Helena Robertson
Mousse
CHAPTER ONE
Monique threw her cigarette in the crystal ash tray. She got up and displayed her shapely voluptuous body in the fragrant breeze of that June evening. She listened for a while to the rumor of the nearby sea and of the moving pine trees in the starlit night; then, leaving the terrace, she entered the living room where her aunt and some friends of hers were seriously playing bridge. By the table, Max Darcourt was quietly smoking. He looked at Monique, a splendid girl of nineteen, fair-haired, whose body, dressed in shiny black silk, represented a perfect materialization of desires and lust. At each step she took, her splendid buttocks were undulating, supported by her perfectly shaped legs. She had a very narrow waist that accentuated the size of her rear. Her two breasts were like succulent and juicy pineapples. The face was very sweet, with wide eyes that looked at you as in perpetual surprise.
Monique, an orphan, spent her youth in a convent in Brittany, and later, she herself became a teacher in a boarding school. She was spending her vacations in the south of France with her aunt who was also her legal tutor.
She looked at Max, an old friend of her aunt. He was handsome, forty-nine, a gray-templed character, and one of her aunt's best friends. He had a little smile and winked at Monique. She replied by another smile and he came by her side. She poured him a glass of champagne and he asked her in a low voice:
“Will I see you like last year? Our little club is still in full swing and awaiting your visit.”
Monique looked around to be sure that no one could hear them and breathed:
“I know. The delightful lingerie that you sent me this morning brought back all kinds of memories from my last vacations; I will go to the club tomorrow to receive the deepest 'attentions' from the members…”
Max smiled to her, kissed her hand, and went back to the bridge table.
Monique then went to a sofa where her little nephew, Jacques, was reading comics. She caressed the head of the child. He had a very sweet face with delicate features. He smiled at her and hugged her close.
“You are not sleeping?”
“No, not yet, I just do not want to. What about you?”
“Me neither. Will you come with me on the terrace?”
Monique smiled, got up, and followed the young boy. The night swallowed them immediately as they walked side by side on the sand covered with dried pine needles. They stopped on a kind of terrace above the sea and Monique leaned against it, Jacques remained behind her, admiring her behind revealed by the pose. The dress lifted up, and the white flesh of the thighs, contrasted against the black silk stockings, was showing daringly. Her garters were of the same color. He knelt behind the young girl and put his hands on her hips. His head brushed the silky material of her dress. Monique shivered from head to toes at that contact that she had been awaiting since the day before. Did she want it? Maybe.
All the allusions that the kid had made from the day he arrived, about her shape, her figure, all the looks that she caught on her legs, often displayed generously by languid poses, were so many symptoms of the desire of her young cousin. What would be the limit to his ardor?
A terrible excitation was knotting her in-sides, she was deprived for five days of the caresses of her pupils; besides that, the fragrance and voluptuous climate of that country were giving a new energy to the blood that ran in her lascivious body.
She did not say anything, closed her eyes, expectingly. The child caressed the hips, the thighs over the dress. He guessed, by Monique's passivity, that she was consenting. His hands moved along the silky stockings, up and up till they met with the warm and soft flesh. They caressed it and, moving higher, arrived on the buttocks. He lifted the dress up and dug his face in the slit that separates the firm globes, in an ardent embrace, while his hands encircling the thighs were reaching, caressing, teasing her velvety intimacy.
Monique was abandoning her flesh under the caress while a warm sensation came from between her legs, where her flesh was softly brushed by Jacques' breath. She felt the mouth under her buttocks, on the sensitive place at the end of her sex. The hands were harder on her legs, trying to separate them. She had a reflex of modesty, but it was already too late- the tongue was greedily insinuating toward the sex. She sighed deeply, half shame and half pleasure. Obediently, she opened her legs, offered her bottom, and the mouth was on her sex, edging its way between the burning lips, and sucking at the little bud that was pointing. Then began a deep suction while the hands were still caressing the front of the girl's legs.
Monique was no longer listening to the murmur of the sea, or the sound of the breeze in the pine trees, but her own humming as it finally came like a song in the fragrant night. Her bottom was slowly dancing, with sucking of the child, and the spasm was getting closer. Monique was finding again the pleasure that she had missed so much for a long time. As in a movie, the face of her little pupils, also enjoying their vacations, passed in front of her eyes. Then lustier pictures came to her mind; she could see flagellated bodies moving lasciviously. Monique sighed under the violence of the sensation that she could feel, she shivered and swiveled on her trembling legs, her fingers pressed on the marble of the balcony till the nails rasped on the hard stone. From her throat came a continuous rattle, then a deep cry and a trembling of her whole body, pushing her bottom violently against the young face that was glued to her sex. Monique exhaled her satisfaction in a long cry…
The child remained a long moment with his face still dug between the buttocks his eyes closed he kept kissing the lips dripping with her juices. Withdrawing, he contemplated in the pale blue moonlight the propped bottom and the shiny extremities bulging under the fair hair. His shivering fingers were caressing the full mass of the globes. He caressed the milky flesh of the young girl's thighs and she let him do as he pleased, trying to recover from the violent pleasure.
She turned around to face and caress the young fair-haired head of the child still kneeling in front of her who was caressing the palpitating belly, kissing the velvety crotch, drawing with the tip of his tongue the contours of the delicate shaped navel.
Monique bent down, kissed the child on the lips; he was already grabbing the breast by the deep opening of the blouse.
She guessed the desire that was coming in the child:
“Not here, later… Not everything on the same day… Stop now…”
He insisted, and she resisted, so he finally gave up. Lowering her dress, she returned with him to the house.
The bridge game was coming to an end, she served a couple of cold drinks; and while she was doing so, Max, by her side murmured:
“Does he caress well, little Monique?”
Monique blushed. Max guessed at the lines under the eyes, and the extraordinary light in her eyes, the result of the little walk on the terrace. He also knew by another woman who told him that it was not the boy's first experience in the pleasures of Sappho.
Little by little, all the guests departed. Monique caught the look between her Aunt Sonia and Pierre Bernier; she also saw their lips whisper some words.
Sonia looked anxious and impatient to see everyone go away. She hardly answered Monique's chat before going away and retiring in her room. Monique looked at her while she walked out of the living room. She was a very elegant and appealing woman, well shaped in the clinging material of her white dress that made her thirty-three year old body look very sensuous. Her brown hair was a crown to her sensuous face.
Monique turned all the lights out and went in her room; she undressed and caressed her languid body. Throwing a silk kimono over her shoulders she went by the window and, leaning against the balustrade, listened to the sounds of the night. She could breathe the soothing air coming from the sea. Silence was complete and all the lights were turned off. Suddenly Monique saw a shadow moving in the garden. She recognized Pierre Bernier when he reached the terrace. He came in the house, and, a little bit later, the light filtrated through Sonia's Venetian blinds.
Monique, her throat tense with desire, walked along the balcony that was encircling the house, the wood of the balcony was still warm with the sun of the passed day. She came by Sonia's room and through the blades of the Venetian blinds she peeped into the room.
Sonia was naked in Pierre's arms, and he was caressing her with his delicate hands.
Already the man was undressing and he let Monique admire his tool, of a reasonable size, over the round testicles, and darting from the pubic hair like a pole.
Glued to each other, caressing each other, the couple's pleasure was growing. He turned her on her back, on the bed. She lifted her widely open legs and kneeling in front of her, he glued his mouth to her sex. Soon the love song came in the room while he was caressing her breasts with his nervous hands. The spasm was quick to come and she uttered a hoarse cry, her fingers dug deep in the man's hair. He got up and lay down upon her. His prick was in her immediately. Monique could see it go in and out between their opened thighs. It was pumping in the pink mouth, swallowed by the lips contracted with desire that were absorbing it completely, the testicles were touching, flapping against the woman's buttocks, while their mouths uttered inarticulated words of passion and love.
The gaudy images of Monique's school life came to her mind. It was the first time that she saw a woman penetrated by a man's tool. Of course she herself manipulated a rubber dildo in the cunt of her school director; she knew the terrible pleasure that it provoked, but it had not reached the strength of the embrace of the couple under her eyes. The male penetrated her flesh, but never in the sex… she was still a virgin. She had to, first by force and then by pleasure, let men go deep in her guts, between the opened buttocks. It was through her horribly distended asshole that came the first pleasure under the male embrace.
Her finger on her cunt, Monique was vigorously masturbating and when the couple, in an ultimate rattle let loose to pleasure, she came with them, her moistened finger trembling frantically, sweat dripping at her temples, and she uttered a deep sigh in the night. The couple separated and as Pierre was walking to the window Monique ran back to her room. Between the cool sheets she recovered a little tranquility, but could not find her sleep.
Later, much later in the night she heard the steps of the man fade away in the garden under the moon.
CHAPTER TWO
Monique was awakened by the sun, late in the morning. She put on a bathing suit and called for Jacques who was playing in the garden. With him she ran to the sea to bathe. They let the sun dry them, then crossed the lane to return to the villa but he stopped her by a bush, and pointing at her breasts under the brassiere of her bathing costume, he said:
“You promised me…”
She smiled and refused. He insisted, getting closer to her, she could feel his virility getting bigger under the material of his trunks. A strange feeling came in her mind, and in her body. She moved a little bit away from him, looked around and undid her brassiere. He contemplated her, stunned, as if he could not believe what his eyes saw. The two huge globes were pointing upwards, milky, round, perfectly horizontal, with their nipples a nice dark pink, a little bit elongated by the repeated deep suctions and other treatments that she suffered for years. They were like two of the hardest exotic fruits pointing on her palpitating body. Monique knew how beautiful her breasts were, how many times had she seen the desire in the wondering looks of the little girls, women, and also the few men who contemplated the naked torso. Even under the blouse they did not pass unnoticed. But also, what tortures did she have to endure because of those…
Jacques, his mouth dry with emotion, caressed with trembling fingers the hardened teats, then sucked greedily at the sensitive nipples. Sweet and soft sucking came first of all, then he got more demanding and voracious, as his hands were caressing the waist, the flat stomach, and the firm buttocks. Monique let the young boy use and abuse her flesh, but when she felt the excitation come in her too, she remembered the afternoon at the club…
“Be patient darling,” she said freeing herself with difficulties from the embrace of the child. “Let me go, let me… another time, I promise you, I will let you do anything… another time…”
She covered him with passionate kisses while the young fingers were caressing the huge globes and the lips posing everywhere on the salted skin.
She succeeded in freeing herself, but while she was putting her brassiere, he, always kneeling, was kissing the inside of her thighs, then her pubis. At last she got up and running with him to appease their senses, they went back to the villa.
She listened to the day's program from Sonia, whose tired eyes proved how delightfully hard the combat with Pierre must have been. She was annoyed to hear that people were expected at the villa in the afternoon, but, on the other hand, Sonia was going out the same night.
In the afternoon she took her nap, while waiting for the visitors. Naked on her bed, her eyes half closed, a cigarette between her lips, she reviewed the main events of her life.
It had been a very ordinary life. Her parents were not rich. She studied till she was twelve and that was all. Then her father died. The mother, a very young, good musician, suffered from the loneliness of her condition, but because of her beauty, she was surrounded by a court of admirers. Certain of those admirers, Monique understood later, financially helped her, and received in exchange the mother's embrace. But it was all very discreet and tactful.
Monique was a big girl, physically quite advanced for her age. Her shape was full of promise and very often she was the subject of the attention of her mother's friends. In the beginning, Monique did not react, did not understand-then a vicious friend of hers educated her, and revealed to her Sapphic pleasures which developed very rapidly in her a taste for voluptuousness.
Through that bias, she understood the attraction of one body for another body, particularly by means of her breasts and buttocks. She understood the meaning of men's caresses in spite of a certain innocence as to what use could be made of her sex out of the caresses of an expert tongue. She thought that that was the highest peak that one could reach in pleasure through sex, and that nothing else was to be expected from it. As she was logical, she gave the caress back, in spite of the fact that she did not like to do it as much as to receive it. She learned how to make her body look better with the little lingerie that she had. Another girl friend, a schoolmate with richer parents, gave her a grand taste for delicate underclothes and in spite of her very young age, she often admired her own modest lingerie in the mirror.
This was not unnoticed by the house's familiars. One of the men, more audacious, taking less care of the mother, reported his diligent attention. One night she went with her mother and another friend, to this man's house for dinner. After the dinner, as everyone was gay and happy from the meal and the fine wines, she went out with the old friend, while her mother and the other guest went into the garden, apparently to chit chat. As soon as Monique and the man were alone together, he drew her close to him. He put his hand into her blouse and touched the already round and firm breasts under the brassiere. She let him do it half out of curiosity and half out of vice, and it excited her. He was talking slowly, gently, tenderly, and when he slid his hand under the short skirt, she let him crumple the little pants. She felt the air on her naked buttocks, on her belly, on her naked thighs. With her thighs closed together at first, she let him caress her propped bottom. She resisted a long moment, scared by the finger that was trying to insinuate itself between her thighs, and gave up under its lascivious caress. He was gentle, not brutal at all. He was expert in the art of caressing Monique's little rose, pointed, hardened, and damp. She let pleasure engulf her, half troubled by the wines and by the perverse caresses. Everything was turning around her, as in a merry-go-round.
He took off the little leather belt, and before she could protest, lifted up skirt and slip, up to the neck. He rapidly admired in the moonlight the body precociously formed; and he sucked at the breasts and gave a few crazy caresses…
Then he let her dress herself again, silent, ashamed. Then he took her in his arms and quieted her, as she nervously had started crying. He dried her tears and promised her all kind of things. They walked together back to the house and met the guests. Someone was very busy behind some bushes with Monique's mother. When she saw the couple, she readjusted her blouse and skirt very quickly, but not quickly enough for her daughter not to notice it… the little girl dwelt a long time on what she had seen. She then compared herself to her mother and in her mind came a new conception of existence. Then she came back and hugged her mother without resenting in the least what she had just discovered.
More than once she had to bear the caresses of the old friend; either a furtive touch on her naked buttocks under the dress, or, when more at ease, he could open her blouse and suck at the already huge bosom. But it took long months before he could bring her to his place and turn her over on a sofa. Then only he was able to suck at the young sex that nothing but the tongues and fingers of her little friends had polluted before.
She loved that moment of passivity of abandon, when the nakedness of her belly and of her most intimate spots was unveiled and offered to the looks of the man. She hardly sighed when he dug his forefinger between her buttocks, dilating the curled mouth that had never been penetrated by anything other than the nozzles of the enemas she had received when ill. He had to restrain himself in order not to scare her by too many strong advances the first day; he had to wait until she lost the last remnants of modesty remaining to her. One day, a Thursday, she found him naked in a bathrobe. Her will subdued by long caresses, her body aching from desire after the repeated suckings that drew constant cries from her dry throat and distorted her body in the most provocative postures, she did not refuse to caress the erected phallus, to take it between her virgin lips, to put her tongue on the hard end while the man with his finger was dampening his hand and preparing her little asshole for a monstrous assault.
When he felt that the hole was softened enough, he moved his tool out of the little girl's mouth, bent over her without touching her, put his prick on the opulent globes of her buttocks and slowly insinuated it in the slit that separated them. He moved slowly trying to find the hole, and suddenly he felt it at the tip of his tool. He held his breath, hardly moving while Monique, her heart beating at full speed, was waiting. She did not know, not yet. He slowly pushed in, and the supple yet powerful pole penetrated a few millimeters. He pushed harder, dilating the little ring of flesh that slowly encircled his member. As he pushed pain flashed through Monique's flesh. She sighed and looked at the man with anxiety in her eyes. He read in her eyes that she was scared, but the male's desire was horrible. He felt that she wanted to move away, thought that after that test it all would be over, that she would never accept to do it again. He wanted rape. He took her by the shoulders, whispering love words and pushing, always pushing his member ahead in the contracted and resistant flesh. The member seemed to be bending. Monique was half crying. No, no, not there. You are hurting me! I want to go. Let me go.
Then he got scared-he grabbed her by the buttocks and with one violent thrust he pushed with all his strength. A horrible shout came out of the girl's mouth, soon covered by the mouth of the man. The man's belly was glued to the little girl's pubis, his testicles squeezed against her buttocks. His member was in her ass up to the hilt.
There was an instant of silence. The man could feel the child's heart beat under her chest, then tears, hollering. He could not master his nerves; he grabbed the girl's wrists to stop her hands from lacerating his back. He choked her with his sucking mouth and with long and powerful moves, he sodomized the young girl. It was a rape that she remembered long after it was committed. When he finally let her go, after letting his greasy sap splurt in her asshole, she got up. Her face was hostile. Without a word she dressed herself as he smoked a cigarette. Then she looked at the room where she had spent some unforgettable moments, and that now horrified her. She looked him straight in the eyes and despisingly just said one word: “Imbecile!” The word seemed to contain as many regrets for the brutally lost dream, as distaste for the stupid and too voracious male.
Ever after that day she avoided his company; in spite of his gifts and promises she never went back to his house. But at the same time she attracted the attention of her mother's lover. Sometimes, and more often every week, he used to come a little bit before the time when he thought that he would meet his mistress, just to talk with Monique who always stayed at home. Half vice, half jealousy, she accepted the game, and soon enough Jef (that was the man's name) had the right to caress the pulpy buttocks and the well developed bosom under the thin material of the blouse. Then one day he could put his lips on the clitoris, hardened and pointing under the exciting caress… Fast and unquiet embrace because of the possibility of her mother's return. It was the only time, because her mother soon realized which body was most attractive in Jef's mind, and after the vacations Monique was sent to a boarding school away from Paris…
Monique stretched on her bed, got up, looked by the window at the silent garden under the sun of that hot afternoon… Her fingers caressed her hardened bosom. She lit another cigarette, went back to her bed, and let the souvenirs come back to her memory.
Thirteen, fourteen… fifteen, three birthdays that she spent in a convent. Intelligent she passed over one year, and was admitted with the “seniors”. That was a moment in her sexual life. With the age the passions were stronger and the perversions were displayed with more courage. First of all it was nothing but little jealousies that found her one day, lying on her bed, with four pupils holding her crucified members lying on her belly, while a “senior” was spanking her buttocks. Solange was there finding a revenge for some petty mistake of Monique… Her buttocks reddened by the correction, burning hot, and after that she had to support five times the sucking of her breasts and her sex, each time up to the spasm.
Then sixteen, the year of the Baccalaureat (French graduation) work, and also mourning — her mother died one night from a heart attack. Monique arrived home too late to see her. Deep sorrow. Her Aunt Sonia was named her legal tutor. There was no fortune, happily enough, to pay for the second part of her graduation.
And work started again. Monique, understanding quite well her situation, worked with all her strength. Nothing happened but the caresses and embraces of her little friends, in love with her breasts and sex.
Then the vacations by the Mediterranean seaside, alone, with only little Jacques as companion. She was more a tutor than a playmate.
Then again the convent, with the same rite, the same embraces, the same work, and the success at the end of the road for her exams. Once again other vacations-more agitation this time-with the desire of the male around her silent at first, then more insinuating and precise every day. The least caress, the least suggestion was awakening powerful sensations in her body. And at last the embrace of a little girl friend-her partner in swimming and sports games that soon also became her partner in other games. Brutal and greedy was the embrace that found them every night on the dunes where their tempers allowed them to repeated caresses, embraces during which, little by little, Monique indulged in letting her body be flagellated by supple and long seaweeds. Peggy (that was the girl's name) had that vice, that passion, to hurt and whip the buttocks of her little friends. She also did it with her hands, seeming to find a special pleasure in hearing the noise of her dry hands on the fleshy buttocks. In Monique Peggy found a very gifted disciple. One day, because her hands were burning after a solid spanking, Peggy had to stop. Monique suggested her to take a branch of Tamaris, and Peggy manipulated that whip with dexterity; soon, Monique's bottom was looking like a red sphere, and when the branch had lost all its leaves, she ordered Monique to turn over, and opening the compass of her round thighs, she sucked avidly the offered and damp sex.
CHAPTER THREE
Days ran away; already October was getting closer. A solution to the difficulties of life had to be found. What to do? One day, Max Darcourt proposed to write to the headmistress of a boarding school in Bretagne — he knew her personally. Maybe she could take Monique as schoolmistress under good conditions. The young girl agreed to the idea. Letters being exchanged, the propositions revealed interesting potentials for the young girl and she finally accepted. As soon as it was confirmed that she could have the job, she went to see Max Dar-court one evening after dinner. The weather was hot in spite of the late hour. They walked together in the garden amidst the cacti and bushy pine trees, Max admiring under the flimsy material of her dress the beautiful figure of the girl. He discreetly courted her and, as she was asking him, standing by his side, what she could do to thank him for finding such an interesting position for her, he came closer to her and with a few phrases whispered in low tones, he expressed his desire.
In the dark, Monique felt herself blushing. A strange sensation swept over her. As in a dream, she put her hands on her breasts that he had asked to caress. In the silence one could hear the beat of Monique's heart. She stood there motionless, hesitating, shocked in her reserve. But her taste for showing her own beauty was stronger… With trembling fingers she unbuttoned the white blouse, under which she was naked. Max was looking at Monique's eyes, not at the breasts that were slowly being uncovered. A kind of fascination came from his eyes. He guessed the gestures of the consenting young girl, and awaited the sign that would allow him, without any disappointment, to seize the adorable breasts between his lips. Suddenly came a sigh, and the eyes closed. Then-and only then-did Max look at her body; he was taken aback, the blouse had slid completely off and was hanging from Monique's arms.
The torso is naked, and in front of Max's eyes are her breasts. His hand starts a long caress on her cunt. A more precise caress confirms her virginity, and she shivers…
Then he masturbates her passionately, and soon, moaning and panting, Monique abandons herself to the pleasure that engulfs her. But Max also wants his share of pleasure. He props her, without stopping his caress, against a young pine; his hand unbuttons his pants, and the erected and hard phallus flashes out. He comes closer. She lets him turn her over, and now she faces the stem of the tree, moaning and rattling with pleasure. She has her arms folded, her head to one side; Max is behind her, glued to her. She feels against her buttocks the member that palpitates, and also the warm belly that shivers, covered with coarse and curly hair. She is a little bit anxious, but he masturbates her with skill and she does not stop being excited. Then with one hand he takes in his palm one of her voluminous breasts, caressing the pink extremity as he kisses her neck, his tool insinuates between her buttocks, and brushes the hair of her sex. While masturbating her excited clitoris, he caresses with the tip of his member-reddened by the effort-the wet lips of her cunt. He rubs the lips slowly, moistened by her own juices, and Monique, completely subdued, let him do what he wants. She now sighs and moans all the time. Her bottom is quivering in an exciting dance that attracts the male and excites him. He digs his prick higher between the buttocks, trying to find the asshole.
Monique protests; she would like to move away. She could easily do so, but a monstrous desire, the wish of an intense pleasure, maintains her on the spot. She now desires but one thing-to forget the pain of the first rape. She feels the head of the member, lubricated by her own juices, sliding into her secret mouth. Then she offers her bottom, set for the new rape, and he, with a hoarse cry, his legs trembling with desire, draws the bottom close. He clutches the two breasts, hard as calabashes with dark pink teats and — pointing in the middle like little cherries, the erected nipples.
Max did not think that she could have such a perfectly shaped and firm pair of breasts. He could not move, so great was the surprise; then, softly, he put his lips on one of the teats and sucked the whole nipple. He let the warm flesh fill his mouth completely, as his hands went caressing all over her torso.
In the silence of the night, disturbed only by the sudden whistle of a bird, begins a slow and elaborate sucking of the bosom that, little by little, brings Monique into a state of deep excitation. The expert tongue caresses, titillates, sucks, licks, and wanders all around the whole globe of the breast, bringing at each second a deeper and more violent excitation. He sucks first at the nipple, then the whole breast till the globe is shiny with saliva. He feels the trouble of the girl. He is so sure that she will consent that he puts his hands under the dress and slowly comes up along the inside of the thighs. Wonderful rotundities! His hand lazily wanders on the marvelous dunes, presses the perfect, round globes, feels the consenting flesh, while Monique sighs softly, purrs, still leaning against a pine tree. The dress is unhooked at the belt; it slides off under the pressure of expert fingers. Monique thinks that she cannot take anything else, she is going to faint. She does not resist when the hands force her knees apart. In the blue light of the night, she is nothing else than a white figure contrasted against the black background, a body distorted by pleasure, undulating under his caresses. She feels it as he goes along the inside of her thighs; she knows-she knows what he is going to do. Then he finally reaches the burning sex. He takes the mouth that cannot refuse his kiss. His tongue struggles in the damp darkness slowly, inch by inch, he lets his huge pole penetrate the distorted little opening.
Soft contraction of the burning muscles on that fleshy pole-was Monique hurt? She did not realize it. She remembered a dim pain mixed with pleasure… Her contracted position, the approach of the spasm made her open the velvety sheath more, like the mouth of some voracious ghoul. That, and the compressibility of Max's phallus were the causes of an easy penetration. Once again, Monique could feel the hard belly glued to her body, but this time the voluptuous pole was in her. She was not thinking about her shameful position. She gave herself completely to Max's ardent and passionate sodomizing, enjoying for the first time with a rare pleasure the feel of a male's flesh in her own secret place.
Max, glued against her back, was biting the nape of her neck, pressing her large breasts that moved at each thrust of his powerful tool up her ass. Everything was dimming in front of Monique's eyes as she felt the unknown and marvelous spasm come, come, come. She uttered a continuous moan, full of naked desire, and propped her bottom so that the penetration would be more intense and would go deeper. Impaled on the prick, she rotated, accentuating the pleasure that she was giving to the male, and the spasms came-terrible for both of them; She felt in her the beat of the canal, suddenly inflated by the coming of his sperm. And then the hot splurt came in her and they both uttered meaningless words and sounds of ecstasy.
Still caressing the beautiful and exhausted body, Max restored a little bit of order to his attire, then he caressed her and caressed her breasts. Then she dressed herself, and recovered her composure. Max succeeded in avoiding words or allusions that would shock her. Then he took her away from the place of the rape (he thought that he was the first). When they arrived at his place, whose windows opened on the sea, he offered her some Port wine.
Then he took her in his arms, and spoke to her. He let her understand that, at the boarding school, the headmistress had a knack for pretty girls. She would have to be obedient because the director had a propensity for corporal chastisement. He would impatiently wait for the vacations and weekend leaves. He would ask to be her correspondent so that she would not be alone when she came to Paris.
Tranquilized, she let him caress her, and pour her some more Port. She could feel his hands run across her large protruding buttocks and when he bent down to cover the two spheres with ardent kisses, she did not protest. Soon she fell back onto a pillow placed by a window, and he knelt by her, and glued his mouth to the palpitating sex. He sucked at her intently and pressed the erected clitoris between his tightened lips. The spasm soon came and contracted her splendid body, racking her with a long, deep moans.
She got up fast the last embrace, and he took her back to her aunt.
Later she left there, and arrived at the convent.
Monique, while remembering those delightful memories, had caressed her sex with soft and rapid motions of her finger. She came violently and sank into oblivion. Later she got up, drank some fresh water, and returned to her cooled bed. She closed her eyes, and again remembered.