Anonumous - The prodigal virgin

“Get off at once!” she panted.

“I simply must have you, Edith,” he gasped. “You see-it hardly hurts you at all. I shall take you-I shall!”

“I’ll die if you do, Herbert!” she quavered. “You promised we would only see if it would go a tiny way in. You don’t want to disgrace your sister forever, do you?”

As the inflamed boy still bored steadily, Edith suddenly burst into convulsive efforts to prevent a calamity whose real seriousness suddenly occurred to her. But it took tears on her part to recall him sufficiently to his senses to cease his inward pressure.

“Don’t cry, kid,” he said thickly. “I won’t-but-oh, my God-how hard it is to stop! I’d willingly be shot down afterwards if only I could screw you first!”

“Maybe you think it’s easy for me when I’m on fire all over!” she whispered. “But you know we mustn’t.”

He twisted the embedded knob within the portals and Edith gasped and trembled and moaned with bliss, a bliss which, alas, must be swiftly cut off.

“Listen, Edith,” he said hoarsely. “I shall have you some time, shan’t I, after you have been married and are all opened up!”

“Yes, I promise! she quavered, so inflamed now that she hardly knew what she was pledging. “But you must get off me now, dear.”

Never thereafter-largely, perhaps, because these young people were almost continuously separated-had this scene or its two lascivious predecessors been so much as referred to between them. Developing into a globe trotter, who kept a casual but effective eye on his immense financial interests, Herbert had never been able, in the midst of such amours as chance afforded to his occasional desires, to banish for long from his mind the image of a naked girl with long, dusky hair unbound and with her rounded, lovely body twisting in sensual longing. Edith had gone on to become the prize debutante of a happy social season and to marry her brother’s one-time college comrade, Henry Hamilton. But she, too, had memories which would be, she felt, life-long companions, and which made her flush and shiver when she at times deliberately brought them to her mind and reflected upon the seductive pit at whose verge she and her brother had barely restrained themselves.

Her Henry turned out to be all that a passionate girl could desire in the way of a spouse, so much so, in fact, that, with the growing cult among the young set for all that is spicy and subtly lecherous, Edith was several times on the point of narrating these adventures of her maidenhood, which she knew her husband would enjoy hearing and forgiving. Yet, perhaps, because of their incestuous flavor and because, too, Henry and others frequently jested about her obviously deep affection for her only brother, she kept the narrative under her hat.

With all this cyclorama of delicious early experience flashing before his mind’s eyes in mere seconds, Herbert crept almost automatically toward that door which separated him from the scene of the complete gratification in Edith of an intense sensuality which he himself had been largely instrumental in arousing. His heart was thumping and his nerves were swept by a tempest as he listened to the moans and love cries and all the evidences of his sister’s enraptured reaction in a situation which his mind was vividly portraying.

“What a nerve he’s got-and she too!” he found himself mumbling quite without basis in reason, “while I suffer in here, barred out. I, whose daily companion she was for twenty years or so. What an ungodly nerve! My rights are greater than his! How gloriously she fucks-oh, God in heaven, my head is swimming. I can’t stand it!”

Hastily donning a few articles of clothing, he stole down the stairs and hurled himself forth into the golden moonlight. He stumbled blindly over the little lawn, which had been coaxed to grow amid the sand of the lake shore, his pulses throbbing and his sex rampant.

But he exercised over his senses with will power now which went to a golden-haired and innocent-faced lovely girl whom he had found deeply fascinating in more than just body, a girl with whom he felt a queer communion, a sympathy, even greater when they did not speak than in their rare and rather halting, self-conscious chats.

He felt soothed somehow by the thought of Marion Stone, cleansed of the burning, perverse desires aroused by a voluptuous young woman of his own blood. How constantly tremulous and distressed was Marion amid these up-to-date frivolities with which they were surrounded. How delicate all her instincts, how touching her attempts to affect not to feel shocked by words and actions which in reality dismayed her utterly! Imagine her acting as his pretty sister and two other young matrons had done that afternoon on the shore, suits stripped down until even their round bottoms were exposed, then lying on their faces for sunbathing, in front of the men, and even letting their naked breasts be seen every now and then! Why, it was impossible to conceive of Marion’s ever getting so hardened. Not that he meant to reproach these others, whose new informality gave a returned traveler many a thrill.

He wandered towards the sand dunes, which were gilded by the clear rays of the moon. Calmer now, he heard faintly the sound of voices and laughter. They were nearer as he continued.

Ah-what was that? Herbert sank upon his face on a sandy hillock and listened.

The light was clear enough so that the reclining young man could make out the pale gold of the unbound tresses of that charming Mrs. Mildred Cochrane and the darker gold of the splendid silken avalanche of the hair of the girl of whom he had been thinking so earnestly as a cooling refuge for his guilty thoughts.

Good God-Cochrane, too, was there! And the great cuss had dispensed with even the scant bathing apparel, which he commonly wore! He was naked-the brute-the fortunate scoundrel! And he was calmly peeling the wisp of a suit from the snowy body of his svelte young wife.

Marion was squatting beside her sister. And-heavens! She was actually laughing, almost hysterically, nervously, to be sure, but yet laughing, at this indecency.

“Don’t be an ass, Maro,” the man was saying. “This is the only real way to bathe-in birthday suits. That’s why we have come out here in the middle of the night, to have this pleasure. So-off it comes, baby.”

“Oh Stan-it does seem so terrible somehow-to bathe all naked in a group!” sighed Marion. “Aren’t you afraid some one will see us, Mildred-?”

“If we’re seen the onlooker will be pleased, you may be sure,” observed her sister, already naked and twisting her lustrous hair to thrust it beneath a bathing cap. “Why be unhappy over pleasing someone-especially an imaginary somebody? Let me tell you that some of our friends here don’t wait until night has fallen to bathe naked. And since both Stanley and I have seen quite everything you’ve got, and hugely admired it all too, why hesitate over this bit of fun?”

“I know-it does seem silly,” sighed Marion.

Slowly she arose to her feet. Her exquisite outlines were revealed in the scrap of silk which she wore.

“But, now, you two won’t rumple me about and try to make me feel funny when I’m all bare, the way you did in the house?” she queried, fumbling at the shoulder of her suit.

“You feel ‘funny’ at the drop of a hat, sweetness,” said the smiling Mildred, approaching to divest her sister of the clinging, diaphanous fabric. “The mere sight of this disgraceful Stan in his present sate of odious excitement-or just he least touch you here and there-and you get all hot and bothered. There, old dear, don’t you feel one thousand times more comfortable? And how dare you be so beautiful, making your own sister jealous?”