Ward Fulton - The Violated Virgin

Yvonne smiled, and patted her on the shoulder.

"You're very sweet, love," she said sincerely, "and I won't deny I've always wanted us to ball. But in any type of sex, it's the feeling behind it that counts. I think you've always had a lot of feeling, and just needed that first time to break the dam, if you'll excuse the simile."

Carole laughed. "I felt the same way. Yvonne was my first girl."

"And I don't feel bad about it, either," said Suzanne defiantly. "I mean…"

"Okay, okay," said Yvonne. "This ain't the time for soul-searching. Or for a dissertation on sex. It's time for bed. And for sleep. Come on, I'm bushed."

"Me, too," said Carole, mashing her cigarette in the ashtray.

"You know something?" said Suzanne with a giggle. "I'm ready to go again."

Yvonne and Carole exchanged looks.

"Dear God, what have we started?" said Yvonne, and she leaned over and gave Suzanne a playful spank on her rear end.

"You're going to bed and to sleep, young lady," she said in mock severity. "Tomorrow's another day."

Carole reached for the light switch, and the room plunged into darkness. There was a rustle as they adjusted themselves under the covers. Yvonne and Carole lay together, their arms about one another.

Suzanne lay, her back to them, and closed her eyes. Her body was still glowing, and her vagina felt sensitive and satisfied. The memory of the boys had faded beneath the knowledge of her recent actions with the girls; how wonderful it had been, she thought. This means that maybe we can do it again tomorrow…

Tomorrow… what would happen tomorrow? Would those boys come back?

What should she do about it? As she slipped into sleep, she pictured Clayton's large black cock, its surface shiny and the head oozing as it was waved in front of her. It hadn't been that bad, she thought; maybe … She shivered, and was asleep.

The early morning light filtered through the drapes, and in the street the first sounds of activity could be heard. A friendly shout between two men echoed up to the room, and Suzanne stirred, opened her eyes and looked about. At first she felt a stab of uncertainty, then she realized where she was. Then she remembered what had happened the night before, and her face went scarlet. She looked over her shoulder and saw Yvonne and Carole, still asleep, their arms about each other, a look of beatific contentment on their faces. Oh, God, what have I done, she thought. How could I possibly have joined them in that orgy of sensual delight? Suzanne shivered and pulled the sheet up to her neck. Ah, but it was wonderful, wasn't it? It was the best sex ever. But what about the boys?

She shivered again, remembering the harshness of the boys' words, actions and manner; yet there was something primitive and appealing about it. God, she didn't want to go through that again, but she did feel that she wouldn't mind having sex again with a man. After all, that wonderful piece of meat, that lovely long lance that could pleasure her vagina with such ecstasy. Oh, yes, she wanted that again.

She wondered who it would be with; she hoped it would be Sam, because she knew Sam's penis was large and long. She had not touched it, but she had seen it, sticking up out of his pants that night on Belle Isle.

Oh, why didn't she give in and take it then? Sam might not have gone off to Europe. They might even have been married by now. She knew she loved him, and he loved her, so why didn't she? She wanted to; remembering back, she knew she did want to feel it, to take it between her lips and suck it till his sperm shot out in great gobs into her mouth, coating her tongue with delicious saltiness before being swallowed and becoming a part of her. Oh, yes, she had wanted him that night; she had wanted him many nights, but she could never bring herself to go through with it. She always remembered those moments when her mother had said to her, "Suzanne, remember, nice girls don't. Only cheap little tramps will indulge before marriage." And she had wanted to ask her mother then whether she hadn't made it with a boy before she married.

But there was something about Mrs. Delacorte that made Suzanne afraid of asking anything so intimate. Her mother was very prone to discussing the intimacies of Grosse Pointe gossip, but something as personal as sex was taboo. There had been several times when her father had brought up the subject, often in a joke, and Suzanne felt a warmth; but inevitably her mother would freeze them both with a cutting remark and comments about "not being coarse."

Now that she had finally experienced sex, an overwhelming orgy of sensation, she wondered why and how the whole aura of dirt and revulsion became attached to the subject. After all, it was a most enjoyable experience; at least, despite the horror of the attack by the boys, she knew that the ultimate penetration and orgasm was something undeniably pleasurable. And with someone tender and loving, as Yvonne and Carole had been the night before, it was the greatest release, the highest expression of emotion. Yet why, then, did she still feel such pangs of remorse, such a feeling of guilt and self-recrimination?

Suzanne looked over towards the two sleeping girls and wondered whether they felt the same ugly gnawing in their stomachs after indulging in relations? Obviously not, if they had been living together as lovers.

Yet how could Yvonne also have sex with men? Suzanne had read a marginal amount of literature on the subject, but she was aware of Freud's bisexual theories, which must have some basis of fact, judging from her own reaction the night before and her active participation in sexplay.

But still, she couldn't help wondering how she was ever able to indulge with the girls, not merely the act itself but so soon after the traumatic experience with the boys. It must have been Yvonne's tender massage of her breasts and her vagina, she knew that was it. Any girl would react to such a stimulus; yet she knew deep within her that it was more than that. It were as though a demon had been loosed in her loins. Held back for so long, she finally felt her inhibitions falling away. She wanted to indulge, she wanted to enjoy the delights of sex, to throw herself with complete abandon into the most perverse practices she could imagine, provided they were pleasant and didn't hurt anyone and, most of all, there was no violence except in the intensity of the sexual feeling that quivered in her.

With a sigh, Suzanne pressed her hand to her forehead to ease the ache that had just begun. There was a movement on the bed and she heard a low moan.

"Oh, God, it's morning," said Yvonne, her voice sounding like the rumble of the trucks up and down Woodward Avenue.

"Hi," said Suzanne.

Yvonne reached out a thin arm for the cigarettes on the night stand.

She shook one out of the package and clicked the lighter, inhaling deeply and leaning back, holding Carole's still sleeping body in one arm.

"Oh, that's better." Yvonne managed a grin and tapped Suzanne's shoulder with her forefinger, still holding the cigarette in her hand.

"How's our little violated virgin this morning?"

"Okay, I think."

"That doesn't sound very convincing."

Suzanne shifted in the bed. "Oh, I've just been lying here thinking."

Yvonne heaved under a sudden attack of coughing.

"That can be dangerous, especially at this hour. I guess you've got all sorts of guilty feelings running around that head of yours, huh?"

Suzanne nodded. "I'm… a little confused."

"Aren't we all? Let me tell you something." Yvonne took another deep drag from the cigarette and exhaled slowly. "I won't hand out advice, but I'll make a few comments. You've gone through a lot in the past two days. I mean, with sex. I know what happened with those little bastards must've shaken you to the bottom of your carnal cavern, and last night, well…" Yvonne laughed softly. "That's another bag of beans entirely.