Michael Jaeggers - Honeymoon hotel

"Hurry," he grunted to Lord Medwell, as be dropped his trousers. His own cock, like a lean telephone pole angled on the side of a hill, was stiffly ready.

Lord Medwell wearily dried his wet penis on his underdrawers and put on his trousers. A moment later he was standing behind the tripod camera. "All right," he said. "Ready any time you are."

Morgan said to the girl, "Dorothy… I am your husband, Roger. Say something to me."

The girl scrunched herself deeper into the bed and mumbled hypnotically, "Roger, darling, I love you."

Morgan said, "Dorothy, darling, don't you want to repay your husband for the pleasure I just gave you. It would be nice if you sucked on my penis."

There was no hesitation this time. Dorothy turned her head and opened her mouth. There was a flash of light and Lord Medwell nodded.

"Now, Dorothy, I'm going to make love to you in a new and excitingly different way. Get on your hands and knees… that's right, and spread your legs out wide."

The girl did as she was told. Lord Medwell moved in with the closeup camera. Morgan used both thumbs to peel the smooth white cheeks of her tender young buttocks apart to reveal the quivering, puckered little brown circle no larger than a dime. Really he thought in ecstasy, it looks like an oval of tiny pink lips. He rubbed his prick in the crevice, lubricating it from Lord Medwell and the girl's cum. The girl winced when Morgan inserted his middle finger into the opening. He moved it in and out, and around and around. The girl moaned in pain when a second finger joined the first. Then Morgan could stand it no longer: placing the tip of his hardened cock against the tight, puckered nether lips; he plunged forward…

The photograph was taken just as the head of Morgan's cock disappeared through the tight resisting ring of anal muscle. Lord Medwell continued to shoot pictures as Morgan gleefully pounded his prick into her vaginal rectum and until her groans of pain became mewls of pleasure and surprise and finally of screaming release as her helplessly impaled body reacted orgasmically like a bitch dog in heat to the unnatural invasion of her bowels.

Downstairs, the clock struck twice. Lord Medwell helped Morgan change the badly stained and wet linens on the bed, as the girl stood blank-eyed and stiff near the closet.

"Get back in bed, Dorothy," Morgan ordered.

The girl walked like a zombie across the room and climbed into bed.

Morgan pulled the covers up to her shoulders, the began intoning, "You are sleepy… sleep. When you awaken tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, you will not remember that we were here. Anything you will recall will be simply a dream about your husband. Do you understand? You have been dreaming about Roger fucking you. Say it!"

"I… have… been dreaming… about Roger… fucking… me."

"Yes, you have been dreaming. You are sleepy. Your eyes are so heavy that you cannot open them. You are sleepy… sleepy."

The girl slumbered peacefully.

Morgan glanced at his watch. "Two fifteen. It's almost time for 'Roger dear' to wake up next to my wife. Care to bring your camera along and take candid snapshots."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, old boy," Lord Medwell laughed lewdly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. If his pecker reacts half as well as that hot little cunt of his wife's, it should be quite a show." He clapped his hands together in eagerness. "I can hardly wait until tomorrow afternoon when we show that arrogant little bitch our photographs. How overwhelming. How simply delightful! She'll come crawling to me then. Oh, she'll do anything. Anything!" he gleefully repeated. "And she'll do it fully conscious!"

The two men were still chuckling as they walked the darkened corridors of the castle. When they reached the East wing, Morgan pulled down on the handle of a sword on a suit of knight's armour. The hidden door swung silently open to reveal a well-lighted passageway. Two minutes later, they were seated in comfortable armchairs and drinking whiskey and sodas, as they watched – through the large pane of one-way glass – a young man slowly beginning to awaken next to a voluptuous nude woman who looked up directly at them and winked conspiratorially. Then her face changed. She looked as if she had been weeping, and when the boy's eyes opened, she sobbed, "You beast, you. How could you… after we had offered you the hospitality of the castle… to cruelly rape me… Oh, Roger! And I was beginning to be so fond of you. What will poor Dorothy think…"

The following afternoon, a bewildered and ashamed Dorothy "crawled" for her pictures, and then learned that she must continue to be nice for as long as Morgan and Lord Medwell and their assorted friends decreed. Only then would she receive the negatives. Precisely thirty-two minutes later – the seminal juices of two strangers in her mouth, vagina and anus – she leapt like a wingless bird from the roof of the castle and splattered against the cobblestone courtyard 90 feet below…

The young girl – fourteen, freckled-faced, and with a surprisingly mature body for one her age – was dressed in skin-tight white shorts and was braless beneath her powder blue blouse. She lay crosswise on the bed, and stared up at an older girl who was standing before a mirror and running a comb through long blonde hair.

"But aren't you excited?" Marylou asked, shivering in vicarious enjoyment. "I mean… I would be! After all, your wedding is only two days away, and then you and Dick go to that groovy castle place in Ireland for your honeymoon. Why, you must be excited."

"Of course I am, silly." Sue's voice was patient with her cousin. "I'm happy and excited. But I'm also calm." That last statement was a lie, but Marylou couldn't know it. The younger girl couldn't see the turmoil Sue felt, the oppressive feeling of apprehension that bordered on fear.

"It must be wonderful to be really in love and be old enough to get married… and wake up in bed next to your husband." Marylou put a hand to her mouth and giggled. "I mean my husband. If I had a husband."

"Marylou?" Sue's voice had just a bit of shock in it; she gazed in mock severity at the girl and began weaving a thick braid into her hair.

Marylou's face was cupped in her hands; elbows were planted on the bedspread. The girl obviously decided to throw all caution to the winds with her next remark. "Well, isn't a bed better than a back seat?"

"Marylou!" Sue threw down the comb and spun around to face the girl. "What are you talking about?"

"What else? Sex?"

Marylou had the bit in her teeth and was not to be denied. She abruptly sat up and curled her bare legs beneath her – sitting buddha-like on the bed. "If I tell you something, will you keep it a secret?"

"I don't want to hear it," Sue said, emphatically. She was pretty sure of the drift of the conversation; this was nothing to discuss with a girl only fourteen. She hadn't even talked to her mother about it, even though the older woman had hinted broadly that they must have a conversation before the wedding.

Marylou looked toward the closed door of the bedroom as if suspecting someone were lurking outside at the keyhole. Then she lowered her voice and said, "I know you won't snitch." She grinned conspiratorially. "I'm not a virgin, you know."

The news momentarily shocked Sue, although if she were really honest with herself, the information did not come as a surprise. Marylou showed all the signs of becoming a swinger, and she already had the build of a 22-year-old bikini model.

The girl continued almost proudly, "I haven't been one for almost a year. It was Petey Barnard. After the final football game last October… after he was appointed head cheerleader. We had a bottle of beer and it made me dizzy, and then he… began feeling me. And, ah… asked me to feel him. Then he got in the backseat of his car and… ah…"