Peter Jensen - Kidnapped bride

She remembered that Miss Whitfield had been particularly harsh on the subject of self-gratification — masturbation as she came to call it later — and had spent hours lecturing the girls about the mental and physical dangers of exploring one's most secret recesses.

"It is the single most disgusting thing a woman can do," she had said one night, "and one would be better to be a whore than do such awful things to oneself!"

As a result, young Susan had vowed never to let her animal instincts get the best of her like that, and she promised Miss Whitfield never to manipulate herself in such a lewd manner. Thus far, she had never been tempted, but now, with the unusually pleasant reaction she had experienced when she placed her lathery hands down there, she wondered if Miss Whitfield hadn't been wrong about that, too. The young wife remembered, too, that the doctor she had talked to had talked vaguely about masturbation, implying that there was really nothing wrong with it, and that it might even be helpful in allowing her to explore her sexual nature. But Susan had ignored him, for to her, doing such a thing was dirty and sinful.

Yet now, wanting desperately to free herself from her fears of sex, she became quite curious to try it. After all, it couldn't hurt, could it, just once? Still, it was a very daring thing for her, and the more she thought about it the more disturbed she became about the idea and the more anxious about the consequences. Finally she decided to put the entire thing out of her mind and just spend the evening reading as she had planned. She let the water rinse off the soap, and a few minutes later she stepped out of the shower, turned it off, and wrapped herself in a thick towel.

Yet once again, as she began to dry her vaginal area, there was a recurrence of the irresistibly enjoyable sensations she had felt earlier, and it was all she could do to pull her hands away from her private recesses and finish drying her body. Placing the towel back on its rack, she opened the bathroom door. Immediately her naked flesh was bathed in a waft of cool summer air from the bedroom. Her white glowing skin grew goosepimply, and she shivered pleasantly from the contact of the cooler air on her freshly showered body.

As she walked naked into the bedroom, the music on the radio changed from gentle ballads to the erotic blues sound of Janis Joplin singing Try a Little Bit Harder. Normally she would have changed stations immediately, but there was something about the song now that intrigued her.

Try a little harder, she mused ironically, that 's good advice for me right now.

The young wife had never liked the late singer's voice much, but tonight there was something in the rough, gratingly sensual sound that intrigued her. The singer's buoyantly determined advice seemed to match her own mood and Susan decided to leave it on. She went to the bureau to select a negligee, and as she opened the drawer, her eyes fell immediately on a short nightie of sheer black lace that Tim had given her on her birthday. She had tried it on only once but had been so ashamed of the way it made her look, so strangely alluring and, she thought, cheap, that she hadn't worn it since. But tonight she felt compelled to slip it on, just to see what it would be like. Giggling a little, still feeling the effects of the wine, she slipped the sheer supple garment over her head and let the soft folds adapt themselves to her body. Glancing in the vanity-table mirror, she was surprised to see how different she looked. Almost… almost like one of those girls in a girlie magazine. Her initial impulse was to take it off immediately, but the young wife realized that would be silly, prudish, and if she was ever going to grow up sexually she would certainly have to let herself be a little daring now and then.

Try… just a little bit harder, the radio sang, as if to echo her thoughts.

With determination she walked to the bed and curled up comfortably against the pillows, then took several long reflective sips of her wine, listening dreamily to the music. Within a few minutes the young wife had become rather tipsy, although she was hardly conscious of the fact. All she knew was that she felt quite pleasant, and her body was shimmering with a delicious kind of warmth she had never known before.

Maybe I just needed to get off by myself like this a little, she thought, just get away from every thing.

The music on the radio shifted once more, this time to something classical… she'd heard it before but couldn't quite identify it. It was a slow sensuous piece, with a steady throbbing undercurrent of drums. Ravel's Bolero, she suddenly realized. That's what it is. She had always liked that composition and, setting her glass on the nightstand, she stretched out on the bed and listened, her eyes closed, as the slow inexorable rhythm filled the room and permeated her brain. Her alcohol-fogged mind seemed to drift on a cloud high above the earth. She felt so light, so lovely. And always in the background, the insistent pounding of the music.

Almost without realizing it, she stretched her nightie-clad body provocatively on the bed, slowly undulating it in time to the music. Her mind seemed to fill with strange images as her tipsy imagination began to take hold of her. She imagined she was on a tropical jungle beach, in the shade of a palm tree, a primitive goddess alone in paradise. Oh, how pleasant it was, how delightful her sensuously writhing young body felt as she lay on the bed, drifting in fantasy. Her short nightie had bunched up above her hips now, and unconsciously she let her hands wander down and lightly finger the white smooth flesh of her hips, then drift up across her abdomen. Lazily she untied the ribbons of her lace nightie and let it fall away from her firmly molded breasts, still imagining herself on an isolated Polynesian lagoon. The soft breeze that fluttered in through the curtained windows played on her velvety skin like a thousand little feathers brushing over her, increasing the languid excitement that pervaded her. Her fingertips brushed curiously over her upthrust breasts, and immediately the berry-tipped orbs were flooded with enchanting warmth. Anxious to increase her new-found pleasure, she began to massage the pliant mounds with the palms of her hands, growing subtly more and more aroused as the music picked up tempo to match her quickening pulse.

Although the innocent young bride was not aware of it, her body was slowly awakening, awakening to needs and hungers that had been suppressed far too long. As her exploring hands pressed sensuously against the ripe fullness of her breasts, they began to trigger reactions in nerve-endings all over her body that had lain dormant for many years. A faint heat began to chum in Susan's loins, and her heart beat faster and faster. Soon the young wife was running her hands up from the sculpted columns of her thighs to her quivering breasts and shoulders, then down again, over and over, increasing the euphoric sense of lewd sensual pleasure that enveloped her with the steadily rising force of a flood. Her breath came more and more quickly as the music built up its subtle barbaric pace, and soon her hands were crawling hypnotically down to the golden-brown triangle of her pubic patch.

Suddenly, as her hungrily curious fingers first touched the hair-lined split of her pussy, an electric thrill of excitement shot through her body with the force of a thousand volts of unleashed energy. She gasped as this unexpected stab of heat shot through her body, immediately bringing her back to reality. She pulled her hands away from the trembling pussy-furrow, overcome with shame as she realized that she had begun to play with herself down there.

What's happening to me? she cried inwardly. What am I doing?

She struggled desperately to resist an overwhelming impulse to plunge her fingers upward into her vaginal sheath. It was wrong, wasn't it? Sinful and shameful? Yet the music kept pounding its merciless lurid beat into her drink-clouded mind, and her body, operating independently, it seemed, surged with the desire to be satisfied, demanded that she bring her rising passion to completion. "No… no," she murmured aloud, "I mustn't let myself do such things…"