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Myriam dared not step back. His eyes were blood shot, he drew his breath quickly, thickly; she didn't want to pain Ghislaine's father, but the mere thought of his brutal caresses nauseated her.

She was ready to escape when Kozincko caught her by the waist.

«It's a long time since we haven't been together… I wanted to have you to myself alone, to touch your dear little body.»

He had fastened on her like a leech and bent her back almost double. Then he cupped his hands under her plump little buttocks as she wriggled to get free. Myriam felt on her hair the short breath of a man who eats plentifully drinks abundantly and fucks away like a horse. He slowly rubbed his body against hers, seeking a contact through the material. His cock knocking already at the stable door… He sought her lips. She averted her head. He had a small bite at her neck, and Myriam thrilled all over.

He scolded her gently:

«You want to fight it baby… I like it, it rouses me. Love is a fight you'll be a lovely town to ransack. Fight it… but remember I'll always ram my tool up your cute twat in the end.»

He bent and flung up her skirt sneering:

«What princely undies. Come on let me have a look at your pussy.»

His hairy hands clutched her thighs. He fingered the soft resilient flesh, he had a tremendous hard on already and grew obviously impatient.

Myriam was trying to fight him away silently, he cornered her in a deep armchair, caught her mouth, threw his tongue down her throat as a prelude to another inroad into her flesh, while his thick hand shot up her legs directly into a helpless little crotch, pawed it enthusiastically.

Myriam was giddy. For a second she thought she'd faint. She kept her thighs closed tight, and managed to escape his grasp.

«You're very strong he stammered, how long will you keep the show up?»

Myriam was fighting now partly in dire distress, partly because she understood Nicolas loved the fight as much as the victory and she hoped to satisfy him that way at least.

Suddenly he lifted her up in his strong arms.

«Come, you need some more room and con-fort to struggle…»

Myriam kicked right and left but all to no purpose, except showing a pair of maddening thighs…»

A few strides brought him to the bed-room. He locked the door and his countenance fell.

«Now Myriam stop that silly game. You can resist a little, it's part of the game, but don't do it too long, I'm far from being patient, I might grow unkind… I warn you… You'll be a delightful mistress.

«I don't want to be your mistress.

«You might have gone the whole hog the first day at The Chateau Vert, had I cared to unbutton my fly.

«Please, no, not now! I'll do anything you like, but not that…

«You said everything I like?

«Yes, as long as you don't take me.

«You'll let me…? do anything I choose?»

She bowed her head.

He chucked her under the chin as the first time they had met. She let him slid his tongue into her mouth submissively.

He tore off with a yank the front of her dress, leaving her care to the waist.

She started with fear.

«I won't hurt you, I'll be very tender, come…»

She let him take her hand. He led her to the bed, spread her on it, and lay by her side. Kissing, gobbling at her breasts he tried to rouse desire in the girl. But Myriam thought of Jerome and was as limp as a weed.

Everytime he tried to get between her thighs she escaped him. This maddened him. Straddling on her he tore off what was left of her clothes. His lips roved over the revealed body, caressed the down above the little crack, then he forced her thighs open and buried his face between them, his tongue delicately parted the little lips. Myriam felt her body tingling with pleasure and expectation, she grew moist…

Nicolas felt this might be the way to victory, he slid his hands under her buttocks, she opened more and more under his warm tongue. She couldn't help whimpering and stiffened as she felt a thrill running up from the very bottom of her backbone.

Nicolas tried to slip in a stiff swollen pecker. Myriam jumped aside almost in a last effort, turning her back to him. Mad with her foolishness that deprived him from the reward of long efforts, understanding he would never get anywhere if he didn't force her, Nicolas flung himself on the helpless little buttocks and thrust in up to the hilt.

Myriam cried and stiffened with pain but Nicolas was completely unleashed he paid no attention to her cries and fucked her up to the eyes; he ended with one of one long agonizing spurt and was lost in a volupty which though it wasn't an entire possession was at least an exciting initiation.

Myriam was trying to swallow back her sobs unawares that thank to the gods and thanks to sodomy, she was still a virgin…

CHAPTER VII

Indignant at her resistance and still ravenous with desire, Kozincko took Myriam to the hairdresser to fetch Ghislaine, then left abruptly.

«I'll send you the car, he blurted out, you'll both of you get back to your place and I'll come for you in the evening.»

Myriam obeyed as an automaton. He hadn't breathed a word to her on the way. May be he would send her back to her aunt. Yet she thought she had let him do what he wanted and the pain was still so acute that she tried hard not to cry.

The fact was Kozincko needed a diversion to calm down his anger and his amorous appetites. He was used to have everything complying with his slightest wishes and couldn't understand why Myriam had resisted him. He might have shoved in of course without so much ado, and he was perfectly determined to have her at any cost, but he wanted this to happen at a favourable time in another frame of mind.

Besides he had managed to get something, and the memory of that something made him laugh.

«She only got the merest little bit of it, but next time she'll get the whole length in front and no mistake.»

Just now he wanted a woman badly, and he had escaped to get back to his office. There he had a regular harem, well supplied in choice victims between those thighs he would calm his hungers…

«The first cunt will do, he privately vowed, but she will have a fucking fiesta..!»

— Kozincko managed different types of busies in Paris. Yet the only truly profitable one among the whole lot consisted in supplying foreign markets with pretty girls. He was the head of a vast organisation, and he'd sell flesh as any other kind of goods. This trade had been the making of his large fortune.

Under pretence of import-export exchanges, of theatrical agencies, of varied night clubs, he could without danger apply his resources and energies to this trade, and occasionally he would test himself the qualities of his goods.

He was sole and dread master in his office, where he held his head-quarters. He was most exacting as to quality and quantity… and the woman who was head of the female staff, the ex-manager of a renowned brothel, knew it well.

There were two distinct men in Nicolas Kozincko, two distinct souls. As Dostoievski's heroes he could go to the extremes of good and evil. He acted with a pure freedom sanctified, so to say, by the violent instincts of his nature.

All the vicious, mysterious, forces alive in a Nietzsche, a Lautreamont, a Sade, as well as Montherlant's Costals' disdainful wisdom, led him along as far as women where concerned.

Yet, and simultaneously, he loved his daughter with the purest love. Following Gide's precept which presents the experiencing of evil as a necessary step to achieve the best that's in us, he would steep himself into the filthiest debauch and returned purer, stronger…

Kozincko was a Slav. In him were blended the complexity of asiatic souls, their simplicity too, their love for suffering in one's own flesh and spirit as well as in others and their sensuous mysticism.