"My Mother Taught Me" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kung Tor)

Chapter Two

It would be difficult to describe the trip from South End, England to Stockholm. There was so much that was entirely new for me. Just the sight of these people was a miracle, and here I was talking with them. Then there was the strange outside world. Also the sensation of flight, and the knowledge of imminent approach to a new country, a new family and way of life. Above everything else there was the new overpoweringly wonderful feeling already growing in me for Mother.

After we landed in Stockholm my senses were reeling so that the long drive from Bromma airport to Norrtalje was a blur in which I couldn't separate the beauty and rapture corning from the closeness of Mother from the great loveliness of Sweden's countryside in the spring. We arrived late in the afternoon before a large manor house where I was taken in and introduced to the rest of the household. There were two daughters, sixteen and twelve, and a pretty, red-haired maid who was just serving evening coffee.

I was so dazed by everything that I didn't fully take it all in, but I noticed that Gunilla, the older girl, had full, laughing lips and a very large bosom. The younger, Louise, was thin and built like a boy. Both were blonde and both were pretty.

They took me into the huge living room for coffee. It was really two rooms running across one entire end of the manor divided by an arch. On one side of the arch was the music room with a magnificent Bechstein piano, while the other division was used as a living room. As we entered, Louise, or Lou as she was called in the family, since she did not drink coffee, went to the piano. In the living room Mother and Father seated themselves on one of the three large divans and leaned back to rest and listen. I sat in an armchair to one side of them.

Things began to quiet a little in me and I gradually became aware of my sisters. Gunilla, who sat on the arm of the couch beside her father, was gorgeous. Her hair was lighter than her mother's, almost white, and it fell over her ample shoulders like rain. The eyes were blue and wide. The mouth was soft and full. Her skin, while obviously of the same fine texture as her mother's, was richly tanned. Her body was all lushness. At the absolute peak of ripeness. Her full blooming breasts strained her white linen blouse, and when her deep contralto laugh rang out they were live things. To prevent myself from the impossible audacity of staring at these wonders I looked at the younger girl.

Louise was very sweetly attractive with the reddish blonde hair of the mother and the same gray eyes. The face was narrower, however, and had an intense expression almost always in flux as though some internal pressure struggled in her. Except for her face she suffered by comparison with her sister. Her shoulders were thin and her body gangling and straight. She wore a blue schoolgirl's frock. Underneath it her budding breasts could be seen but they lacked the luxurious development of Gunilla. I noticed a light brush of freckles across her nose.

Abruptly I realized that I was again staring at the rich form of Gunilla. My eyes fixed themselves on the point where the tanned skin suddenly swelled as it entered the light covering. The first three buttons of the blouse were open. It seemed to me these breasts were even larger, no, twice as large as Mother's, and to my intense excitement, followed by an even more intense embarrassment, I realized suddenly that she wore nothing underneath! I stared nearly paralyzed as my eye slowly made out the precise contour: how each breast swelled put to a large round button, and these tips began to push out in sharper relief even as I looked. A strange, fine trembling which I could not halt ran over me.

Again I felt a twinge of shame. Why was I always looking at the women so intimately?

As Louise began to play an etude, Annie, the maid, brought in a large silver tray with four demitasse cups and a pot of coffee. She placed it on the low table in front of Mother and Father. Gunilla got up and, taking the cups, passed them to each of us in turn. Then she picked up the silver pot and began to fill the cups as the maid left.

Gunilla was beautiful beyond belief. She wore a tight, gray, knee-length skirt under which her body seemed to squirm as she walked. As I was watching how her skirt showed the movement of her full thighs, I realized suddenly she was coming now to serve me. As I was holding the cup in my lap, she had to lean forward to pour. The faint perfume from her platinum hair which came to my nostrils as she bent forward stunned me. I was all confusion and breathless. Then I noticed her blouse fall away from her body as she poured. I had been right. There wasn't anything underneath! Only Gunilla! I was suddenly confronted by her bare, voluminous breasts, firm, yet somehow soft. I almost passed out. How I managed not to drop the cup I don't know. I shook my head slightly, and when I realized she had moved away, put my cup down. My head was burning. Hot and cold flashes alternated in my body.

She had poured herself a cup and sat on the arm of the couch beside Father. I was terribly excited, and the shame I felt at my reaction was drowned in my desire. I gulped my coffee quickly and asked if I could have more in a small voice. Gunilla quickly rose and, with a smile in my direction, returned with the pot of coffee. This time I was looking for something. I wanted to see those tips of her breasts. She leaned down slowly and even more slowly began to pour coffee into my cup.

I was puzzled by the slowness. At first I thought she might be afraid of spilling some, but when I noticed the smile on her lips this seemed unlikely. Then I saw the blouse falling away from her body as she bent again, and I almost touched her head as I bent forward to look. I could see the tanned flesh swelling out, down in the blouse: how the skin darkened in shadow as it entered the ravine between. She must have drawn in her breath (although I did not notice), for the soft flesh rose out suddenly towards me as though disconnected from the rest of her. The two breasts moved farther apart and the warm surface of the skin seemed to undulate with separate life. Her chin was almost above my head which enabled me to peer directly in, at the same time bringing the flesh almost to touch my crazed lips. But the breasts were so large that even so I could not see the tips. They were lost in the front of the blouse where the incredible flesh moved and swelled out of sight. Just as she started to straighten I had a glimpse of something, but she straightened and asked:

“Well, would you like sugar this time? You didn't say before when I asked.”

I couldn't get the breath to answer properly. “Uh no… no sugar, thank you,” I stumbled. I tried to smile but the trouble was I couldn't see her. All I could see was those breasts. I again gulped my coffee without tasting it, waited a few minutes somehow, and then gasped out my desire for a third.

Gunilla's eyebrows raised slightly at this and she smiled. Very slowly this time she walked towards me with the pot, staring at me with that smile, and calmly undoing a fourth button on her blouse as she got up. She reached out as though for me to hand her up the cup and when, filled with confusion, I continued to hold it in my lap, her lips smiled again slightly and, very slowly, she leaned down to pour.

There they were again, but more of them, the skin all tan and clean and moving. She bent far forward above me now, and by leaning forward slightly myself I looked directly into her blouse. Never had I seen flesh as soft as this, and their size was incredible. The breasts swung free now like live things in the loosened blouse, and my face was almost in them. Then, to my intense joy as I looked along the magnificent curve of them, I finally saw the mystery I was searching for. Just at the end, where the breast pushed into the blouse, was a circle of pink colored flesh as wide as three of my fingers. In the center of this was a hard pink bud about the size of an acorn which pushed into the blouse as I had seen before.

All over me the skin felt pricked by thousands of needles and I was shaking. I could not understand why the sight of this strange difference between boys and girls so excited me, but I knew that it did and that this was shameful. But somehow, at least for now, I didn't care. As she straightened, Gunilla looked keenly at me, buttoning her blouse while I fixed my eyes on her shoes and muttered my thanks. My mouth kept moving back and forth.

I was very confused, but as I gradually began to gain possession of myself, I heard Father asking for coffee, and dimly realized that it was his third cup. Gunilla got up, turning her back to him, and picked up the coffee pot from the table. As she did so I noticed that she quickly reached her left hand to her blouse and undid a button, then went to the couch and bent low to fill Father's cup just as she had mine. Was it my imagination, or did she seem to lean down just a little longer than was necessary to fill the cup? Father raised his head and seemed to look covertly into her blouse! Indeed, I thought I saw his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. But I could not be sure for Gunilla had straightened again and, replacing the pot on the table, resumed her seat. All was as before. I looked hard at Father's face which I could see clearly in profile, but it was as serene and elegant as always.

I flushed with shame at attributing to this fine man the same low tendencies that I had. Certainly the Brahes would never have taken me from the orphanage to be their son had they had any inkling of this strange wickedness in me-these ugly thoughts. And, reflecting so, I gradually overcame the odd excitement that had been troubling me. I swore not to allow any more of this sort of thing and, above all, not to permit myself to ascribe to these noble people the sort of perverted impulses I found so rampant in myself.

At this point Mother got up and came over to me.

“Lars, dear,” she said, “As you are no doubt tired from the long trip, you should come with me now and lie down in your room to rest.”

“Yes, Mrs. Br-uh-Mother,” I said. Blushed. Smiled somehow at the others, and followed her out the door into the hall. Mother took my hand and led me to my room, then left me there to rest.

But it was impossible to remain still. I wandered out in a daze of happiness looking at the fairy tale richness of the house. No one was in the living room now, so I supposed all the family had gone to lie down. I was sitting in a high-backed chair by the fireplace when I heard someone come in behind me. Because I felt guilty at not being in my room as I had been told, I remained still, hoping the high back of the chair would hide me. It did, too well…

“But, Daddy, you were away in England such a long time. I was so lonely without you. I'm so glad you're back!”

It was Gunilla's voice, but the tone was a little strange. It was very sweet, but somehow drawled, seeming to suggest something unknown to me beyond the words themselves.

“So my little girl really missed her daddy, did she?” It was Father's voice, and the tone was questioning. “Just how much did she miss her daddy? And what did she miss most?”

Gunilla only giggled at this.

“Come now, tell me how much my little girl missed her daddy!” There was an odd tone in his voice that vibrated in me in a way I didn't understand.

Again she giggled, but this time it seemed partly muffled. She said:

“Oh, I missed my daddy, very much, but he'll have to go a little to find out!” And another giggle followed by a little cry.

“But what did my little girl miss most about her daddy?”

“Do you really want me to show where I missed him most?” And the muffled laugh again.

“I'd love to know, Sugar Plum, but first let me see if I can guess. Was it here?” A giggle. “Here?” More strange laughter from Gunilla. “Or here?” She let out a little bleat and there were slight sounds of a scuffle.

“Daddy,” she blurted, all the time giggling, “you'll never guess where I missed you most and it will be expensive if you want me to tell you!”

“Oh, it will, will it now?” His voice seemed a bit reproachful, but it was blurred over by her laughter and little cries.

“But if you can find it, then-” Her voice was lost in a peal of excited laughter.

I could stand it no longer! The strange answers to these fatherly questions, the curious overtones in Father's voice, and the unfamiliar note in the little smothered laughs and cries, caused the hair to rise on the back of my head. I had to peek.

They couldn't see me. They were sitting on the couch, Father on the cushions and Gunilla on the arm. There was a lamp with a modern conical shade where they were which made them easily visible.

Father reached up and pulled her into his lap. Filled with the feelings natural to a father and daughter who have been separated for a month, they were unaware of me in my large chair behind them.

“Did you miss your daddy, Nilla baby?” he asked gently and began to run his fingers slowly through her hair. “Did my little girl miss her daddy?” His voice was very gentle and fatherly and his hand lightly stroked her neck, running over her hair and then pressing it against her neck.

“Yes, Daddy,” Gunilla was saying, “every day that you were away I missed you and thought about you.” Father ran his hand up under the nape of her neck and under her hair and began gently caressing her. “Did you really miss your daddy? Really? Then tell me how much did you miss him?”

There was only a low laugh from Gunilla.

From where I sat huddled deep in the chair, Gunilla's head was between me and the light, creating the effect of a flaming corona which seemed to throw off sparks of white fire with the movement of Father's hand. But now, as though in answer to his question, and to my puzzlement, Gunilla giggled, then deftly reached up, unbuttoned another button of her blouse and, taking Father's other hand which had been resting lightly on her lap, put it inside. Lost in my fascination with the hair I had almost missed this, for me, incredible act. For it all appeared so easy and natural and right, yet I watched with both horror and a strange and growing fascination.

“… did she miss her daddy?” His voice was soft and he brushed his lips lovingly against her long hair as he spoke. His hand was well inside her blouse and he was fondling and stroking her, moving his hand and his finger tips against her flesh. But was he, could he actually be caressing her breasts? And why did this thought excite me so? I craned my neck to see better, but my chair creaked slightly and I feared to stretch further and possibly disclose my presence. His hand was still slowly stroking as he said:

“Daddy missed his little girl, too. What do you think he brought her from England?”

“Presents, Daddy?” Gunilla's voice was languorous. “Very nice presents, love, for little girls who miss their daddies! Very nice

…”

“What kind of presents, Daddy?” Gunilla's voice took on a dreamy tone as she unbuttoned another button and then slowly another. She reached in and seemed to move with his hand, or perhaps she was stroking the hand while it caressed her.

“Be a good girl to your daddy and you'll find out, little love…”

“But Daaaaddy!” She seemed to stretch out the word and caress it with her voice while she spoke. “You'll have to really be good to your little girl, give her many, many nice things if you want me to

…” She cried out again, squirming on his lap, and fell into a little peal of smothered laughter as he started to kiss her lips!

I was confused by the tone of all this, but I felt the strange excitement rising and rising…

Gunilla had withdrawn her hand now. I found myself straining and straining to see, but Father's arm was in the way and cast a deep shadow.

“Come kiss your daddy, sweetheart,” he entreated and again there was a slight scuffle as he got his mouth on hers and held it there. Both seemed greatly agitated,

But now they shifted, he sliding her deeper into his lap and she bent back by his kisses, which he soon began to plant on her neck and down onto her bosom. Gunilla writhed against him and tickled his ribs. As he started back, almost growling (but with pleasure, I could see from his face) she fell backward supported by his arms and came completely into view for a second. But the light was bad and they were too far away.

He pulled her toward him again and began to run his mouth and one hand over her bosom, holding her with the other. She breathed hard and seemed to strain up eagerly against him.

I was maddened to see more! For a precarious moment I was almost so foolish as to think of leaving the safety of my high-backed chair and trying to move closer, but it would have been folly. I sat shaking with fear, yet passionate for a sight of that body at almost any price! But now there was a new tone in Father's voice, an almost crooning softness.

“Did my little girl miss her daddy? Did she really miss him, eh?” he crooned to her. Gunilla was leaning back against him, her chin tilted slightly so that her hair fell over his shoulder and she was slowly and languorously turning the top part of her body first one way, then the other, seeming to twist slightly each time. And over and over the soft, crooning murmur of his voice always caressingly repeating the same phrase: “Did my little girl miss her daddy?” while his left hand slid in and out of the opening of her blouse. His right, meanwhile, was opening one by one the few remaining buttons as a high-pitched singing hum began to come from her lips.

Half-paralyzed by all this, I left till later any questions regarding the propriety of what I was doing. I was fixed there, held by forces within me too powerful to overcome.

“My baby, my little baby girl,” Father was crooning. “Did my baby girl really miss her daddy?” His left hand moved around and back and forth inside her open blouse. By now he had undone the last button and, as Gunilla squirmed and twisted more and more under his caresses, her breasts began to work themselves out through the front and into plain view. Gunilla seemed strongly affected by the caresses and soon was lying back against him with her breasts completely exposed. Finally I risked kneeling on the seat of the high-backed chair and stared at them from the gloom. At last I had a clear view of them and Gunilla's naked breasts completely absorbed my bewildered eyes.

Father's hands kept running over them, stroking the soft sides with his fingertips and brushing his palms across the bursting pink buds of first one, then the other. Still again he would place his entire hand over the breast with the tip against his palm and gently squeeze it. And always the sing-song voice:

“Did my little baby miss her daddy? What did she miss, huh? Was it this, little lover, this? Or this?”

And from Gunilla, as his hands moved more and more deftly over her swelling breasts, came more and more this high-pitched mewing.

And I was transfixed! I could not breathe! For, while I had seen those glimpses earlier, this was the first time that I had really seen a girl's naked breasts and I was bewitched! They were so large, lifting far out from her chest despite the fact that her reclining backward tended to flatten them, and the hard, pink buds at the end of each were swollen and rigid. The soft, luminous quality of the flesh caused me to be seized by a paroxysm of excitement such as I had never known. My penis was tingling all over and growing and swelling out so that it hurt me against my pants.

Mesmerized, Gunilla reached her own hands up to her breasts and began to lightly stroke the edges of the buds with her fingertips, then resting her hands on his, she guided their caresses.

“So my little girl did miss her daddy a little, did she? My baby missed this and this, did she?”

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…” Gunilla muttered over and over between open lips as she writhed in his lap.

Father was aroused by her excitement. Suddenly he reached his hand down and slid it under her skirt. His action had pulled the garment up and I could see that he was stroking her thighs. Gunilla threw her head further back as she continued to murmur over and over:

“Daddydaddydaddydaddy…”

Now he reached further up, then even further, finally moving his arm back and forth, although what he was actually doing or why I could not tell.

At each motion of his arm Gunilla let out little cries and moans. Her giggling had ceased altogether and her face seemed to be undergoing some great inner struggle, coupled with a rising pleasure. I had gotten an intense cramp in my stomach so bad that I could not have moved, even if I thought they might discover me there.

Father was moving his arm back and forth with a rhythmic motion now and with each stroke Gunilla moaned louder. Her voice had become a sing-song whine crying only “Daddyohdaddyohdaddyohdaddy.. .” while he rubbed and caressed inside her skirt.

With a rising feeling of power he was crooning. “Did my baby miss me, now? Did my little girl miss her daddy, after all?”

But then, as Father opened his mouth and bent forward as though to take her left breast in it, Gunilla suddenly leapt out of his grasp and onto her feet. She pulled her open blouse together and dashed for the door! Before I could move, or Father raise a hand to stop her, she was gone.

I was so astonished that I was unable to get my bearings. Father sitting where he had been, but with a puzzled and-somewhat angry expression on his face. Then, just as I had sunk down out of sight and was striving to collect myself and to consider how best to leave the room without being seen, I heard the door connecting the hall to the kitchen open and, to my amazement, Annie entered the living room. She walked over to Father and said:

“Miss Gunilla said you wished something, sir.”

Father blinked, looked at her a moment, then said, “Why- uh-yes. Yes, Annie, I did. You'll do fine.”

He ran his eyes slowly over her and moistened his lips with his tongue. Annie stood awaiting his instructions.

“What would you wish, sir?” she asked.

“Why-uh-some champagne, Annie, and two glasses.”

“Yes sir,” Annie said and moved across the room to a sideboard of finely carved mahogany, opened it, removed a bottle, two fine long-stemmed glasses, placed all three on a silver tray and returned to the couch, placing the tray on the low table. Then she straightened once more.

“You are lovely tonight, Annie,” Father told her as he took the bottle, exploded the cork and poured champagne into both glasses.

“Thank you, sir,” Annie said formally. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Well, yes, perhaps there is,” Father replied. “Everyone is resting and I am a bit lonely. Here, have some champagne.” He picked up a glass and proffered it, but Annie didn't move.

“No, thank you, sir. It really isn't fitting. Should I send Miss Gunilla back to keep you company?”

“No, she is tired and has gone- to lie down. Besides, you are older, a woman. You are better company for a man who has just had a long, exhausting trip and who is home at last and needs some-relaxation. But honestly, Annie, you are quite lovely tonight. The way your skin catches the light is enchanting. Here, let us see

…” And he reached up, changing slightly the focus of the funnel-shaped lampshade so that the light fell more fully on Annie's face. “… there. That is magnificent! Now, if you would turn just a bit, so…” He reached toward her shoulder as though to turn her, but she anticipated his movement and turned herself. “Yes, that's it. I love to watch the effect of light on you. The way it catches in your hair and falls upon your face. But here, let us unpin your hair a little and let it fall around those fine shoulders of yours.”

Annie's face had become tense and indecision was clearly written there.

“Please, sir, if there is any service I can do, let me do it for you. But all these things are most irregular, sir. I don't know just what to do, nor what you wish.”

“Calmly, calmly now, Annie!” Father remonstrated. “You will see, you will see. We shall discover all that together in a moment. For now, just do as I tell you. Take the pins out of your hair-the cap off first, then let your hair down.” His voice was still sophisticated and debonair, but now there was an unmistakable tone of authority in it.

Annie flushed pink under her freckles. She stood straight before him hesitating, seeming to be confused by these strange requests of Father's, torn, it seemed to me, between her shy embarrassment and her duty as a servant.

“Well?” Father demanded, raising his eyebrows slightly and looking up at her.

“Y-yes. sir.” Annie lowered her eyes, took off her cap and hesitated again.

“Come, come; my lovely, the hairpins now. I want to see that wealth of yours spread flaming red in the light-not pinned and pushed away out of an ardent admirer's sight. Take it down, my dear!”

Again Annie looked confused. Then she slowly (and was it a little demurely?) began to remove the coral-colored hairpins from her flaming hair, which gradually began to fall in ringlets on her shoulders. Father, meantime, continued to observe her with a rapt expression.

Finally he said, “Annie! How beautiful! How incredible is your hair!” It was all down the back now and over her shoulders in a thousand tiny ringlets and Father had stood up and was running it through his fingers, holding it to the light.

“Really, my dear, your hair is titian, the true color of Venetian glass! Here, stand more in the light. There!” In a lower, more intense tone, “You are gorgeous! That hair is a flame of the devil. It turns men to devils for you, doesn't it, Annie?” He took her chin and tilted her face up to him. As he caught her eye and held it, he smiled broadly, released her and sat down. Annie remained standing, staring at him, petrified before him.

“I-I don't know what you mean, sir, I just don't! I…”

“Yes, you know, Annie, my love. Yes, you know! You know what fools you make of us with your red hair long and flaming for us-how we react when it touches us, falls across our faces or along our arms, or heaven of miracles, when you have it on our chests, our stomachs, or just running deliriously over our thighs and pelvis. Can you imagine, Annie, the thought of driving a man mad with just your hair? Of drawing it softly across the best of him 'til he screams for you! His cock growing hard and red and hungry for you- red as your hair and tangled in it and maybe finally being so overpowered that he comes in it! Can you imagine, Annie and desire?” Father's voice had become insinuating as he talked of these things I didn't understand, but which Annie was obviously disturbed by.

“That is the power of your hair, Annie, and you do know it.” Kindness entered his voice now of an almost fatherly benevolence. “But, darling, I will teach you about it-you can be sure of me and trust me. You can't be allowed to go on without knowing your own power.”

“Sir, please, sir, don't go on like this-saying those things to me. It isn't right, sir, that you should talk of these things to me. You know, sir, you shouldn't!”

“But, Annie, I certainly should. Every girl has a right to know how attractive and bewitching she is, what her special power is.” He lit a cigarette and continued in this debonair manner while punctuating his remarks with the cigarette.

“Now, let us see more of your skin with the hair over it. Unbutton your blouse a little and shift a bit more to the light. Please, just open it a little, now Annie. I must see the red on that soft flesh above your breasts.”

“Please, sir!” Annie interrupted. “Don't say any more. You know how strange I get and that I can't control it. Please, sir, help me!” The girl was near to tears. Her body twitched strangely now and her face kept changing colors. She seemed to be caught in a struggle that was beyond her strength.

“Come, dear, just a button or two so that I can see your two treasures together-the hair and the skin of your breast. Please, Annie!” His voice managed to gain a cooing note without ever losing its air of command. Annie hesitated a moment more, then unbuttoned the top button.

“There you are, sir,” she gasped out. “Please let this be enough, though! You know how I get, sir, so please say no more!” But even as she said this, I noticed that she, perhaps unconsciously, opened another button. Her breath was coming fast.

'That's my nice girl,” Father was saying. “Now pull your blouse open a bit more. Ah! That skin dusted with love! Pull the hair over it! Do as I tell you, love! Now open some more, open I say! There, my luscious angel; more now; more!”

Annie had lost all control of her propriety and seemed to melt before his teasing. Her face went completely pale and she hypnotically unbuttoned the blouse of her uniform.

“Come now, my sexy; let me see more of them! Open your blouse and expose them to me in their beauty. Yes-that's it -now with the hair on them, Annie. Stroke them with the hair for me!”

Annie's face had an almost religious expression on it as she took her longest rings of hair and complied with his wishes. Her breasts were fully exposed now. They were paler than Gunilla's and with a dust of freckles like her face. But unlike the younger girl's, they were pendent, hanging like two ripe melons, yet curving up a bit at the end into two large red buttons which were standing up hard. Annie was running the locks of hair down the sides of them and brushing the tips and her breath was coming faster and faster. She began to gyrate her body and wiggle before him.

“Annie, my dear, you need not go quite so far. Your lovely hair burning on your breasts-that is what I wanted. But what breasts you do have, Annie! Just take the inside of your hands-the palms, that's it-and rotate them on your nipples with the hair wrapped around them. Stroke them, Annie-love them for the world, though it should be the world that loved them.”

This, too, Annie did, but her face now changed to a look of wild pleading, even while her body made strange postures.

“Don't resist so much, Annie,” Father went on as I peered around the corner of my chair. “You know it won't do any good! And I know the things you want to do to me!… Come now, Annie, why not just admit you aren't really a proper little prude-admit you really want to be natural and… ah… maybe a little… ah… lewd. Eh?” He paused, tilting the champagne glass between his fingertips. Annie stared at him like a bird at a snake, trembling spasmodically.

“You want to show yourself to me, luscious, so why should we pretend, you and I? We know the truth, Annie dear-we know you wanted to show those tits to me, all delightful and dewy with the sheen of sweat on them-the fruit of fear, Annie! We know you want to slowly, copiously, reveal everything to me, to wind your curls around them and then take off your skirt, let me put my hand inside your pants and love you-and then to come to me, to get at me-put your hands and then your delicious tongue on me, to slide your hands inside my trousers, get you hands on it, take it out and play with it between your hands-then stroke my balls over and over like you do the cat. Oh, yes, I've watched you with the cat, Annie my love, how you stroke it and get at his belly and then his nuts till his little cock rises up and you go wild. I know you, Annie, better than you know yourself- how you want to do me like the cat, to be pulling it out with the first drops of moist hotness for you dripping from the end -how you want to be licking at me, stroking them off with your tongue! To be sucking me-sucking and sucking me till I can't stand it any more and get as wild as you are-and then my having you. I know how you want me to be fucking you over and over and over with my lips on your tits and my finger stroking you in your ass till you just want to die of it!… Yes, indeed; we know, Annie, don't we?”

Annie was in a trance, moaning with his words, gesturing and undulating before him. I was shaken almost as much, impaled by things beyond me but which held me slave in their mounting power.

Annie was whining and pleading, “You mustn't say these things to me, sir-mustn't-can't help-want to…” She gasped for air. “Please, sir-let me go! Let me go! What have I done to you? Please, please just take-I mean-let me go- take-free me; help! Oh, please, sir, help me! Aiii!”

Annie seemed lost to control now. She took off her skirt and dropped it to the floor and even as she begged Father to let her go, she was gently rubbing her fingers across her underpants and rotating her torso toward him in a manner which was completely opposite to her entreaties.

Father was leaning back watching her with strange fascination, occasionally flicking his tongue across his lips.

“Exquisite, Annie! Absolutely exquisite!” he uttered suavely and appreciatively. “You are lovely, really lovely! Come here!” His hands reached out for her.

Annie appeared nearly helpless, yet she only partially obeyed. Still moving in this off, distorted way, she came a step toward him, but at the same time ceaselessly begged him to release her.

“You know how I always get, sir! I just don't know how to stop. But please don't do this to me, sir! Do something-uh- anything with me! But let me be-let me go!” Her voice was rasping now as though she were in great pain.

“You are my little whore, aren't you, Annie? Tell me you are my little whore! That you want me to do it to you!”

She advanced another step and he reached up and brushed his fingertips across her arching nipples.

“Ahhhh!” Annie almost screamed. “Yes yes yes, I'm your whore or anything ya want-only don't tease me any more! I'll give ya anything! Anything! But please…”

Her face was a mass of entreaty. But now his hands ran down her bare flesh between her breasts and her hips, and tightening his grip, he pulled her forward till her knees were touching his. Then he began to run his fingers over her pink panties, particularly where a dark spot seemed to hover at the center point where her legs parted. She must have hair there like I had been growing for the last year. Annie's arms were over her head now, and she was beginning to gyrate them around and moan in a low whine with her head back and her mouth open.

In the meantime I was watching almost hypnotized, too concerned with missing no detail of what was happening to take time to evaluate it. In my innocence I fixed on each detail, needing to remember each expression and act, each detail of this body whose every movement was a revelation: to remember each thing they said, even though I did not know what they meant.

And as Father caressed her, Annie's personality seemed to change completely, and even her speech became different- almost vulgar. But as yet, Father himself remained elegant, almost detached from the scene which he had created.

Now he lifted his head and, drawing her right up to him, placed it against her stomach. Her back was towards me now, and I saw how his hands gripped her ample buttocks and how his fingers played along the crack. Annie's body was a little thick, but was well proportioned and solid. Her buttocks, as he caressed them, filled me with the sudden desire to seize them too, and use them as he was doing. The wild excitement in me kept mounting.

With his head still against her stomach, Father was speaking to her again:

“The smell of you is so intoxicating, Annie-so fresh and musky at the same time!” He breathed deeply, still moving his fingers across her buttocks where the tight panties clearly defined everything: the fullness, the smooth curves, and the crack. “Annie, Annie, let me smell you more!” and he pressed her towards him, seeming to bury his nose between her legs. Then he drew back and watched her again.

“Take off your blouse now, little strumpet, and let me feast my eyes on all of you with the red hair over everything. Come, now, take it off!” And Annie, who was moving in a strange, distorted dance before him, threw the blouse of her uniform backwards to the floor so that she remained naked but for her panties and shoes. The lamp light fell full on her now mingling and blending its yellow tones with the white of her skin and the red of her hair. And, watching her supple movements, the beauty of her curved, flowing softness, I was torn between excitement, curiosity, and a mounting revolt.

Father's hands were behind his head now, and he watched her smiling. Annie was moaning and squirming against his knees. Then she moved forward so that the table partially obscured her as she dropped to her knees, running her hands over his thighs and begging:

“Please, sir, don't torture me any more! Please give it to me! Please, sir… give me, gimme gimme it, sir…” she was becoming incoherent and rapid and strange: “Sir, Billy-ya gotta let me have it, do you hear, Billy, give it to me! OH, OH, BILLY, come on now, give it to me, your cock, Billy, that BIG ONE. Give, it GIVE IT TO ME! Ohhhhh!” She was fumbling with his pants, I think, but I couldn't see very well for the table and the arm of the couch.

“Let me hear how much you want it, little cunt. Let me hear you beg for it-you have to really want it to get it you know.”

“I do beg you,” she whispered huskily, “haven't I been begging you for it, Billy? I want it, I'll die if ya don't give it to me. Please, Billy and I'll suck ya, and do anything ya want- yes, yes, all those other things too, only give it to me, Billy!”

“There, there, little trull, open up and take it if you need it so much.” He was still leaning back, but his tongue was always running over his lips now, and his face seemed to twist and contort with some inner emotion. Annie was doing something to his pants and suddenly:

“Ah, I have him! I have him! OHHHH!” and her head buried itself in his lap and her voice was suddenly muffled! Father's face changed to an expression of pure joy, tinged with a gradually mounting urgency. Annie was doing something and I craned up on my toes to see what it was. But strain as I would, the arm was in the way, and all I could discern was Annie back, and side, and her head which seemed to be licking and caressing something coming up from Father's lap. She sucked and licked and sucked again, running her tongue around it. Then, with a sudden shock of horror, I realized that it was Father's penis, hard and stiff as my own had become during this scene-but what horrified me more was my own wild excitement at this act.

Father's face was moving with the most intense pleasure. His mouth was contorted and his breathing quick:

“Suck me, now, that's it, little trull, lick it nice, now! Oh, you are delicious! Suck it out, now!” His voice raised and lost some of its elegance and control. “Ah, ah! That's enough, that's enough!” And he fell sideways on the couch, pulling her up with him as he did it. His hands were moving quickly over what I could see of her body, and their mouths moved around and across each other.

“Billy, please” she was almost screaming: “give it to me-in me, Billy! Ya got to give it to me! I!…” But Father's mouth cut her off and he rolled on top of her, reaching down to, I think, take off her panties. I could see only his back now as he lay between her up-thrust legs, and her face which was propped on a pillow at the far end of the couch. Her arms, which had seemed to be helping him to adjust something below, came around him now, and their bodies began to move back and forth in unison, his back rising up and then pushing downward on her. I was shocked, puzzled, excited and afraid.

Annie's face began to have a great eagerness in it, and a strangely moving tension. Her lips parted and she kept uttering a high pitched moan. Sometimes her teeth gritted, and others her mouth would open and her tongue would move in. it. Her eyes were mostly closed, but sometimes they would open with a hunger and urgency which seemed to be looking directly into mine, due to how she was lying, and I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to answer her need, even though I could not fathom what it was.

“Fuck me, fuck me, Billy! Oh please, harder, harder, now,” she pleaded. “Stroke me, stroke me while ya fuck me, Billy!” And the repetition of this word which I didn't understand seemed to continuously excite both more and more as, although I didn't know why, it did me.

The girl was becoming frantic, writhing around beneath Father, and gripping him and releasing him with her legs. She kept trying to sink her teeth in his shoulder, and tossing her head around.

“Lift up a little, please, please!” She moaned. “So I feel more. That's it, move it around in me, Billy! Up, up, hard against my button! Aiii! Harder, HARDER, ON THE BUTTON, YES, YES, Billy!” She writhed and moaned, seeming to beg for something beyond human power to give. But now her face reached a sudden expression of rending ecstasy! Father's breath was short and rapid now, intermingled with sharp, low grunts, reaching towards some crescendo as Annie moaned at him:

“Harder Billy-my button, yes-that too-OHHHH! Harder now, yes! Pump me now! Hard and straight and fast! Pump me hard, Billy! Yes yes yes yes yahhhhh! Fuck! Hard! Yaahh! Aiii!” and of a sudden she gripped him and seemed in a convulsion of movement against him, while she screamed, her face a contorted struggle between pleasure and pain, while he moved faster and faster on her, his grunts mingling with her scream. For a moment they seemed bent on tearing each other apart with their movement, but then, after her last gasping cry, they locked themselves together, he with his face buried in her hair.

For a long moment I remained frozen by the experience, continuing to stare at the two pairs of arms, wrapped around each other, the two heads and shoulders lying together before me. I didn't know what I had seen, but I was held fast by the spell of the excitement: the intense pleasure I had seen and felt, coupled with the growing inner feeling of shame; the great beauty in the scene, coupled with my vague feeling that it was something forbidden and wrong. And indeed, so great was my concentration that I might have remained fixed there until I was discovered had not a small sound beside me snapped me to an awareness of my position.

I did not move my body, but turning my head slightly, I was able to see just well enough behind me into the dimly lighted hall to observe Gunilla, whom I had forgotten, pass and ascend the stairs. Although I was so shaken that I could scarcely walk, after a moment, I moved slowly after her, and none too soon as the last quick look I sent into the living room showed me that Annie and Father were beginning to move.

Silently on the thick carpet, I crept to the stair and ascended to my room.