"I will put my thumbs against your nipples, like this…"
(I went all hot, and trembly, and leaned heavily against the wall. Had it not been there, I'd have fallen; like this… he was doing it…)
I heard the little moan that built within her until it filled her throat and overflowed, upward. I could picture her eyes closing, her head sagging backward, arching and stretching her white neck.
"I will push… hard…"
"Un-n-n-n-nnn-ggb-h-h-hnnnn…"
"I will take each nipple between my thumb and finger, like this, and squeeze…"
"Aaahhhhhhh…"
"And squeeze…"
"Ummmmnnnnnh…"
"And squeeze…"
"Aarghhhhh!"
"… until I am exerting… all… my strength!"
"Unghhh… o-o-o-o-ohhh… nnn… aaaaaaaahhhhhhh…"
My hand fluttered up to my own bosom, paused, dropped. My teeth set into my lower lip as I listened to the sounds of what he was doing, and the sounds of her reaction. My teeth dented the fullness of my lower lip. I bit back my moan. Then my hands took over, separated themselves from my mind, and rushed up to grasp and roll the creamy globes of flesh all over my chest. I tried to cram them back into my own chest…
"Is it good?"
(I nodded, my head lolling forward, my month sagging open.)
"Ye-e-e-e-esss-ssss…"
"Do you like it?"
"Yea-s-s-s-s-sss…"
"Shall I stop?"
(I shook my head, gouging my fingertips and nails into my suddenly huge and thick nipples, bruising them through the thin fabric of my nylon gown.) "N-n-n-o-o-o-o-ooooh."
"You're wet. Wet in the cunt. Here… see the slime on my thumb? Lick it off. Yes. You're wet, whore."
(I WAS!)
"But you're not going to have an orgasm tonight. Neither of us is going to touch your greedy little cut."
I heard her moaning, sobbing, sound, and my own hands lowered to twitch toward the center of my body, but did not complete the movement. My mouth was ajar. My eyes were closed. My body quivered. His fingers numbed my burning… I mean her burning nipples. Assured of its abandonment, that sinful little excrescence at the top of my lower mouth seemed to twitch. It began to ache, as I was sure Isobel's ached.
"What a bitch you are!" he told her. "What a slut! You're probably dripping all down your thighs by now… and my fingers are sore from squeezing! God, what a wanton little pain-loving whore you are! I'm going to take my hands away from your pain-loving tits now, don't touch them."
I heard her shuddering groan. I could not take my own hands away. He was right. There was oozing wet on my nether lips, wet on my inner thigh. How small she must have looked, kneeling nakedly before him!
"Get up and go over there and lean against the desk. Face it, slut, and lean across it, face down. Mash your tits on it… there! How's… that feel?"
"Unh! Anghhh… a-h-h-h-h… ooohhh…"
He must have been leaning his weight on her slim back, crushing her poor soft breasts into the bard wooden desktop. My own breasts, those untouched-by-man twin spheres that swell so lushly from my throat to my ribs, smarted and ached. They felt stuffed, ready to burst.
"Now," his voice said, "get those legs open, cunt, and prepare for the true master of your body!"
"Ah!" A sharp little cry. Then a long sigh from her throat: "Aaaahhhhhh-h-h-h…"
Her grunting groans continued. I heard the sounds of repeated slaps. Not until the eighth or ninth did it occur to me that he was not slapping her with his hands… I was hearing the smack of his thighs and lower belly against the swells of her hemispherical rump-cheeks! My mind blazed; where had he impaled her? Now I knew for certain what I thought I had seen but had been sure I could not have, that he could and bad and did indeed penetrate her tiny rectal slot with that big purple-red veiny bludgeon he carried between his legs! But now, while I listened… where was it?
The warm soft folds of my dainty lower lips drooled beyond my power to prevent. My breasts burned. My buttocks were drenched tightly together, but the burning between them remained.
I could not help myself. I am a monster, as much a whore as she. I am shamed, forever lost.
I returned to my room and my bed and mauled… that is the word, mauled my own poor white breasts, and pinched the little cherry-buds on their summits, and rubbed and rubbed between my sweating thighs… perspiring is NOT the word-and… and…
I slipped one finger up into my own anus. I felt as though I exploded and was suddenly awash on a warm gentle sea, washing and lapping… I moaned, and crooned to myself, and sagged, more relaxed than I had been for months, for yours. I slept.
ENTRY TWENTY-ONE
I did it again last night, only two nights later. I had to. I couldn't sleep.
ENTRY TWENTY-TWO
Someoneis watching my window from the woods!
ENTRY TWENTY-THREE
Nonsense, you silly! It was your imagination! Who wants to watch your silly window? Who's in the woods?
I did it again, though. I burn for it… I must…
ENTRY TWENTY-FOUR
You are going quietly insane, Tory. You are a wanton harlot, a… a whore! A slut.
Why did you undress with the blinds open and the light on?
Why do you address yourself here as though you were two people?
YOU… I mean I did it again last nigbt.
ENTRY TWENTY-FIVE
I came to bed early last night. And did it. I reread parts of this diary as I did.
ENTRY TWENTY-SIX
I did it again last night. I mean I did it.
ENTRY TWENTY-SEVEN
Again.
ENTRY TWENTY-EIGHT
My finger went all the way in and up. My back, I mean. I jerked it out just as I… when I… as I came. It was glorious!!!
ENTRY TWENTY-NINE
Again last night. And this afternoon.
ENTRY THIRTY
I hurt myself last night. Wickedly, evil as I now know I am, I watched Aunt Isobel disappear into the woods. At once I got into bed quiet naked, and fondled and squeezed and caressed myself while I reread parts of my diary it was wonderful, and I made it last and last, and I forgot myself, became over excited, and thrust a finger into myself. Not in the back. In the front. It hurt terribly.
There was no blood, though. I didn't break it. Oh, what agony it must be to be to be I cannot, I will not think about that.
Oh… Aunt Isobel's manner of waking was exceedingly strange again today. At about two the telephone rang. I answered it; it was Mister… it was Erik, and he asked for her. My heart leaped and pounded; he said, "Hello, Tory. Put down the telephone and go and call your aunt for me."
An order!
She merely said, "Hello," and listened, and then said, "Yes. Thank you." And she hung up. Walking still strangely, as though she had just got off a horse and were sore, she went up to her room. When she came down an hour later, she no longer walked so oddly.
ENTRY THIRTY-ONE
Two days later: I've just had a thought.
Could he have somehow strapped that thing of Lois' onto Isobel, but turned backward, so that it was… in her, and… and made her keep it there? So that she walked strangely, so strangely, and then he called and told her to take it out, and she thanked him, and did…???
ENTRY THIRTY-TWO
I couldn't help myself.
I had to.
I watched them again last night. I followed her, and I watched them through the same casement window. I will not write what I saw this time. I will not. I can remember it.