A. Verse: The Violation of Marcia Thomaston

She was crushed beneath him; her naked breasts shivered, flattening in anguish beneath his vigorous chest; and his fingers tensed their compelling grip against her rounded shoulders, tasting the tremoring ivory flesh.

His eyes were very close to hers… he could read every shadow of the turmoil of her emotions inhale the humid breath of her, the apprehensive, panting woman-breath of her… feel her cool, satiny thighs against his pinioning thighs.

Before his eyes, the delicious vistas of her armpits, her arms being drawn wide apart and extended tautly by the silken fetters, revealed those intimate hollows; and he saw the downy verdure, akin to the foliage which veiled her cuntmouth; he saw the soft flesh ripple with shuddering tension.

“Beg me to have you, Marcia!” he harshly rasped into her tear-stained face, gloating, his eyes aflame with lust, savoring the turn of her head, bent toward one chiseled marble arm by the thong-loop of his own belt… savoring the feel of her flesh… yes… no longer sheltered and cloistered… but naked… ready to his bidding… to his passion… forced into acquiescence to that which she dreaded most of all!

But the most thrilling nuance of his anticipated possession of her was the sensation of the whip, which he had laid on her shuddering, ivory belly and which, now weighing down upon her avidly, he crushed into her flesh, to convey to her the difference between his will and hers! “Do you hear, Marcia?” he repeated, slowly. “And do you feel this whip pressing into your obscene belly? Nothing of your body is hidden from me now… and if you do not ask me sweetly to save you, I’ll give you a flogging you’ll not soon forget… on the armpits… on your ankles and well in between your immodestly parted legs… I don-’t think you spread your legs this far apart when you have a bowel movement, do you, darling?”

“Oh… oh… pity… oh… let me die… I can’t bear this shame…“ she sobbed, her cheeks wet with burning tears, her body tensing and shivering under him in a paroxysm of carnal terror… of stark, hysterical apprehension.

“Shame? You don’t know the meaning of the word, you cheap trull.! Think, Marcia, this is your wedding night and think how different it might have been if you had been honest and good and wholesome like Marie, yes, don’t turn your head away! Marie’s my idea of a wonderful sweetheart and I envy Greg… Do you think I’d want you for a return engagement, once I’ve gotten my five hundred’s worth,out of your aristocratic twat? But, all the same, you’re going to beg for it plead for it… Before I’m done with you, you’ll ask me to fuck you like a prostitute, because that’s the reason you’re here, darling, on this bed of yours, to sell yourself to mc!”

“Bob… oh… oh… it’s vile… horrible… I’ve – never cheapened myself … I-I won’t!” Shuddering, panting, her last remnant of arrogant pride surged, for her loathing-now that she was confronted with the foul reality of it-of this unwanted loss of independence, of physical self-assurance, was intense… his flesh on hers, the heat of his breath, the glow in his eyes, the knowledge that she was bound, all but naked, helpless, flogged her nerves with whips of torment.

“Won’t you?” his voice was deadly soft… gentle, almost!

He raised himself, withdrew the whip; then, kneeling erect, straddling her knees, he cupped her left breast, drawing it out of the cut satin, fondling it before her terrified eyes, his fingers tweaking the pert coral bud, flattening it and letting it jump back elastically.

Then, raising the whip in his right hand, he presented the crest of that wonderful, ivory pear shaped globe of Venus-flesh as martyred offering to the lash of lust! “Ohhhhhh! Pleeeeease… donnnn’tttt! Bobbbbbbbb! Oh my Godddd!” she shrieked, mad with fear.

“Will you ask me to fuck you?”

“I… I… can’t! Oh, pity, pity, Bob, I can’t stand the whip! Oh-no, no… don’t hit me there! Ahhhrrrrrrrrrr!”

Her belly surged up against him, her thighs jerked-the lash flicked the saucy nipple, pressing it down maliciously, allowing it to dart up only after the venomous kiss had been applied!

And his fingers dug into that wonderful globe, pinioning it relentlessly.

Hardly had her shriek died away, when the whip darted down… the plaited tip lashed the sensual aureole, cruelly martyring the sensitive love-flesh.

“Ohhahhhhhhhh!” Her shriek was strident, her head jerked desperately against the belt thong; again he saw her loins arid belly rise frantically, then fall back, writhing in tumultuous agony.

A third lash licked angrily along the glorious curving slope of that mastered breast, leaving its lascivious streak upon the ivory splendor of the skin.

“Mercy! Oh, you’ll kill me! Ahhhhh, the pain!”

“Ask me to fuck you, then!” was his answer.

“Kill me! Oh, let me die!” she cried, sobbing hysterically, her nostrils flaring.

He raised the lash. high; she cringed, flattening herself, trying to diminish her body on the bed; and as she bit her lips, maddened by the most overwhelming fear, he deftly flicked the lash into one raven-downed armpit, stinging the hypersensitive flesh keenly with a suffering that invaded her martyred nerves unbearably.

She writhed, jerked, shrieking, her eyes revulsing, her head starting up from the soft lacy pillow on which her streaming raven hair made so delectably exotic a mantle for her own shame of bedded nuptial-lust!

Again the whip-the terrible, pitiless whip, learning the secrets of her throbbing, patrician flesh as his manhood would learn them soon! And as the lash again attained her armpit, as she flung her head forward, oblivious to the wrenching anguish which the belt effected, her dilated, feverish eyes beheld- The sacrificial sword of virile imminence!

Yes, for, infuriated by her sensual drama, his penis tilted to her aghast eyes from the shaggy matting of his loin hair as he knelt erect over and dominating her-and now this whip of hellish carnality was as terrible, surely, as the diabolical leather thong he knew so mercilessly how to apply against the most sensitive zones of her virgin, ivory body!

He saw and cruelly smiled to see, the agony in her eyes: she was between the Scylla of pain and the Charybdis of lust-which would she choose?

Thrilling it was to await her decision, for either would destroy her vaunted pride, her aristocratic bearing and her purity! “Choose your pick, darling,” he said, eyeing her steadily, “the whip or my cock! Which shall it be? See, both raise to acclaim your untouchable virginity!

Answer me, teasing twat-proud whore!”

She could not speak; her throat was constricted by fear, by shame, by anguish.

The whip spoke for her; swiftly, with all his strength, he leaped the leather thong in a lateral motion that flailed both of her choice, firm, pear shaped breasts, kissing them equally and impartially.

“Ahrrrhrhrrrh!-Oh… oh… no more. I… I… can’t… bear… it… any longer… Do… do… what you… want with me… kill me… let me die… and escape this… oh… oh… oh… my… God… I “her voice was hysterical, swooning, quivering with feverish exhaustion.

“Be very sure of what you are saying. If you do not want the whip, there is only one alternative left you-to have your cunt stretched! is that what you want?” Cruelly; the inquisition- persisted… her head reeled with the century-long martyrdom… her body quivered, rippling with spasmodic shudders.

“Ahh… oh… Bob… Bob… please…” brokenly she murmured, panting, her lips uncontrollably trembling.

“You haven’t answered me, you dirty slut! There!”

And again the agonizing plaited tip of the lash bit into her shivering, soft armpit.