«No… No… not you… not you!»
This incensed Kozincko. He clutched her frail shoulders, mauling her tender flesh.
«Why not? he roared… you bitch, you dirty little bitch..! You'd love it but with somebody else… with some handsome chap… You'll be mine, mine, and no one else… I did for you more than for any other piece of cunt… Now that's enough… I'll fuck the ass off you… I'll ram it up that hole of yours…»
Kozincko was wan with rage; he grew brutal. Still, Myriam managed to escape, crazy with the contact of this hairy swollen tool on her thigh, on her buttocks as she struggled frantically to free herself from his grasp.
She was going to jump from the bed when two deft hands, when somebody else, pulled her skirt over her arms and face, then her arms were pinioned tight behind her back. It was vain to struggle now. She heard him laughing wildly her legs were forced open, she felt a warm stiff lump on her pelvis twitching lasciviously, then she was torn, thunderstruck as it were. She didn't even cry with pain. A huge tide seemed to overwhelm her. Pleasure lashed her with such strength, with such powerful impact, she slung her legs round his neck and dragged and glued her cunt as close as she could, wailing with joy all the time. Kozincko was mumbling in her hair:
«I got you, bitch, I got you at last!»
Myriam was past caring who had shoved in as long as she felt it jammed in tight, as far as possible…
She felt the other person had let her arms free, but saw nobody; she dug her nails into her lover's shoulders, her mouth twisted savagely, she squirmed with delight under his weight, stammering: Oh come, come deeper, go on. Kozincko was fucking away for dear life as he had never done before.
Violently clinging to him Myriam sank into volupty.
CHAPTER XI
Next morning when she woke up, Myriam wondered at the surroundings. Leaning over her, Kozincko was waiting for her to open he eyes.
After one whole night wholly employed in possessing her, Kozincko wasn't satisfied yet. She had given herself after the first shyness… witch such obscene gusto that he was still nonplussed and delighted. The new thing was that instead of soothing his desire this long drawn fucking festival had only made him all the more ravenous, and now he was waiting impatiently for her to wake up to slip it in once more…
Myriam whispered half-asleep:
«Where am I?»
Nicolas was already fastening on her, wedging between her thighs:
«Dear little dove… in my room… remember our wonderful night… remember you're mine…»
Myriam listened without understanding, then she felt him nosing in and everything was clear… the girl in the armchair, the Argentine lunging into her, her own fainting… the bed… her arms caught, her skirts stiff ling her. She had become his mistress, but who had held her, had helped him to ravish her? It must have been her aunt… her aunt who had dosed her so that she would grow mad under that old man. She remembered her pleasure, and how she had wanted him that night, how she had been debased, sullied… She was lost now, she wasn't even a woman, she was a heated bitch like the others… Even if he had forced her at the beginning, she asked for more afterwards, so impudently too that she blushed at it now, as the same man rubbed his prick between the lips of her cunt, she blushed to want him again… She wasn't guilty yet… her aunt was guilty, and Kozincko they had all been leagued against her, even Ghislaine, her dear Ghislaine… They had all of them condemned her to be a lost woman…
She would take her revenge, a terrible one. She did not knew how, she did not knew when, but she would… Even if she loved to feel him slowly, lovingly, glueing it in as now… she'd do it all the same. She was an instrument for pleasure now… Love's Cinderella and no longer a pure little girl. She had been delivered helpless to the princes of debauch… They had wanted her to be a slut… that she would be! and she'd derive every pleasure and advantage from it. But woe to those who had lost her… She'd ruthless, as they had been.
Kozincko believing her still half asleep was moving the tip of it in and out drowsily. She clutched him.
«Come, Come deeper, give it to me quick-Deeper… Oh Fuck me… fuck me hard… there.»
Kozincko rammed it up her twat with all his might, mauling her delicate body in a frenzy of volupty.
He couldn't see Mrs. Cornavin's smile as she watched them in the dark, tittering with pleasure at the fine little bitch Myriam had grown into, hoping to reap soon the fruit of her crafty schemes.
But both Nicolas and the worthy aunt would have been afraid if they had seen the smile on Myriam's lips while the man was bouncing up and down on top of her sullied body.
Both should have known revenge is another form of volupty and not one to be made light of. Had Kozincko penetrated Myriam's mind as deeply as her cunt he would have recoiled with fear.
— Kozincko took Myriam back with him in Paris, he was obviously delighted with his new mistress. He couldn't do without her. He was rather astonished at first to see her so loving and ever ready to please him. Eventually he thought she was in love with him.
It was agreed Ghislaine should know nothing. Myriam would still be a friend more than a lady's maid.
Yet Kozincko was trying to think out a way to see her as frequently as possible. He was rather frightened at the importance she was taking in his life, he had imagined that when he'd have had her everything would be over.
Too much engrossed by his desire he didn't see Myriam was keeping him in skillfully woven meshes.
Ghislaine wasn't surprised to see them coming back together. Though Myriam refused to say anything, Ghislaine could guess well enough, yet she couldn't gauge her father's infatuation rightly.
On the first night they resumed their games as if nothing had passed. Myriam had grown more skilful and Ghislaine soon enough received true pleasure from her. In her turn she wanted to caress Myriam who let her, thinking meanwhile of the revenge that was slowly hatching in her head. She was enraged at the thought the girl who exerted herself between her legs, shoving her tongue up her twat was still pure. She was the daughter of the very man who had debauched her though he jealously protected his Ghislaine's youthful innocence! That girl had a right to stay pure, to be ignorant of men's ways when they want a girl, to know love with the husband she'd choose when she chose… Till then she'd be a virgin, sheltered from all evil.
Why? Because she was Nicolas Kozincko's daughter? Because her father was very rich? Myriam was sore at the thought. There was no reason why she would be alone to suffer. And she began to plan out strange things… pleasure flooding her senses she had significant gestures.
Tightening her legs about Ghislaine's waist, she kept her friend's head caught between her thighs until she had come. Then trying another game, she made Ghislaine turn round she stroke the plump little buttocks, then slipped the inquisitive tip of one finger into her asshole, pink and delicate as a small blossom. Ghislaine seemed to enjoy the process, wriggled her ass delightedly.
Suddenly, without knowing, why, perhaps as a foreboding omen, Myriam stuck her whole finger inside…
— Myriam saw Jerome on the following day. He was impatiently waiting for her, hoping this short interval might have increased the girl's desire.
As soon as he had kissed her she asked: «Was you take me to your place?» Jerome was astounded at the question. He was to happy of the decision to make any inquiry about its suddenness.
He had a lovely bachelor flat at the Muette. Myriam admired the setting… the furniture, the pictures, the discreetly shaded lights, and a large luxurious couch covered with price silks… an altar as it were.
«There I should have belonged to him I loved» and a great bitterness almost brought tears into her eyes. May be Jerome would no longer care for her if he knew; this and some modesty prevented her from telling him everything.