now empty cup on the occasional table beside his armchair.
"Dear Anna," he said, intently looking at me again. "You may have an old head on young shoulders, but there's much you still don't understand. You
need to learn some important lessons before you jump to such hasty
conclusions about what constitutes pain and hurting. Come here and sit on
my knee." I took a step back. "No - I don't want to." "Why not? Katy
does." I huffed with disapproval. "Yes, well, I'm not Katy." "I thought
you were more grown up than that, Anna," Mr. Hobbs said, disappointedly,
his voice soft, soothing. "No matter what you think, I would never hurt your mum. Or you. Or Katy. I can prove it, too. I can teach you about
things if you want, if you're willing to learn. I'll help you to
understand more about what happens between you're mother and me, what
happens when a man and a woman love each other. Aren't you curious?
Wouldn't you like to discover some new things about yourself, your body;
about love and life?" I didn't answer. The things he said, though, and the
patient, gentle way he was speaking, caught my ear. He began suddenly to
appear nicer. I don't know why but, as I listened to him, I began to feel
doubt, a sort of guilt, about my judgment of him. Maybe I'd been wrong
about Mr. Hobbs all along, wrong about the things he did with Katy, the
way he treated mother. "Anna, are you going to sit on my lap for a
minute?" I still wasn't sure. I shook my head, a hesitant no. Faster than
I ever thought possible, Mr. Hobbs suddenly reached out and grabbed my
wrist. "Come here," he said, and yanked me between his legs. I tried to
pull away. "No!" I yelled. "Let me go!" "You're a wild one aren't you? I
can see I'll have to tame that temper of yours." Mr. Hobbs was far bigger
and stronger than me. Struggle as I did, I was helpless. He gripped my
waist. Turning me, he quickly lifted me up and plonked me down quite
unceremoniously astride his legs. "Now, sit there and behave yourself," he
snapped, his voice harsher, back to its old nasty, domineering tone. His
arm tightened and, squeezing me close to him, he made me lay back against
him. "Don't make me angry, Anna," he said, breathing hotly in my ear, "or
you'll know more than you ever want to about pain." Breathless, heart
pounding, a kind of paralysis gripped me. Not knowing what to expect but
having no doubt he would hurt me if I disobeyed him, I kept quite still. I
think it was at that moment I became truly afraid of Mr. Hobbs. He folded
both his thick arms around me, pressed his cheek close, and sniffed my
hair. "Mmm, you smell so nice, Anna. Clean, fresh. Sometimes your
mother's hair smells of dust and furniture polish. I like yours better. I
like you sitting on my lap, too; much more friendly." As he spoke, I felt
him move his big hands over me and a nervous tremble shook my body. "You
feel so soft, Anna, cuddly. That's nice. It won't be long before you're
fully grown; a woman." His hands moved over my shoulders, down my arms,
then on to my thighs. I was wearing my school pinafore and felt the heat
of his touch through the skirt just above my knees. "I...I have to start
getting dinner ready," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
"There's no rush," Mr. Hobbs said, "it's only four-fifteen. Let me see
your legs." I felt his hands pull my skirt up over my knees. I reached to
stop him, to protest. My knees instinctively drew together, but he quickly
brought up his own effectively holding mine apart. He pulled my skirt up
almost all the way to my knickers. I felt totally humiliated.
Embarrassment and anger washed over me. "Remember what I said, Anna: Don't
invoke my anger." With this, using the thick thumbs and fingers of both
hands, he painfully pinched hard the soft flesh just behind my knees. It
hurt so much I yelped. Tears of pain filled my eyes. How could he be so
cruel, so horrible? Mr. Hobbs chuckled, obviously enjoying himself.
"There. See what I mean?" His hands gently rubbed the injured areas then
moved higher on the tender insides of my thighs. I thought he was going to
pinch me there as well, but he just rubbed, slowly, softly. "That was
pain, Anna. If you don't want more of the same do as you're told and be
nice. Now - are you going to be friendly?" "No, you hurt me," I said,
defiantly. "You hurt me and you're nasty." "Right, my girl, it seems you
have further lessons to learn." Mr. Hobbs roughly pulled me about, turning
me again like a rag doll, jerking me across him so my hands and feet
touched the floor either side of his legs. I felt him tug my skirt right
up my back and quickly yank my knickers half way down my legs. I
ineffectively yelled my protestations. I felt his hand on my bare bottom.
"Don't! Stop it! Leave me alone," I cried, indignantly. I kicked and
wriggled as much as I could, but he held me in place with just one strong
arm. As I struggled I felt a hard lump under my belly, something hidden in
his lap. "Let me go! I'm telling mother about you; how utterly awful you
are." "Shut up and keep still or I'll really get angry," Mr. Hobbs said.
His hands squeezed the tops of my legs, then each cheek of my bottom, his
thick fingers digging right in between the cleft. "You have such a nice
bum, Anna, a lovely bum, in fact." He pulled the cheeks of my bottom wide
apart and I knew he could see all my privates. "Stop it! Don't do that!"
Mr. Hobbs laughed. "I'll do what I like young lady," he said. I gasped
as I felt one of his fingers probe between my kicking legs and actually
touch my cunny. He rubbed me slowly, up and down from front to back,
tickling me right there in my private place. I clenched my fists and beat
them hard against the carpet. I was so furious, so embarrassed. The
uncomfortable lump under my writhing belly seemed to grow larger. I
screamed, "I'm telling! I'm telling!" "You won't tell anybody anything,"
Mr. Hobbs spat. "You will learn to do what you're told, though, and do it
straight away without backchat or argument. And if you have to learn the
hard way so be it." Then he began to spank me. Hard. The flat of his hand
slapped down on my wobbling bottom at least a half dozen times. I
shuddered, screamed in shock and pain, but the cruel beast would not let
up. I don't know how long it went on. When he finally stopped, my bottom
stung, felt red raw, and I sobbed heartfelt tears. "There, there," Mr.
Hobbs whispered, his hands moving lightly now over my bare back and lower
down around the tops of my legs, feather light touches that avoided my
stinging bottom. "Stop crying. It's over. Now, hopefully you'll be more
amenable and allow me to make it all better for you. I'm sorry it was
necessary to do that, Anna, but I will not tolerate disobedience, rudeness
or bad behavior. I didn't want to spank you. I'd much rather you learn
your lessons the nice way: painlessly and as a friend. Perhaps we can move
our relationship a step forwards from here on. Now, stand up." Wincing,
hurriedly brushing the tears from my flushed cheeks, I did as he told me,
relieved that my skirt once more restored my dignity and covered my bare
flesh. I felt my knickers slipping to my ankles and made a feeble attempt
to retrieve them. "No," Mr. Hobbs said. "Step out of them. Leave them
off. Kneel in the chair, you're back to me."

I knelt on the deep cushion, gripping the padded back of the chair with
trembling hands. What was he going to do now - spank me again? "Lean over
further, Anna. Raise your bottom higher." "Please, Mr. Hobbs," I begged,
almost bursting into tears. "Don't spank me again. I'll be good. I
really will." "Do as I ask." I obeyed and was aware of Mr. Hobbs moving
behind me. I felt him raise my skirt once more and tuck it above my waist.
The air felt cool on my smarting bottom. I flinched as he placed his hands
on the curves of my hips, his touch gentle, hot, slightly tickling across
my skin. He reached under me and began to stroke my tummy, his fingers
moving in slow circles. "There," he said, "doesn't this feel nicer? Much
better than a spanking, eh? Katy likes me to do this to her. She likes it
a lot." My tummy muscles quivered under his creeping fingers. It did feel
nice, like tickling but different. There was no way I was going to admit
it to him, though. I kept silent. "Rest your head in your arms and
relax," he said, his voice low, coaxing. "I'm not going to spank you
anymore, Anna, because I think you'll be good from now on. What I am going
to do is make you feel better, take away the stinging in your lovely little
bum. Just stay as you are and don't move. Understand?" As he was speaking
his fingers slid up along my rib cage, pushing my skirt higher along with
my blouse and under vest. "Don't be shy or embarrassed. You're a very
beautiful girl, Anna. I like you better like this: without
clothes...naked. Your skin is so creamy, so smooth and soft." As he was
touching me, Mr. Hobbs' voice became shaky, his breathing more rapid, like
he was panting. "Ah, yes," he said, "your bubbies are filling out
nicely...very nicely indeed. You'll soon be needing a brassiere like your
mother." He played with my bubbies for a long time, squeezing, tugging
gently at the tips with the ends his fingers. His touching made me shiver
several times. "Your nipples are sensitive, Anna, nodules of pleasure.
I've made them crinkly and hard, standing up like little soldiers. Are
they tingling?" They were. Each time he plucked at them, my tummy churned
in an odd way. I felt strange. I couldn't answer him. Had he done this
to Katy in the kitchen that day, I wondered. What he was doing was surely
wrong. If she knew, I'm sure mother wouldn't let him touch Katy or me this
way. The tingling mixed with the stinging sensations in my bottom, a
heated combination that sent a tremulous shiver up and down my spine. I
squeezed my eyes shut, tried to ignore his touches, the hot, shivery
feelings he was causing in my tummy. "Mr. Hobbs..." I stammered, "I...I
have to...get dinner." "Relax, Anna. Stop worrying all the time. I'm
making you feel nice; healing you, stopping that pain in your delightful
little bum. Just concentrate on what I'm doing." He moved one hand to my
tummy again, stuck a wriggling finger in my belly button for a moment then
slid the flat of his hand lower. "Open your legs wider, Anna." I moved my
knees apart as far as the armchair would allow. "Oh!" I gasped, my breath
catching in my throat as Mr. Hobbs pressed his palm between my thighs -
right over my cunny. "That's better," Mr. Hobbs whispered. "I can touch
you properly in all your special places now. Mmm... plump. Nice thick lips. You have a perfect little cunny, Anna, so soft and smooth. You'll
be getting some hair here soon. Do you like this...?" I felt him press a
fat finger lightly along the crease of my cunny. He moved it slowly back
and forth. It tickled in a strange way making me flush hotly. At the same
time, with his other hand, he tickled my nipples. I shivered again, both
excited by and confused at the pain/pleasure sensations now in almost
constant motion all over my body. My thighs went all weak and quivery. I
wanted to squeeze my legs together, press myself harder against his hand. I
could not comprehend how or why the churning in my belly seemed to increase
with each touch of his fingers. I felt damp, a squishiness where his
sinuous finger was touching, wondered if maybe I had had an accident and
peed myself. Quite unconsciously I wriggled my bottom. Mr. Hobbs
chuckled. "Oh, yes...I can see you prefer this to a spanking. You're
getting excited aren't you? I can tell. You don't seem to have so many
complaints now, Anna, eh? Feels good playing tickling games doesn't it? I
like your little cunny. It feels all hot, puffy and swollen and is weeping
with love juice. It seems to like my finger touching it just...there...and
tickling like this." "Oh!" I squealed. Love juice? What was love juice? I
couldn't ask; I dare not. Mr. Hobbs did something down there, touched me
in a certain way, and I felt a river of shivery warmth sort of wash all
over and through me. Something brushed against the crease of my wriggling
bottom, something like his finger only thicker, longer, more smooth,
something hotter and more urgent. It pressed right between the cheeks,
slowly rubbed up and down. "That's it, Anna. Good girl. Keep moving your
bum against me like that." Mr. Hobbs, panting, stopped playing with my
bubbies, my tingling nipples, and looped his arm under me. He pulled me
against the thick hard thing that was rubbing my bottom, pressed and held
me against it whilst rubbing his finger between my legs and moving the
other thing up and down my bottom groove. "Ooh, Mr...Mr Hobbs," I said,
almost gasping for breath. "Move your bum, Anna. Move it against
me...yes...yes, like that." Another minute of rubbing my bottom and
suddenly Mr. Hobbs appeared taken with some kind of fit. He trembled,
went rigid and held me tightly against him almost squeezing the breath from
my labored lungs. I felt the hard thing swell and twitch right in my
cleft, a hot creamy liquid suddenly squirted up my back. I shivered as the
warm creamy stuff trickled into my bottom crease and down between my spread
legs. Once. Twice. Three then four times, at least, the twitching and
squirting went on. I was surprised, shocked even, at Mr. Hobbs wetting
himself all over me like that. It was all very scary, yet exciting and
puzzling at the same time. I shivered, a lot of tiny spasms shook my
tummy, and I wriggled my bottom till Mr. Hobbs eventually and breathlessly
told me to hold still. "Oh, that was delicious, Anna, absolutely
delicious," Mr. Hobbs said, still rubbing the thick thing against my
bottom but more slowly now. It seemed softer than when it was twitching
and squirting. Mr. Hobbs didn't speak for what seemed like ages, he then
said, "Did you like that, Anna?" "What?" "Did you like it when I tickled
your cunny?" "I...I..." "There's no need to be shy. Tell me the truth.
Did you like me tickling your cunny?" "Y-Yes, but...only a...a little bit."
I felt myself blushing into the crook of my arm and was glad he could not
see my face. "Is that what you do to Katy?" "Of course," Mr. Hobbs said.
"She enjoys it and wants to do it all the time now. You see, the more you
do it the better it feels. You wait and see. It's fun and every girl should have fun even you, Anna." "But...but it's naughty. It's wrong. You
shouldn't be doing that to me or Katy." "How can it be wrong? Katy likes
it and you saw for yourself how your mum likes it. How can something that
feels so nice be wrong?" "I...I don't know." "I think you do know really,
Anna," Mr. Hobbs chuckled. Then he was suddenly stern again. "We'll keep
these little games a secret between ourselves. You will tell no one,
discuss it with no one, not even Katy. Is that understood?" "Y-Yes." I
stammered and jumped as he touched me between my legs again, right on that
tender place. His fingers lingered, rubbed gently along my cunny lips
making my belly churn and I couldn't help wriggling my bottom. "You see,"
Mr. Hobbs whispered, "it's much better being friends isn't it? We can do
lots more nice things like this, things you will enjoy. If you're bad, I
shall spank you again and spank you hard. But, be good like you are now
and we'll have lots more fun lessons." Just as I was beginning to get that
tingly feeling all over, Mr. Hobbs removed his fingers from my hot cunny.
I almost wanted to tell him not to stop doing what he was doing, to please
keep touching me there, but was too shy to utter a word. "Get dressed
now," he said. "It's time for you to prepare dinner." I had a strange but
pleasant tingling sensation between my legs and all round my cunny for ages
after my awful - but nice - experience with Mr. Hobbs. I kept feeling his
hands and fingers moving all over me. I could hardly sit still through
dinner that evening and mother chided me twice, almost sent me to my room,
for fidgeting. I blushed furiously when both Katy and Mr. Hobbs gave me a
sly smile and a knowing look. It was almost as if they could read my mind.
Though deep down I knew that what Mr. Hobbs had done to me - and I to him!
- should never have happened, had been really wrong, I found myself
wondering what other lessons he had in mind for me. Surprisingly, and much
to my disgust, I actually begun to look forwards to them.

That night, after Katy and I were snug in our bed, the house silent, and
the candle extinguished, I was still tingling between my legs and my
bubbies ached to be touched. I couldn't help asking my sister about Mr.
Hobbs. "Tell me please, Katy, what are the games you play with Mr.
Hobbs?" "I can't tell you, Anna," Katy whispered. "I'm sworn to secrecy.
If I tell you, Mr. Hobbs will spank my bare bottom and he said he won't
play with me anymore." The darkness seemed to press in on us from all sides
and I heard the drone of high-flying airplanes pass above us. I cuddled up
closer to her. "Please, Katy. What does he do to you?" Katy put her arm
across my middle and held me tighter. "That sound scares me, Anna." "Oh,
don't be frightened, Katy. They're a long way from us." After a minute, I
whispered in her ear, "Honestly, I promise I won't tell a soul, Katy. What
does he do to you that is so much fun? You always seem to be enjoying
yourself. I want to share your secret." "I can't tell you, but...I-I
suppose I could show you." Just then, we heard a muffled yelp from mother's
room. I tensed up and my mind filled with rude thoughts. I could imagine
just what Mr. Hobbs was doing to her now and I immediately began to feel
hot and bothered and itchy between my thighs. "Do you want me to show you
what Mr. Hobbs does to me, Anna?" I nodded. "Oh, yes. Please, Katy, show
me." "You must lie still and do what I say. Turn over, lay flat on your
back." I did as Katy asked and she moved the arm across my tummy until the
flat of her hand rested over my belly button. Slowly, she began to caress
me there just as Mr. Hobbs had. Her touch was much softer, as light as a
feather. My skin rippled and I shivered. Katy giggled. She bunched her
fingers and tugged at my nighty gradually pulling it up, bunching it at the
top of my legs. "Lift up," she said. I raised my bottom. My breath
caught in my throat as Katy, pulling my nighty high up over my bubbies,
accidentally brushed her hand over one of my bare nipples. I felt it
tingle into erectness. The sheets felt cool against my hot nakedness.
"Sorry," Katy said. "That's all right," I muttered, sucking in my tummy as
her hand moved down and began to rub me there again, small, light circles
around my belly button. "Bring your knees up," Katy whispered, her lips
close to my ear, her warm breath making me shiver with pleasure. "Yes,
that's right. Now let them fall open and put the soles of your feet flat
together." I did as she asked and felt my thigh muscles tighten and my
cunny lips pull apart. "Oh, Katy!" I gasped as her small hand slid down my
trembling belly and covered my mound, her middle finger pressing right
along my open slit. "You're wet, Anna." Katy giggled again and I heard
another low groan from mother's room. Mr. Hobbs was probably rubbing his
thing between her bum cheeks like he had mine. The very thought made me
burn. I licked my suddenly dry lips as I imagined Mr. Hobbs holding
mother's naked body down on the bed, doing those rude things to her, making
her cry out. Katy moved her finger along my parted cunny slit, hooking it
slightly so the tip dipped into the moist warmth between. "Ooh," I
whimpered as she slipped her finger deeper and electric shocks bolted from
my belly to my titties and back again. "Oh, Katy," I gasped, "-
does...does Mr. Hobbs do that to you?" "Do you like our little game,
Anna?" "Mm...ooh! Ye-esss!" My hips and bottom rocked against Katy's
delicious probing finger as it rubbed across that special place and then
slid back and forth right up inside me. Katy bent over me and I felt her
tongue circle one of my nipples. She fastened her lips over the tight bud
and began to suck and lick on it. I groaned as a wave of tingling
sensation washed over me. "Stay as you are," she said, and moved her head
lower licking the soft flesh of my trembling belly, then the smooth rise of
my mound. "Ooh, Katy!" I groaned. In the next instant, I felt her mouth
fasten in a moist cushion at the top of my cunny lips, right over that
special place. Her tongue flicked and licked and I shuddered as the
tingling feeling erupted and surged through every nerve ending in my
quivering body. My belly trembled and my hips bucked up against her lips
and busy dipping finger. I'd never felt anything so exciting, so ecstatic.
A long spasm of intense pleasure rocked my whole body for what must have
been a full minute. I gasped breathlessly into the night. Giggling
softly, Katy came back up from under the covers and fastened her lips over
my mine. "There. Now it's your turn to do me." "But...but I don't know
how." "Don't worry," Katy whispered. "It's easy and fun to learn. I'll
teach you." Willingly, I complied.




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